I looked away and pulled Walter’s bank card from my purse. Recently, I had begun to carry it around with me.
“Not yet,” I whispered, and tucked it back inside.
***
That Sunday, I went to the church potluck with lipstick on and a casserole I’d almost burned.
Adele found me near the coffee table. “Mama, you’re sweating.”
“Doris made the coffee strong enough to give me heart palpitations, sweetie.”
Jeremiah appeared beside her. “You’re out of breath.”
“I walked from the parking lot.”
“Mama, you’re sweating.”
“You parked by the door.”
“Son, I’m old,” I said with a smile.
Chanel came up behind them, holding a paper plate. “Why are we surrounding Mama like it’s an intervention?”
“Because she looks pale,” Adele said.
Chanel looked at me properly. “Mama.”
I hated that tone. It sounded like she had already guessed too much.
“You would tell us if something was wrong, right?” Adele asked.
