I looked at him, this calm, detached man. I used
his own words against him. “It’s best to be
clean and quick about these things. Avoid loose
ends.”
He didn’t say anything else.
Packing was harder than I’d thought. The house
was full of little things, each one a memory,
placed there by me. I looked around, then
grabbed a suitcase and walked out.
Holden stopped me. “Where are you going?
Your parents‘? I’ll have the driver take you
11
<
Your parents‘? I’ll have the driver take you.”
“No,” I said. “Have the housekeeper clear out
my things tomorrow. I won’t bother.” It wasn’t
like they needed me to lift a finger around here.
At the door, I paused and turned to Henry, who
stood behind Holden, his face still
expressionless. “I won’t be picking you up from
preschool anymore. Don’t go with strangers.” It
was my last act of motherhood.
I left without another look at the child I’d held in
my arms, night after night, soothing him
through teething pains.
I bought a one–way ticket to Charleston, South
Carolina. I’d been restricted since I was
fourteen, told I was going to be a Hudson wife.
Then I married Holden, and besides the
occasional mandatory social event, he never
took me anywhere. My life revolved around
waiting for them to come home and bringing
<
10:28
them warm milk.
0800
734
People said Holden’s mother had trained me well. The perfect wife for Holden. Suitable for his status, capable of taking care of him. My only flaw? I was too perfect. Boring. Stiff. I’d overheard his friends teasing him. “Holden, what’s it like living like an old married couple at your age? Your wife is so…blah. She smiles like a Stepford wife. Want us to introduce you to someone…fun? Like, remember Vivian?”
Vivian. Holden’s first love. His mother hadn’t approved. He’d fought for her, but then… something happened. They broke up. Vivian
moved to Europe. And then, when I was twenty,
Holden suddenly accepted his family’s
arrangement and proposed to me. Four years
later, Henry was born.
Oh, right. I remembered. The familiar perfume
that night. It was Vivian’s signature scent.
Gardenia.
<
10:28
734
I settled into Charleston, exploring the city. The
gentle rain, the cobblestone streets, it was all a
welcome change. Then, on the third morning,
Holden called. He sounded like he’d just woken
- up. “Amelia,” he mumbled, “Where are those
ruby cufflinks you got me for the auction last
year?”
“Top drawer, second cabinet in the closet,” I
said automatically. Then, “What’s the
occasion?”
“A ribbon–cutting ceremony.”
“Matching suit is fourth hanger, second row.”
He rummaged around, muttering to himself. I
waited. “Find them?” I asked.
Silence. He finally seemed to register who he
was talking to. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to
bother you.”
<
10:28
“I know,” I said. “Have the housekeeper
reorganize. Ask them if you can’t find
something. And…don’t call me again.”
He paused. “Okay.”
$200
734
I hung up, blocked his number, and went back
to sleep. But it was restless sleep, filled with
strange dreams. Laughing with friends in high
school. Meeting Holden on a sunny day. The
pain of a broken leg after my dad caught me
street racing. And…
The ringing phone jerked me awake. Annoyed, I
grabbed it. An unknown number.
“Hello, is this Henry Hudson’s mother? This is
his preschool teacher. We’re having a robotics
showcase today, and Henry said you were
helping him with his project, but he didn’t bring
- it. Would you be able to bring it to him?”
The teacher was very polite. I tightened my grip
<
10:28
734
on the phone, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. Just a few days ago, I’d been sitting in the living room, painstakingly following online tutorials, building Henry’s robot. I’d left so abruptly, it was only half–finished.
I looked out the window at the bright sun. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I no longer have custody of Henry. I won’t be involved in his life anymore.
Is he…is he there with you?”
“Oh, yes, he is. He’s right here.”
“Could you put me on speakerphone?”
“Certainly.”
There was a fumbling sound, then silence.
Henry could hear me.
“Henry,” I said softly. “The robot is in your toy
box, in your room. You can call your dad to
bring it, or anyone else. But please, don’t call
く
me again. I won’t be picking you up, and I won’t be making your projects anymore. I’m not your
mother anymore.”
