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forehead, probably brought on early because of him. Her slightly crooked nose and forefinger, all telltale signs of how much of a monster my father had been. I knew she’d taken his wrath for us too many times to count and I wondered what deep-seated fear or need or principle kept her chained to this house and this marriage, now that we were grown.
    The rest of the dinner was peaceful. My mother liked to deflect attention from herself so she always asked tons of questions to keep us talking. My brother could go on for hours about his damn self, same as my father. So she inquired about football and classes and about Anna—definitely about Anna. And I could see the same thought process, the same questions I had about how he was treating her, how they were getting along, ticking through her brain.
    After Luke took off it was just my mother and me and we sat at the kitchen table playing a game of rummy. This was our thing. We’d play cards and talk about
almost
anything under the sun.
    “So what do you think of Luke’s new girlfriend?” she asked, straightaway. I could tell it was something that was concerning to her.
    “She seems nice.” I shrugged. I didn’t say what was on the tip of my tongue. That she seemed too nice for him. But my mother knew the score and probably had the same thought. “I just hope he—”
    “Honey.” She cut me off before I could get my sentence out. Maybe it would’ve been too painful for her to discuss, to admit about her own child. Which is one of the reasons I kept myself in check. I didn’t want to see that same look in her eyes. “I can’t wait for the day you bring a girl home.”
    I shook my head and smirked. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mom. I’m not sure if that’ll ever happen.”
    Sadness filtered through her eyes. She was innately attuned to me, aware of my struggles, but she rarely spoke of them out loud. “Why would you say that?”
    “Mom . . .” I laid down a pair of aces and looked her in the eye. “I think you know why.”
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, her hand reaching across the table to rest on mine. “If only I’d—”
    “Don’t you make any excuses for that bastard,” I said, through clenched teeth.
    She inhaled sharply and squeezed her lids closed.
    “Why do you stay?” It was a question I hadn’t asked her in years.
    When she opened her eyes, I saw moisture gathering in the corners. “Honey, lots of things happened during a very stressful time in our marriage. Raising children is tough. Your father . . . he didn’t handle it very well.”
    “C’mon, Mom,” I said, smacking my hand on the table and startling her. Shit, I needed to get my resentment under control. “Are you seriously trying to tell me it’s not still going on?”
    She shook her head adamantly. “Not in a while.”
    I didn’t know if I believed her. She might say anything not to have me worry.
    “Then why are you still . . .” My eyes darted around the house. “. . . sticking around here. Not doing other things that you love?”
    Her eyes crinkled in panic. I got her there. She was still being the dutiful wife.
    “I like being married to your father,” she said sweeping her hand about the room. “This lifestyle suits me.”
    I took a deep breath and attempted to rein in my irritation. “You’re so much more than . . . all of this.”
    We were quiet, staring past each other, lost in our own thoughts. I wasn’t sure if or when she’d ever see that. That she had so much more to give. Outside of this house. This community. This marriage.
    “What about all of his out-of-town trips?” I had always suspected my father had kept other women. Maybe even took them on these business trips.
    “He works hard, Nate,” she said, avoiding my eyes. “You know that—”
    “Mom,” I squeezed her hand so she’d look at me. “Let’s be real here.”
    “I don’t think so, Nate.” Why did this woman hold her cards so close to her vest? It made me want to