Chapter 9 - The Call From Phoenix
Eight months passed peacefully.
Winter gave way to a vibrant spring, and the garden in my backyard flourished under my daily care. Without the crushing weight of supporting two entitled adults, my financial situation blossomed. I traveled to coastal Maine with Evelyn, spent quiet evenings reading historical biographies, and volunteered three days a week teaching financial literacy to young single mothers at the local community center.
One rainy Tuesday evening in April, my landline telephone rang.
I rarely used the landline anymore; only a few old institutions still had the number. I walked over to the hallway console and picked up the receiver.
""Hello?""
""Mom?""
The voice was hollow, stripped of all bravado, sounding remarkably small over the static of a long-distance connection.
It was David.
""Hello, David,"" I responded, my voice steady, neither warm nor cold.
There was a long pause on the other end, punctuated by the faint sound of traffic in the background. ""I... I just wanted to see how you were doing. How the house was holding up.""
""The house is wonderful,"" I said. ""The roof was resealed last month, and the azaleas Arthur planted are in full bloom. How is Phoenix?""
David let out a dry, ragged breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob. ""Jessica left, Mom. Two weeks ago.""
I remained silent, allowing him to carry the conversation he had initiated.
""She took the car,"" David continued, his voice trembling. ""She emptied our joint savings account and moved to San Diego with a guy she met at an e-commerce convention. She took everything. When the money ran low, she... she turned on me the exact same way she turned on you. She called me a failure. She said I was weak, that I had no spine, and that I was nothing without my mother’s handouts.""
The irony was almost poetic, but I felt no surge of triumph or spite. I only felt the profound, sorrowful pity a mother feels when watching her child harvest the bitter crop he had so stubbornly planted.
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""I am sorry to hear your marriage ended so painfully, David,"" I said softly.
""Mom, I’m living in a studio motel near the highway,"" he wept, breaking down completely into the phone. ""I work forty hours a week at a logistics center, and by the time I pay rent and groceries, I have nothing left. I miss home. I miss my room. I miss you. Can I please come home? Just for a few months? I swear I will do all the chores. I’ll pay whatever rent you want. I just want to come home.""
