Tristan was with her. It was the first time I had ever seen the little towhead, and my throat closed up. He never looked at me, but immediately ran over to Tully and stomped on her tail. She let out a screech and he laughed as she scurried to hide under the bed with the dust mice.

I could tell that Morgan had sewn Tristan’s overalls herself. The zipper was all askew and one pantleg was shorter than the other. I didn’t say anything but instead tried talking with her.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Oh, you know,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. I wanted to shake the little brat who was stalking my cat, while at the same time I wanted to take him outside and show him how to climb the huge willow tree in the yard. I wanted to ask him if he knew who I was.

I reached out my hand to touch Morgan’s, but she pulled away without thinking, without making a production out of it. She stood and walked the four steps to the sink from where we sat on the bed. She looked out the windows, removed a tumbler from the cupboard and poured a surprisingly large amount of bourbon from a bottle she produced out of her purse.

“Morgan?” I started. Tristan had chased Tully out from under the bed and was now shrieking with delight as he clipped closepins to her. She was managing to shake most of them loose and wriggle away from Tristan’s grasp. I ignored my boy tormenting my cat for the moment.

Morgan had lit a cigarette and stood at the sink smoking it. She set it on the bread board and walked over to pick up the remote. She turned on the TV and began flipping through the stations.

“Morgan, I…” I didn’t know how to talk to her anymore. I knew she wasn’t coming back, that she wouldn’t apologize and that she didn’t want to talk about any of it. She knew about my ‘ole man, knew that when he passed he had taken carte of my sisters and me. I knew that if I didn’t give her what she came for, she would be knocking on their doors too, and I didn’t want that.

“Jude…” she said but didn’t finish.

I wanted her to tell me that she loved me again. I wanted to brush back her fading red hair and to feel her now wrinkling face in my hands. I wanted to feel the heaviness of her body next to me when I woke in the morning.

She had finished her cigarette and was standing there in my kitchen lighting another. She had the TV on pretty loud, and Tully was pretty wired because of it. Not to mention Tristan’s sadistic laughter and tortures.

I caught her watching me watching Tristan and she looked away, tapping her cigarette into an empty coffeecan I had on the counter. I stood and walked to her, but knew better than to try taking her hand again. She couldn’t look at me.

Darkness had overtaken the room. I flipped on the overhead light, the fluorescent brighter than it should be, garish after the soft glow of a hot August sunset.. Morgan flinched, blinking again, stubbing out her cigarette, hanging onto the counter.

Opening the Mason jar I had retrieved from its spot behind the coffeepot, I watched Morgan’s face for any sign of love or remorse or tenderness or remembering. I saw none. She fidgeted with her skirt as I pulled the money from the jar, and as she tugged at her skirt, she shifted her weight and grabbed hold of the cupboard so as not to fall over.

“Oh, fuck,” she said.

The bourbon fell into the sink. The crash of the breaking glass made Tristan jump. Now he was crying. The TV was on too loud. Tully had escaped into the closet and Tristan didn’t see through his tears.

The smell of bourbon and cigarettes filled the kitchen and my nose all of a sudden. This woman whom I used to know, stood in my kitchen, our son crying in the glow of the TV, crying so loudly it’s a wonder his lungs didn’t give out. Morgan couldn’t look at me. I pushed her away from the counter. She fell down. I let her sit there on the floor, skirt pulled up, legs all askew. I grabbed Tristan.

She didn’t even have a carseat in the ramshackle Rambler she was driving. I cursed under my breath and ducked to avoid Tristan’s claws as I buckled him into the backseat. He cried even louder, and I could hear him from the kitchen as I stood, shaking, over Morgan’s cowering body.