“As long as I can remember. It’s never been something my mother was good at and it comes pretty easily to me.”

A stray fork fell to the bottom of the sink, creating the sharp tinny noise of metal on metal.

“You are good to her.”

“She’s given up everything for me. It’s the least I can do.”

Therese crunched loudly into her fruit. “Has it always been just the two of you? Where’s your dad?”

“We don’t talk about him.” Suddenly he spun around and pointed a soapy finger in her direction. “I mean it, Therese. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong! You leave Mama out of this. Don’t start asking her all your questions.”

“Okay, okay!” she shouted, lifting her hands into the air as though he had just pulled a gun on her. He turned back to the sink and shifted his focus back to washing the dishes. She stood to leave, the mangled remains of her apple lying brown and limp on the kitchen counter.

He hadn’t told her very much about his mother, but she was good at sensing things, and her instincts told her that whatever was between them was heavily unbalanced. There were no pictures of Tim as a child; in fact, she had yet to see evidence that he had even been one. Sometimes at night while he slept, she could hear him murmur, but when she touched him he would pull away.

His secrets consumed her.

The next day at work, she was so busy thinking about Tim and his mother that when the shock came, it took her by surprise. Its intensity ripped down her arms, forcing her to knock over the cup of pens she kept on her desk. She shifted onto the edge of her seat, stretched out her legs, and tried to kick the pens that had fallen closer with her foot. When that failed, she got down on her knees and crawled underneath the desk to use her fingers to search along the floor. She was so involved she didn’t realize someone was standing in front of her desk waiting for her to reemerge.

It was intriguing to experience someone from the feet up. The edge of the desk cut off her view so that she could only see the woman below the knees. Therese edged in closer, examining the uneven hem of the woman’s skirt. The material was a long, billowing silk that seemed to float as though a breeze was coming up from the planks of the floor. The shoes were pink with pale ribbon laced up the ankle. “Are you okay under there?” The sound of the voice matched the gracefulness of the feet.

Therese pushed back and emerged from beneath the desk.

Was she real? Therese shook off a compelling desire to touch her.