Agnes's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

A week after the Mother's Day bench, Agnes still held the question like a stone in her pocket. Melissa had thanked her for trusting the marriage. Agnes had said nothing. Now she needed to know if her silence had protected her daughter or trapped her. She asked Tom to drive her into town. Tom kept both hands on the wheel. He had barely spoken to Melissa since the wedding. He disapproved of Allan and never hid it. Agnes watched his jaw work as they passed the turn to the bakery. "I want to see her at the shop," Agnes said. "Not the house. The shop. You watch a person at work, you learn what they cost themselves." "Fine," Tom said. "But I stay in the car." "No. You come in. I need two sets of eyes." He parked across from the bakery. Red awning, wide windows, bread stacked in the glass. Through the pane Agnes saw Melissa behind the counter, laughing at something Allan said. Allan was scowling at a tray. Melissa reached over and touched his wrist, and his shoulders dropped an inch. "She looks fine," Tom said. His voice was flat. "She always looks fine. That's the problem." Agnes went in alone first. The bell rang. Melissa's face opened when she saw her. "Mom. You didn't call." "I wanted bread," Agnes said. She watched her daughter's hands. Steady. Flour to the knuckle. "Are you eating?" "Every hour. Allan makes sure." "Are you sleeping?" Melissa laughed, then stopped. She glanced toward the back where Allan had disappeared. Her voice dropped. "Mom. Ask me the real one." Agnes set her purse on the counter. Here was the ledge. One wrong word and Melissa would close like a shop at dusk. "Are you happy," Agnes said. Not a question. A place to stand. Melissa looked at her a long time. "Some days. Not every day. He's hard on himself and it spills. I get real good at lying to myself real fast when it does." She wiped her hands on her apron. "But I chose him. And I'd choose him again this morning." It was not the answer Agnes wanted. It was the answer she believed. The bell rang again. Tom stepped inside, hat in his hand. Melissa froze. Her father had not crossed this threshold before. "Dad." "I owe you a visit," Tom said. Short. Load-bearing. "Overdue." Melissa's eyes filled. She did not wipe them. Agnes bought a loaf she did not need. In the car, Tom held the wheel without starting it. "She told you the truth," he said. "She did." "Then we have work." Agnes nodded. The stone in her pocket was gone. In its place was something heavier and clearer. Melissa was not pretending. She was managing. And managing meant there was a man in that kitchen who needed managing, and a daughter who was paying for it in small coins every day.