I waited.
She rubbed her forehead.
“But then she is gone all day.”
I stared at her.
“How often is often?”
Mom glanced toward the children, as though hoping one of them might answer.
“A few times a week.”
“A few?”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes four.”
My hands went still.
“Mom, you are sixty-eight.”
“I know.”
“Your back is bad. You can barely carry groceries some days.”
Mom looked toward Caleb, who was chewing on the wooden spoon.
“They are my grandchildren by marriage.”
“That does not make you free childcare.”
She gave me a weary look.
“Then why keep saying yes?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Because she appears at seven thirty with backpacks and says she will only be gone an hour. Then she stops answering.”
“What am I supposed to do, leave them outside?”
Anger rose inside me, but Mom looked ashamed, so I softened my voice.
“When did she bring them today?”
“Before eight.”
“Has Rachel called?”
Mom shook her head.
“She texted around noon. She said she was running late.”
I checked the clock.
It was almost six.
I picked up Mom’s phone from the counter.
There were six unanswered messages to Rachel and one dismissive reply:
