Chapter 2 - The Blue HouseThe night before our flight home, we sat on the balcony while Marguerite calmly announced she'd changed her ticket.
Owen stared at her. "You've known him for three days."
"I know."
"And you're going to live with him?"
"I'm not moving in with him."
"What would you call it?"
"A vacation."
"At his house."
"It's a rental cottage."
"With a stranger."
Marguerite's smile disappeared. "Do you hear yourself?"
Owen leaned forward. "Mom, this isn't like you."
"Maybe you don't know what I'm like anymore."
That landed harder than she probably intended. Marguerite stood. "I spent two years going from my house to the grocery store and back. I finally meet someone who makes me laugh, and everyone acts like I've lost my mind."
"Nobody said that."
"You didn't have to."
She walked away crying. Owen went quiet. Later he said, "This is a mistake."
I looked toward Marguerite's room. "Maybe."
"You agree?"
"I think she's lonely."
"Exactly."
"That doesn't mean she's helpless."
He rubbed his face. "You think we should leave her?"
"I think she's allowed to make a decision we wouldn't make."
The next morning, we flew home without her. At first, everything seemed fine. Marguerite called Owen every morning, sent photos of restaurants, sunsets, ridiculous cocktails. Desmond appeared in several of them, looking perfectly normal. More importantly, Marguerite looked happy.
On the fourth day, the photos stopped. Owen noticed before I did. "Mom hasn't sent anything today."
"She called you this morning."
"For six minutes."
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"Do you time her calls?"
"No." His face told me he absolutely did. I made him leave it alone.
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