Mother’s Chair

Chapter 1: house

The first cup appeared beside my bed in October.

It was small and white, with a thin blue line around the rim. I noticed it as soon as I opened my eyes because my nightstand had been empty when I went to sleep.

For several seconds, I simply stared at it.

Grey morning light slipped through the curtains, touching the cup without warming it. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around its sides. The china felt cool. Inside was a little water—only a few mouthfuls—but enough to make me wonder who had left it there.

I carried it across the hall to Betsy’s room.

She was still beneath her quilt, with only the top of her hair visible.

“Did you put this beside my bed?” I asked.

She pushed the blanket away from her face. “Why would I?”

Then she looked toward her own nightstand.

There was another cup waiting there.