Daniel clumsily hugged his mother with one arm. Clara caught a sharp smell of the road, mixed with the odor of his unwashed clothes. And something else that pricked her heart with unease.
She stepped back slightly and studied his face. Once well-groomed and fit, Daniel now looked haggard. His face was creased, almost puffy, with stubble carelessly covering his chin. Heavy, swollen bags under his reddened eyes suggested sleeplessness or perhaps even tears.
“Are you alone? Where’s Emily? Where’s your daughter?” Clara asked, trying to mask her growing anxiety. “What, not happy to see just me?” Daniel replied, avoiding her gaze and staring somewhere over her head. “No, I just asked, caught off guard,” Clara said, stepping aside to let her son in.
“Come in, Danny, take off your coat.” Daniel stepped over the threshold, dropped a heavy duffel bag on the floor, and glanced around the hallway. “Finally home,” he said.
“Nothing’s changed here,” he added quietly. “Are you on vacation? In the middle of winter?” Clara asked cautiously, her eyes fixed on the bag. “Later, Mom, I’m tired,” Daniel replied.
He shrugged off his jacket and carelessly hung it on the rack. “Of course, of course,” Clara said quickly, trying to hide her unease. “I just put on some tea.”
She hurried to the kitchen and pulled an old mug from the shelf—the one Daniel always used when he visited. Her hands trembled slightly. Daniel followed her, slumping onto a chair sideways, sprawling his legs and taking up most of the small, spotless kitchen.
Clara set the mug in front of him, watching his every move, trying to guess what was on his mind. “Want something to eat after the trip? I’ve got some chili ready,” she offered hopefully. She’d made a big pot yesterday, as if she’d sensed his arrival.
“Sure!” Daniel grunted, waving a hand dismissively. “Missed your chili.” Clara bustled about, pulling the pot from the fridge, reheating the chili, and placing a steaming bowl before her son.
She set a heavy spoon—her husband’s favorite—next to the bowl, along with a thick slice of fresh bread. Sitting across from him, she propped her head on her hand and watched him intently. “Got anything stronger to go with the chili?” Daniel asked, casting a quick glance at his mother while stirring the bowl slowly.
“No alcohol in this house!” Clara said sternly, her face hardening. She watched as Daniel ate hungrily, squinting with pleasure. There was something childlike, vulnerable in his movements, like a little boy returning home after a long absence.