Yet there it was, as though she had tossed it around simply to create the effect.
Then she poured herself a cup of coffee, carried it into the living room, and spilled a dark splash across my freshly cleaned floor.
She looked down at it.
I looked straight at it.
Then she walked away.
No paper towel. No apology. Nothing.
I followed her into the living room and said, “Diane, you spilled coffee.”
She settled onto the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and gave me that familiar smile. “Did I?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged. “Well, this house has a woman to clean it.”
Something inside me suddenly became very calm.
I smiled.
Not because I felt happy. Because I had finally reached the point where frustration turned into certainty.
“For once,” I said, “you’re absolutely right.”
She looked completely satisfied with herself. She had no idea what I was actually saying.
That evening, after she had gone home and Aaron and I finished cleaning the disaster she left behind, I opened my laptop at the kitchen table and ordered three indoor security cameras.
Aaron walked in carrying a garbage bag and asked, “What are you doing?”
“Collect evidence on your mother.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I’m finished arguing with her. I’m finished hearing that she’s only absent-minded or trying to help. Either she’s the messiest woman on earth, or she’s doing this deliberately. I want to know which.”
Aaron rested against the counter and watched me for a moment. Then he nodded.
“Honestly? I want to know too.”
The cameras arrived on Tuesday.
I placed one on a bookshelf in the living room facing the coffee table and hallway.
Another sat on top of the china cabinet in the dining room with a clear view of the kitchen entrance.
The third was tucked beside a cookbook stand in the kitchen.
They were compact.
Easy to overlook.
I told Aaron and the children exactly where they were. I had no interest in secretly recording my own family. They weren’t the reason for this.
Diane was.
The following Saturday, she showed up again.
Naturally she did.
This time she arrived carrying muffins and wearing an overly cheerful voice.
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