“But why?” Judy asked again. The box, containing one dozen containers of frozen chicken soup, thunked as she deposited it in the trunk. “Why are you leaving?”

Debra walked quickly around to the driver’s side and opened the door. “I’ll be fine, Ma, really.” She pretended not to see the second box.

Her mother hefted the box, tightly packed with babka and blondies and a lemon cloud pie. “But why are you leaving?”

Me, Debra filled in mentally. At least she didn’t say, why are you leaving me.

“Call me when you get there,” Judy said. She peered at Debra and frowned. “You look pale. Are you getting sick? Maybe Daddy and I will drive up to see you later in the week.”

“Ma.” Debra looked straight at Judy. “I’ll be fine. Don’t drive up.”

“We’ll see,” Judy began. “Maybe on Thursday. I don’t understand why you won’t come home for Shabbos.”

“Don’t drive up,” Debra repeated. There was a warning in her eyes. “Please do not drive up without discussing it with me first.”

Debra knew her mother was recoiling at the thought that her daughter, whom she had carried for nine months and cared for devotedly for 25 years, was setting conditions for their relationship. Judy scowled. “Call me when you get there. Will you?”

“Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll be fine.”

“Of course I worry, I’m your mother. And you’ll be all alone, so far away…”

“It’s not so far, Ma, a six-hour drive. And it’s a city, not a mountain cave.” She sat down deliberately behind the driver’s seat.

Her mother backed away from the car. Phew. She was going to let her leave.

“Bye, Ma, I love you.”

“Call me when you get there!”

“I’ll text you, okay?” They looked at each other, then Judy nodded.

The car slid down the block, turned the corner, and picked up speed. Judy never looked away. Debra never looked back.

Her apartment (her apartment!) was on the second floor of a white house. If it was a white house and her first apartment, did that make her the first lady? Debra smirked to herself. She’d tell that one to Batya later. Right now, the first lady had a first date to prepare for.

A first date in her first apartment. A first date that her mother didn’t research. A first date that her parents wouldn’t meet. Until it became serious, of course.

Yeah, sure.

It did feel a little awkward, though, how he just rang the bell and she just came to the door and they looked at each other blankly for a moment and then he said, “Hi, are you Debra?” like there was another option. She nodded and said “Hi,” and they looked at each other for another moment until he said, “Should we go, then?” and she said yes and they did.

Still, Shlomo was interesting. And a gentleman. The drive was pleasant, the conversation flowed. She felt progressively more comfortable in his company and when he dropped her off and said good night and she walked up the path to her first apartment, she felt lonely.

She sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked. She’d have liked to throw herself down and burrow into its embrace, but the linen was new and crisp, crackling critically like a severe old woman.

Better not to get too excited, anyway, Debra thought. But she kicked off her shoes just the same, and reached tentatively for a pillow. It was stiff but it didn’t bite, so she hunched over it in an uncertain hug and let herself remember how Shlomo had leaned forward as she’d gotten out of the car and wished her good luck on her first day of work tomorrow.

He was just being polite, she told herself, aware that she was smiling. Just good-mannered thoughtfulness. Although it had been quite some time since she’d met someone thoughtful, and he’d seemed sincere.... Debra caught herself.

Still, even if nothing came of it, it was comforting to know good things could happen. She should tell Ma, she thought, her hopefulness making her feel expansive. Let her have some happiness too. She reached for the phone. Not a whole conversation — that would wear her down, too many questions. She’d text her, just a short text to let her know.

Seeing stars, she typed. Then she fell asleep on the irritable bed with a smile on her face.

“Nothing is the same,” Judy said.

Barry looked down. The green gingham placemat was the same, the floral print teacup was the same, placed at exactly the same spot as always, with two bland biscuits and a plastic cup half-filled with water so he could take his blood pressure pill. The clock read precisely 10:15, and in ten minutes he would go upstairs to bed, right on time as always.

“Nothing,” he agreed.

“Did you see her room?” Judy demanded. “Bare. Abandoned. Dead.” She put a hand to her mouth. “You know what I mean.”

“Erm,” Barry said. “I think, you know…” He gestured vaguely. “Best to give her some space… follow her lead.”

“What this world is coming to?” Judy harangued. “A young, defenseless girl goes off to live on her own. Who will look after her?”

“Well,” Barry offered, “maybe she can look after herself?”

Judy looked at him witheringly.

“I only meant,” he began, “she has her own car, a job...”

“And if she needs help?” Judy demanded. “If she gets lost? If she gets sick?”

Barry watched her gesticulations with alarm. “I don’t know,” he said. It was 10:25. He put his teacup down on the saucer, smoothed the gingham placemat, and stood up.

Just like a man, Judy thought, watching him go. She couldn’t sleep. Had Debra eaten dinner? Had she locked the door? Were there even locks on the doors? Was Debra safe? Was she feeling well? What if she wasn’t? What if she lost consciousness? How long would it take until someone would find her? Would the paramedics know to search her phone for next of kin? Judy closed her eyes. What would she do when they called? Scream? Faint? Would she still be able to talk to Debra or would it be too—

Her phone buzzed.

Judy lunged for it. The terse message glowed up at her, and she panicked. She dialed Debra with shaking fingers.

It went to voicemail. She dialed again. Voicemail again. Of course. There was probably no reception in the hospital.

She had her keys in her hand when she remembered that Debra had told her not to come. What would Debra do if Judy showed up? Move another six hours farther?

Judy dropped down into the chair facing the gingham placemat. She sat there until dawn with the phone in one hand and her keys in the other.

Debra made the omelet the way she liked it, with onions and peppers, then dialed Ma as she ate. “I’m just calling to say good Shabbos,” she announced.

She was calling from her landline, Judy noted with relief. She was home. That was a good sign. She hesitated, not sure what to say. “How are you feeling today?” she asked finally. Good, that wasn’t intrusive.

“Fine, baruch Hashem. And you?” Debra yawned.

Judy pounced. “You sound tired.”

“It’s okay.” Debra sounded annoyed. Judy backed down. “Okay, sorry. I guess it’s normal, after yesterday.” There, that was inviting without being pushy.

“Yeah.”

Judy thought quickly. “So what did they say?” She purposely avoided using the word doctor. That would be too much.

“I’ll see him again on Monday,” Debra said. She kept her voice neutral. Better that her mother shouldn’t get excited.

“Wow, that’s soon.” Maybe there were test results to discuss?

“That’s what he wanted.”

Well, at least she was listening to the doctor, even if she wouldn’t listen to her own mother.

“So what do you think of your new city?” Shlomo asked.

Debra played with her fork. “It’s very different,” she said at last.

He looked intrigued. “Different how?”

“Well.” She frowned, thinking. “The houses are basically the same, the downtown feels familiar. Maybe it’s not so different after all. Maybe it’s everything else that’s different.”

He cocked his head. “Go on.”

One point for good listening. “Well, you know, I’m living on my own here. And I’ve started a new job. So my life is very different.”

“Right, that’s a lot of changes at once.”

“Change is good,” Debra said with conviction.

Shlomo shook his head. “Change is the universal fear of all humans. I’m impressed.”

Debra laughed. “It opens you up to new possibilities,” she explained. “You have to make new choices at every turn. You can’t just rely on the people around you to know what you’re going to want.”

“Does it get lonely?”

He was sharp. “No,” Debra said, but she looked away.

“Hey, let’s not think about that now,” he said quickly. “I’m going to order you the most amazing dessert. It will make you forget all your troubles.”

He looked so contrite that she laughed. “See,” he said approvingly, “it’s working already.”

He walked her to the door this time, watching her safely inside. Debra closed the door gently and then sagged against it. She couldn’t resist texting her mother. Lights and sirens, she typed. She was grinning and she knew it.

“There’s no reason to worry,” Judy said loudly to the empty house. “It’s only just after 9 p.m. and maybe her appointment was late in the day. Maybe the doctor was far — the good ones always are — and maybe she had traffic on the way back.” She polished the sideboard mirror forcefully. There was no dust, she noted critically. She had done this yesterday and the day before.

Her irritation began to override her anxiety. Debra had probably just felt faint because of the stress of moving. When Judy herself had moved into this house 20 years ago, she had become dehydrated. Of course Debra was seeing stars. Hopefully the doctor would remind her to drink. Surely Debra would call her soon to tell her how her appointment went. Judy thought about that. No, she would probably text.

Judy got up heavily to look for her phone. It was in the desk drawer. A notification blinked on the screen. A text from Debra: Lights and sirens.

Judy clutched at her heart. So it was bad. Debra would be admitted this time, they usually admitted patients who came in by ambulance. How long would she stay? How much time did she have left? So young, so beautiful… Oh, G-d!

She tried to picture life without Debra, but the picture was blank. That was what Debra had been trying to tell her all these years, hadn’t she? To build her own life. Judy saw now that it had been prescient. She would have to build a life that didn’t center on Debra, find a way to go on, something to live for. Maybe she would go back to school. The thought filled her with distaste. What field would she go into? Medicine, so no one would ever again lose someone they loved? Or maybe psychotherapy, to help people straighten out their relationships while there was still time. That was it, she would get a degree in social work. Judy shook her head. So this is what it had come to.

“Hi, Ma,” Debra said when she picked up. Her tone was warm, Judy noted. What a shame, that it took a life-threatening illness to put things in perspective. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Judy said. “How are you?”

“I like my new job,” Debra told Judy.

Judy was surprised. “Did you go to work today, then?” she asked.

“Of course. Why not?”

Judy was silent for a beat. “I don’t know,” she said carefully, afraid to push. “With everything going on, I’d have thought you wouldn’t have a head for it.”

“Oh, Ma, it doesn’t work like that. Life has to go on.”

“Life has to go on,” Judy echoed numbly.

“And nothing is certain yet, you know.”

Judy grabbed onto this bit of hope. “Of course.” She couldn’t stop herself. “Isn’t it too much for you to be alone at such a time? Daddy and I should be there!”

“Ma, it’s fine.” The friendliness vanished.

Judy kicked herself. Quick, she had to say something before Debra shut down. “I’m thinking of starting something new,” she blurted, trying to regain some ground.

“Oh?”

“It will be a new stage for me, after all.” Judy swallowed courageously and forged on. “But like you said, life must go on. I think a social worker is a good thing.”

Her mother was going for therapy? Debra had known that leaving was the right thing for her; she had never dared to hope it would be good for Ma too. “Ma.” Debra’s voice sounded strange. “Ma,” she said finally, “I… I want you to know… I’m really proud of you.”

It ended as it began — quickly, smoothly, and graciously, so Debra hardly realized what was happening before it was all over. Suddenly she was back at the white house, back in her first apartment, with the door closed firmly behind her and Shlomo already far down the road, never to be heard from again.

In shock, Debra removed her shoes, robotically preparing for bed — though it was only 7:30 and she hadn’t eaten dinner. She slid stiffly between the covers, which neither crackled reproachfully nor provided snug comfort, and stared with glazed eyes at the ceiling.

The phone rang.

Debra ignored it, then, with faint hope, allowed her eyes to flicker toward the screen. It wasn’t Shlomo — of course not, she was silly to think it — but her mother.

Debra ignored the call. The phone rang and rang.

Finally, with sluggish movements, Debra sat up. Through the overwhelming fog she forced herself to pick out the words. It’s all over. She hit send.

Then she turned off the ringer and closed her eyes against the darkness.

Someone was pounding on the door.

Debra became aware of this fact gradually, waking up by dazed degrees. She was lying in bed, the world outside the window was dark, the clock read 2 a.m., and someone was pounding on the door.

She didn’t even know anyone in this city. Debra pulled a pillow over her head.

Pound. Pound.

Now awake, yesterday’s misery seeped persistently back into her consciousness.

Pound. Pound.

Couldn’t they go away and leave her to her wretchedness?

“Debra!” Pound. “I’m going to call the fire department!”

Debra sat up. Her head cleared instantly and a fully formed thought exploded in her mind: Ma was here. At two o’clock in the morning. And she was going to call the fire department.

Debra pulled the door open. Judy fell inside, gasping.

“Debra! Oh, Debra, sweetheart.”

Debra turned her eyes, red and sore, to her mother. “What are you doing here, Ma?”

“What am I doing here?” Judy demanded. “Of course I’m here! After your text, how could I not come?”

“We had an agreement!”

“An agreement? That wouldn’t apply to a situation like this!”

Debra folded her arms. “Did you discuss this with your therapist?”

“My what?”

“Sorry — your social worker. Whatever you call it.”

Judy’s eyes traveled over Debra’s face. “You’re delirious,” she said fearfully.

Debra rolled her sore eyes. “I am not delirious,” she said. “I am fine. I’m fine, Ma! I told you I’d be fine. I told you not to come. I don’t know why you're here.”

“I’m here because you’re dying.”

“I’m not dying,” Debra snapped.

“And I’m not in therapy,” Judy retorted.

“You told me you were.”

“You told me you were sick.” Judy waved her phone in Debra’s face. “It’s all over,” she quoted.

Debra’s face clouded. “That was something else. You don’t die of a broken heart. You just… suffer for a while.”

Judy put a hand on her own heart. “I was suffering,” she acknowledged.

“It can make you kind of delirious,” Debra admitted.

Judy started to laugh. “Six hours,” she said. “I left at eight and drove without stopping.”

Debra got up. “Let me make you a hot drink.”

Judy followed her to the table. Debra filled an oversized ceramic polka-dot mug with hazelnut coffee. “That’s all I have,” she apologized. She set it down in front of her mother, with no placemat.

Judy accepted the mug gingerly and took an uncertain sip. “Mmm, interesting.”

“It’s my favorite,” Debra said stoutly. She filled another mug for herself.

Judy watched her daughter closely. “You really are fine,” she said.

Debra nodded.

Judy looked around. “It’s a nice house,” she decided finally. “A good place to start.”

“Start what?”

Judy shrugged. “Start over.”

Debra gave a small smile.

Judy finished her coffee. “I’ll go back then.”

“Call me when you get home,” Debra said.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 621)