An Upright hand by david henson

Helen fans the back door, her white hair fluttering. Stupid me, she thinks, just when Susie is due. Helen sniffs. Maybe she won’t smell it. She goes to the microwave. The tin is scorched and warped, the pull-tab upright like a hand asking for help. Sardine oil slicks the interior of the oven. Smells like when Pop used to take Bobby and me fishing. She used to whisper blessings over the bait buckets so the fish would bite. Pop teased her, but they usually came home with a loaded stringer. Get out of the past. Susie. Helen slips on an oven mitt, pitches the exploded can, and taps the waste basket three times. Get this wiped out before—

“Mom, I’m here.”

Helen hurries to her daughter. “Hi, Sweetie. Thought we’d have our coffee in the living room this time.”

Susan taps on her phone and frowns before looking at her mother. “Formal today, are we?” Susan plops into her late father’s recliner. She pushes partway back then stiffens. “What’s that smell, Mom?”

Helen starts to say something about the catfish her brother caught but stops herself. “Fried up some bacon.”

“I don’t think so.” Susan goes into the kitchen, Helen following, sniffing.

Susan opens the microwave, and steps back. “Ugh. What this time, Mom?” Helen studies her daughter’s face—the same eyes as Bobby’s.

“I…maybe that catfish…I think…I…’’ Snap out of it, Helen. Concentrate. Stay here. Stay now. “Silly me. Sardines. Just a little careless.”

Susan hugs her mother. A moment later, Helen feels a phone shudder against her. The weight lifts and Susan’s elbow presses into Helen’s ribs.

Susan hangs up, holds the phone with her armpit, and squeezes both of her mother’s hands. Helen, unsure whether to squeeze back or pull away, does neither. “Mom, you’re not just absent-minded. It’s…you’re a danger to yourself. Understand?“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“You want to wad me up like a used tissue.”

“Mom, you know that’s not true. I…Jim and I…found a wonderful place. It has trees and even a pond.”

Helen tells herself not to nibble. “I’m fine here. Right here. My house.” Helen feels her daughter’s sigh.

“Mom, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Pull it together. This is it. “Okay, let’s talk about it.”

When Susan wipes her eyes with her thumb, Helen can’t help blinking. “I’ll get our coffee.”

In the kitchen, Helen pours two cups. She bends her right hand up at the wrist and circles it twice counterclockwise over the left cup.

Left cup left cup is hers she chants to herself as she returns to the living room. Susan’s phone dings. Helen sets down the tray and takes, the cup on the…on the…right.

“Mom, you’re staring at me,” Susan says as she sips her coffee.

Mom, I’ve had a change of heart, Helen imagines her daughter saying.

Susan takes another sip and frowns at her cup. “You made it strong today.” You took care of me for twenty years.

“Not at all, Sweetie.”

 I couldn’t bear you being in a facility. You’re staying put.

Susan takes another sip. “Actually pretty good.” Sip sip sip.

The bobber twitches. Helen leans forward.

Susan’s phone dings. “Mom, I can’t do this.”

The bobber jiggles. Helen tenses.

“I have to get back to the office.”

The line goes slack.

Susan strokes Helen’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Mom. Jim and I will take care of everything. You’ll wake up one morning here and go to bed in your new home.”

As Susan backs out of the driveway, Helen bends up her right hand and circles it twice counterclockwise. Susan waves.

After her daughter leaves, Helen makes the gesture at every door and window in the house. Then she takes a can of sardines from the cupboard and goes to the microwave. My kitchen.

David Henson and his wife reside in Illinois. His work has been nominated for Pushcart Prizes, Best Small Fictions, and Best of the Net and has appeared in various publications including Bottle Rocket Lit Mag, Best Microfictions 2025, Ghost Parachute, Moonpark Review, Maudlin House, and Literally Stories, His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His X handle is @annalou8.