“I think she loved you in whatever way she was capable of then.”
I never invented some heroic excuse for her.
When they asked questions, I answered carefully.
“Did she love us?”
“I think she loved you in whatever way she was capable of then.”
“Why did she leave?”
Not when Jennifer broke her wrist.
“You’ll have to ask her if she ever comes back.”
She never did.
Not for birthdays.
Not for graduations.
Not when Jennifer broke her wrist.
On their twentieth birthday, both were home from college, and we decided to celebrate quietly at my house.
Not when Lizzie won a scholarship.
Nothing.
The girls eventually stopped asking.
On their twentieth birthday, both were home from college, and we decided to celebrate quietly at my house.
Jennifer wanted chocolate cake.
That morning, Lizzie posted a picture of both cakes online with a caption about being home with me for their birthday.
Lizzie wanted lemon.
So I made both because apparently retirement means creating twice as many dishes for adults who still argue over frosting.
That morning, Lizzie posted a picture of both cakes online with a caption about being home with me for their birthday.
I didn’t think twice about the post. The girls had shared pieces of their lives online for years, and Kayla had never reacted before once.
We were halfway through lunch when someone knocked.
Designer coat. Perfect hair. Diamond watch. Shoes that probably cost more than my refrigerator.
“I’ll get it,” I said.
I opened the door and had the air knocked right out of my lungs.
Kayla stood on my porch.
She looked expensive.
Designer coat. Perfect hair. Diamond watch. Shoes that probably cost more than my refrigerator.
She smiled as if we’d seen each other at Christmas.
“Margaret.”
I stared at her.
“Kayla.”
She smiled as if we’d seen each other at Christmas.
Then she stepped around me.
Jennifer and Lizzie appeared in the hallway.
She slipped off her shoes, shrugged out of her coat, and handed it to me as if she’d been invited.
“Girls?”
Jennifer and Lizzie appeared in the hallway.
Both went completely still.
Kayla clasped her hands.
She laughed nervously.
“Oh, my sweet girls.”
Nobody answered.
She laughed nervously.
“I know this is a surprise.”
Jennifer folded her arms.
Kayla ignored the remark.
“Twenty years is definitely one way to create suspense.”
Kayla ignored the remark.
“I can only imagine what your grandmother has told you about me.”
Lizzie glanced at me.
“Mostly your name.”
“Usually there are two people present for that.”
Kayla’s smile twitched.
“Well, there are two sides to every story.”
Jennifer said, “Usually there are two people present for that.”
I nearly choked.
Kayla kept going.
My son had been dead for twenty years, and somehow she was still making him responsible.
“Everything that happened was complicated. Your father couldn’t provide the life I deserved, and after he died, I was drowning.”
I felt heat rise into my face.
My son had been dead for twenty years, and somehow she was still making him responsible.
But before I could speak, Jennifer smiled.
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