Chapter 14 - My Mother Asked Me To Choose Her Version One Last Time
Margaret came to my house the next morning.
Lily was at school.
I opened the door but didn't invite her in.
She noticed.
“Can we talk?”
“Here.”
She looked toward the neighbor’s yard.
“Claire.”
“Privacy is how this family gets creative.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Then:
“Ryan told me Lily saw him.”
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
“Not yours.”
Her face tightened.
I waited.
“I’m leaving for a while.”
“Where?”
“Carol’s old place in Florida.”
“You hate Florida.”
“I know.”
Good.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I don't want you to think I'm disappearing.”
The sentence landed between us.
I looked at her.
“Are you asking permission?”
“No.”
“Forgiveness?”
“No.”
She thought.
“Maybe I’m asking whether you believe I loved you.”
I hated the question.
Not because I doubted it.
Because love had been used to explain too many decisions.
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“And Ryan?”
“Yes.”
“Your father?”
“I think so.”
She nodded.
It hurt anyway.
“I made choices I thought kept the family together.”
“I know.”
“Some did.”
Maybe.
“Some didn't.”
Yes.
She looked at the street.
“I still believe telling Ryan everything at thirteen would have broken him.”
“You may be right.”
She turned sharply.
That surprised her.
I continued.
“You were allowed to wait.”
She stared.
“You were not allowed to keep waiting forever and call it the same decision.”
She looked down.
No speech followed.
Good.
Then:
“Owen wants a relationship with you.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
I laughed.
“Of course he told you.”
Margaret winced.
She heard it.
“Old habit.”
“Yes.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll ask Owen what Owen wants.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Ryan will need us.”
“No.”
Her face tightened.
“He's facing an investigation.”
“Yes.”
“He lost work.”
Yes.
“He’s afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Then—”
“He needs people. That does not mean he gets access to Lily.”
Margaret looked hurt for him.
I didn't move.
She tried one last time.
“He's your brother.”
“I know exactly who he is.”
That ended it.
She stepped toward her car.
Then stopped.
“Your father came back one more time.”
I stared.
“After college?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop him?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He came to your apartment building.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Your twenty-fourth birthday.”
I had lived in Boston then.
“How do you know?”
“He called me from outside.”
“Why?”
“He was nervous.”
Of course.
“What did you tell him?”
Margaret looked at me.
“I told him to go upstairs.”
That surprised me.
“Did he?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean?”
“He hung up.”
I searched my memory.
Twenty-fourth birthday.
Friends.
Takeout.
A knock at the lobby buzzer around nine.
Someone I didn't recognize.
I had ignored it.
Maybe Dad.
Maybe not.
Margaret continued:
“He never told me.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
Of course.
One last uncertainty.
Not a secret someone had hidden.
A moment none of the surviving people could complete.
She got into her car.
May you like
I let her leave.
This time, I knew where she was going.
