Chapter 6 - The Family Explanation —
“What did you tell her?”
My mother’s mouth tightened.
“I told her you were under pressure.”
“And?”
“That marriage takes patience.”
“What else?”
She looked toward the Christmas tree.
I waited.
Finally, she said, “I may have told her that other women would appreciate a husband who works that hard.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
My mother mistook the silence for agreement.
“You provide a beautiful home. She doesn’t have to worry about money the way some women do.”
“She was worried about being alone.”
“I raised you while your father traveled.”
“And did you like it?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It sounds like the point.”
She stared at me.
I had never challenged her this directly. Usually, I let Emma handle the small cuts, then told her later that my mother meant well.
That was another job I had given my wife.
Absorb the insult.
Understand the intention.
Keep the peace.
“She came to you because she needed help,” I said. “You told her she wasn’t grateful enough.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
My mother’s eyes filled.
“I won’t be blamed for your marriage.”
“I’m not blaming you for my choices. I’m asking you to own yours.”
She picked up her purse.
“Call me when you’re calmer.”
“I’ll call when you’re willing to listen.”
After she left, I carried the casserole to the refrigerator.
There were containers inside, labeled in Emma’s handwriting.
Soup.
Chicken.
Pasta.
Meals she had prepared for the weeks after the baby came.
She had planned for a future in which she would be recovering, feeding a newborn, and still making sure I had dinner.
My phone buzzed.
Rachel.
I let it ring once before answering.
“How is she?”
“They’re watching her closely.”
“I’ve been worried.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t know she was calling you.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“You didn’t tell me she was alone.”
I leaned against the counter.
“You knew she was pregnant.”
“Yes. I thought you’d had dinner together. I thought she was going to bed.”
“She told me to go.”
Rachel was quiet for a long time.
Then she said, “That doesn’t sound like the whole conversation.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I would have told you to leave if I’d known she needed you.”
“I should have left without being told.”
“Yes,” she said.
The honesty hurt.
Then Rachel asked, “Did she know how often we’d been talking?”
May you like
I looked down at my phone.
For the first time since Christmas, I felt afraid of a question that had nothing to do with the hospital.
