Chapter 29
I find Mom in the kitchen when I tiptoe down the stairs in the morning. She’s at the counter, trying—unsuccessfully—to make coffee with one arm. I slip in beside her and lift the carafe from the brewer to take over. She darts a glance at me before sliding onto a stool.
“Caleb just left,” she says. “I found him and the dog asleep on the couch. I guess he didn’t trust us alone together.”
“Oh?” I hedge. It’s too early to tell Mom about Caleb and me.
We didn’t make any decisions last night, and I have a lot to think about.
Besides, Mom and I have more important things to discuss first. Complicating that conversation by telling her I’ve been having a secret affair with the nephew of the man she had a secret affair with—well, I can’t wrap my head around that yet.
The noise from the coffee grinder gives us a reprieve, a moment of forced silence as I calculate my words. But as the percolator kicks in, I turn to her, gripping the counter with both hands. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“Oh, honey. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m your mother and should have stayed—to make it up to you and earn your forgiveness. I’ve laid awake at night for years replaying all the other choices I could have made and the better person I should have been.” Her voice is hoarse.
“And I knew it wasn’t fair to blame you for the accident. I guess I didn’t know where else to put my anger.”
“I get it. I do. I put all that pain in motion. Our life was beautiful before that night.” Mom glances down at the counter.
“You and Dad had seemed happy.” I hesitate, not sure this line of inquiry can lead to anything good, or even if there is a question to be asked.
Is it my right to know? Only the two people in a relationship know the truth of it.
But for years, I felt gaslit by my parents’ marriage, and I couldn’t decipher what healthy or happy looked like.
“I was confused because it really seemed like you loved him.”
“We were happy. And I did love him. There’s a part of me that never stopped loving him,” she says.
“We were so young when we fell in love, and he was my best friend. He was kind and thoughtful and gave me a perfect family. He gave me you. And then life happened, and we lost sight of why we loved each other. I became a full-time wife and mother and gave up my art and pieces of myself. And then, I came here for the summer—for you at first—but it was like the world opened up. Grand Trees reminded me that I was an artist and there was a world beyond my routine. And Sonny reminded me that I was a woman. He made me see new colors . . .” She wrings her hands.
“I don’t know, that probably sounds selfish and silly. ”
Sonny played her a symphony. He made her life multisensory. Sonny was her Caleb. But I can’t absolve her, and maybe it’s not my job to forgive her infidelity anyway. She made vows to my dad, not to me. I don’t know how to respond, so I say nothing.
“When I was home with you and Dad, I was fully committed. I wasn’t longing for Sonny or Grand Trees.
When I was here, Sonny was my world. I know how it sounds, but I fooled myself that I could have both, if only for a few weeks in the summer.
Sonny accepted that I would never give him more than that, and I was delusional, thinking that if he wasn’t a threat to our family, then my love for him couldn’t hurt us. ”
“But he was a threat to our family. You left.”
Mom pats the stool beside her, and I cautiously slide onto it. The heat is gone from last night’s argument, but the kindling is still sparking, and if we’re not careful, the blaze can roar back to life.
“I did, and I wish I could take it back. Don’t get me wrong.
I loved Sonny, and I was so grateful for our life together.
But I would have given it all up for another chance to have been the mother you deserved and the wife I promised to be to your father.
” She twists her hands in her lap, and I notice the slight tremor she’s trying to keep at bay.
“I told you last night that I had been in a dark place after your accident. Looking back, I realize I should have been in therapy and on antidepressants. I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I wasn’t eating. I had some dark thoughts.
” She shakes her head as if clearing the memories.
“By the time I left, I honestly thought you’d be better off without me—that I’d caused so much pain and didn’t deserve to be your dad’s wife or your mom.
I hated myself for what I had done.” Tears slip down her face, and she wipes them away before I can.
“When I got here, Sonny took one look at me and knew I wasn’t well.
He took care of me. By the time I got better and started to feel like I could be useful to you again, I’d done so much damage, I didn’t know how to make amends. ”
Thoughts of that time—the complicated web of betrayal, injury, and abandonment—have always triggered my latent rage, but what remains now is sadness and shame, and I try to hear her words. I have to silence the hurt part of me to listen to the hurt part of her.
Neither of us survived that night intact. And the choices we made next were the product of wounded people. She was the mother—the adult—so she had a greater responsibility to do the right thing. But she was human, too. And sometimes our flaws win out over our better natures.
I don’t know what forgiveness feels like. I don’t know what’s on the other side of all the resentment I’ve harbored. But I’m ready to accept that this was my story—this was our story. Our family’s foundation collapsed, and we didn’t have the tools to rebuild.
“I shouldn’t have punished you like I did, with silence for years and years. And I shouldn’t have unloaded on you last night. I came here because I wanted to reconcile but somehow made it worse.”
Mom gives me a small smile, and her blue eyes go soft.
“You haven’t made it worse. I’m grateful you finally said it.
You swallowed your anger, and it made us strangers.
Maybe we had to unload. All that baggage has been heavy.
” She laces her hand in mine. “Edie, I love you, and I’ve missed you.
I’d give anything for us to be close again. ”
I wrap her in my arms, careful not to hurt her but relieved when she pulls me close, squeezing away some of my hurt in the process.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you more.” It’s an old refrain that stabs me somewhere tender.
We hold each other, our tears mixing together as we whisper apologies and promises. We can’t rewrite the past, but perspective might give us a path forward. We’re both wiping at tears as we pull apart.
“What would you think about me staying?” I hadn’t planned on broaching this with her yet, but I’m emboldened by our honesty, and the words slip out.
“Staying?” She blinks away tears and surprise. “In Grand Trees?”
“I’d have to go back and forth—for work, and Dad and . . .” I trail off, the reality sinking in. Cassie’s having a baby, and Dad is aging. It’s probably naive and impulsive to flip my life upside down for a man I’ve just met.
But it’s not only for Caleb. I wasn’t happy in San Francisco. I was living in the home I bought with Jeff, still sleeping on my half of the bed, rattling around in the life we created that was suddenly silent and oversize.
And perhaps I can convince Mom to seek treatment if I’m here long enough. Perhaps I can live a new life, one I didn’t plan, that isn’t neat and safe but is full, daring, and unexpected.
“Is this because of Jeff? Are you running from heartbreak, honey? Because as much as I’d love for you to be here with me, I also want you to learn from my mistakes. I never resolved my feelings for your dad. I just ran. It hurt him, it hurt you, and it meant Sonny got only a portion of me, too.”
This is more insight into my parents’ relationship than either of them has volunteered, but I still don’t understand how Mom could have loved them both. I can’t fathom how that’s possible.
But she needn’t be concerned I’m following in her footsteps. “I’m not running from Jeff. I haven’t loved him in a very long time.” Perhaps I never did.
“Well, good, because that doesn’t do anyone any good in the long run. Sometimes I wonder if . . .”
She gets a faraway look in her eye, and I chase her gaze. “You wonder what?”
“I know it’s silly, but sometimes I think my guilt contributed to my illness. They say no, but it’s not good for your health to leave things unresolved and hostile. All the stewing I did. All the sleep I lost. All the pain I caused everyone.”
Her admission feels like the answer to the riddle that’s plagued me since I found out about her diagnosis and denial of care. Is she punishing herself? “Mom, is that why you’re refusing to get help? Because you think you deserve it?” The words catch in my throat, and I swallow a swell of emotion.
“No, no,” she says, but she won’t look at me.
“Mom,” I plead. “You don’t deserve this. This isn’t your payback, and that’s not how illness works. If you won’t get treatment for you, do it for me. Give me back the time we lost. Don’t punish me by punishing yourself.”
Mom’s eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.”
I wipe away her tears with my thumbs. “I think we’ve both been punishing ourselves in different ways. We should stop doing that.”
She smiles at me, her face lighting up as if a shade has been lifted. “Look at you, all grown up and wise. Your dad did such a good job.”
“So did you. I remember everything, Mom. All the late nights sewing my pointe shoes while I studied. All the times you comforted me after a bad class. How you made sure I spent every summer feeling like a kid rather than just a ballerina. The way you were proud but didn’t push.
I remember dancing with you in the kitchen and the lunches you packed and the notes you’d leave in my backpack.
I remember how your love felt like the best and surest thing in the world. ”
Her tears fall unchecked, but I know they’ve shifted from grief to joy, because my tears are falling, too. It’s a catharsis and cleanse as we give in to the dormant memories of how right it once was between us.
“Let me do this for you. With you,” I say.
“I can’t have you sacrifice everything to take care of me.” Mom searches my gaze with a hopefulness that betrays her excitement. “Your life is in San Francisco. You have your job. Your friends. I’m all you have here.”
“It wouldn’t be a sacrifice. I’d stay because I want to.
” I could tell her about Caleb, but I don’t want to upstage the breakthrough we’ve made.
I don’t want this moment to be about anything but our relationship, her health, and the possibility of us having more time to repair the rift that broke us.
“And think about treatment, okay? For me.” Her medical options aren’t great here, but if I stay and convince her to see a doctor, it’s certainly better than the status quo.
And who knows? Maybe this town has some magic to spare for us.
I think of the words Caleb shared months ago. Grand Trees can heal you if you let it.
Mom nods rapidly, blinking back tears. “I will.” She cups my cheek in her good hand. “And you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want. But think about it long and hard. It’s a big decision, and I don’t want any more regrets getting between us.”