She was early for mass. The church was warm.
She made the sign of the cross and thought of Mister and Liz. She smiled at their banter. They had laughed and talked and—cancer had not entered the conversation. All three of them had been so hungry to talk. Liz spoke of her father and his death. She spoke of a mother she clearly did not love. She came to this city to find herself. And found herself in Mister. Grace nodded as she sat in the pew. I know now why she ran from my Mister. Love can frighten. I wanted to run from Sam when he first loved me. And almost did.
She looked at Jesus, his arms outstretched, his familiar heart on fire.
I saw the room they’ve fixed for Vicente. Remember how Sam and I would linger in the room we both fixed up for Mister? Before he came to us? Sam would pace that room and wear a look. Now Mister wears that look. He wants the child more than she does. This is her gift to him. That’s love, to give a gift like that.
She will give him this gift.
She is not the woman she was.
She has learned how to love. I can see that.
I wasn’t cold. I wasn’t. I could’ve been warmer.
The words I’m sorry did not appear in the conversation, though it was what we ate for dinner.
When I left, he held me tight and called me Mom, my son, my Mister. He hadn’t called me Mom since he was four.
I saw that she was watching us, this woman, Liz. There was no envy in her eyes.
Perhaps this is a temporary truce.
Make it permanent, then, you, God, who are all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful. God, with a burning heart, make the truce into a peace that lasts.