CHAPTER

6

Sitting on the bed in her motel room, Rita Lynn knew if she wanted to get past the hurt brought on by the letter, forgiving her parents was paramount. But it was difficult. They’d loved her and did what they felt was best for her future, but that future was impacting the present with a heartache so consuming she was finding it hard to sleep. Because of their decision, so much was owed, but after the passage of forty years, did it matter? Had she been written off—­forgotten? Worrying about how she’d be received couldn’t be a factor. That she’d played no part in her parents’ actions couldn’t be a factor either—­it didn’t banish the guilt plaguing her, nor salve her overwhelming sense of loss.

The loss, more than anything, brought forth such a tremendous rage that her fists balled, and she shook with the urge to scream, but that wouldn’t change anything. The past was done. She had only the future, which meant returning to the place where it all began. There was no other choice.

She put on her coat, locked the door of the motel room, and, pulling her roller bag after her, headed down the open walk to the rental car she’d picked up yesterday evening at the airport. Having lived in California most of her adult life, she’d forgotten how cold the Kansas plains could be in early December, especially at dawn. She blew on her freezing hands and shivered as she waited for the heat to cut the chill in the car’s interior.

She hadn’t slept well last night. She hadn’t expected to. Worries about how she’d be received kept resurfacing, but she fought them down, reminding herself this was the only way.

The rental car was fairly new, so it didn’t take long for the warmth to rise or the defrosters to take care of the iced-­over front and back windshields. Once she could see clearly, she activated the GPS on her phone and let the electronic voice guide her out of the parking lot and onto Highway 183. Heading north, she swallowed her fears. “Dear God,” she said aloud, “Please see me through this day. Amen.” Hoping the small prayer would be answered, she settled in for the drive to Henry Adams.

An hour later, she pulled up in front of the house and studied it. The big porch looked the same, but the outside had under­gone some renovations. The old shutters were no longer on the upstairs windows, and the roof looked new. She had no way of knowing if the person she sought was still the owner. Common sense said she should’ve called before leaving California and traveling all this way, but after her mother’s letter, her determination to come back to Henry Adams and share the truth had overridden rational thinking.

The drapes on the front windows moved. Someone inside was checking out the car, so she gathered her nerves, picked up her purse, and walked to the porch. Climbing the steps brought back memories of how many times she’d done this before. Girding herself, she knocked.

The door opened, and there she stood. Older, of course. The passage of time had turned her hair silver, but the dark eyes were still keen and the bearing just as proud. “Ms. July. I’m—­”

“Rita Lynn. I know. We’ve been waiting for you a long time. Come in.”

Tears filled Rita’s eyes.

“Come on,” Tamar invited softly. “You’re here. Nothing else matters.”

Inside, Rita wiped at her tears and noted that the home’s interior had undergone some changes as well. It was larger, more airy. The old furniture she remembered had been replaced with modern pieces.

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Then join me. We’ll talk while we eat.”

Rita opened her purse and took out the letter. “I need you to read this first. My mother died two weeks ago. She left it for me.”

Tamar viewed her curiously, but took it and began to read. Shock claimed her face, and she stared at Rita. “Oh, my lord,” she whispered. “I need to sit down.” She sat on the sofa and resumed reading.

When she looked up at Rita again, Tamar’s voice shook with rage. “Ida told you he was dead?”

Too overcome to speak, Rita nodded.

“That bitch! She brought him to me like he was something she’d found in a sewer. Her only words were ‘Here’s your grandson.’ And she drove off. All these years I thought . . .”

“I’d abandoned him, or didn’t care?”

“Both.”

“No,” Rita assured her softly. “They told me he’d died a few hours after birth.”

“My god,” Tamar whispered.

“Is my son still here? I don’t even know his name.” That lack pierced her heart.

“Yes, he’s here. In fact, he’s the mayor. Name’s Trenton. We named him for my father. Mal’s still here, too.”

“Ms. July, I am so sorry.” Rita broke down.

Tears rolled unchecked down Tamar’s cheeks as she stood and gathered her close. ”You’ve nothing to apologize for, Rita Lynn. Nothing.”

And for the next few moments the two women connected to Trent since birth cried out the pain and loss caused by a terrible lie kept secret for forty-­five years.

“Let’s call Mal,” Tamar said softly.

Over at the Power Plant, Trent stuck his head in Bernadine’s office door. As always, she’d beaten him in to work and was seated at her desk drinking coffee. “Morning, Bernadine.”

She looked up. “Good morning.”

“Came to grab some coffee.”

“Help yourself.”

He never bothered making coffee in his own office because hers was always available. As he picked up the carafe and poured the dark brew into his mug that read “My Dad Rocks!”—­a gift from Devon for Father’s Day—­she said, “I was surprised by your announcement last night about Bobby.”

He shrugged. “Need to get him a job doing something. Figured why not?”

“Do you think he can handle it?”

“No idea.” He took a sip. “May take him a while to get up to speed, but I do need the help, and he’s the only one in town not already wearing six hats.”

“True.”

“He’s supposed to let me know this morning whether he’s going to take me up on the offer.” He checked his watch. “Told him to be here at eight sharp.” It was seven thirty.

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“Lil’s over at the school with Jack, trying to find a room for the library. Said to tell you she’d be in as soon as they were done.”

“Okay.”

They spent a few more minutes talking about their individual agendas for the day. Just as Trent was preparing to head down the hall to his own office, Bobby appeared.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Trent replied, pleased.

Bernadine echoed his greeting. She looked pleased as well.

“I’m ready to go to work,” Bobby said.

“Then grab some coffee if you want, and let’s get going.”

It turned out that the young man wasn’t a coffee drinker, so with a departing nod to Bernadine, he followed Trent out to begin his first day.

“Glad you decided to take the offer,” Trent said, watching him over his cup as he hung his coat on the free-­standing rack.

“Didn’t make sense not to. This is why Kiki and I moved here.”

“Ever read a blueprint?

“No.”

“Then we’ll start with that.”

Trent was explaining the basics when Mal walked in. His face was somber, and Trent could have sworn he’d been crying. “Dad? You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Trent’s first thought was Tamar. Had something happened? Was she hurt? He willed himself to remain calm. “Tamar okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Need to talk to you.” Mal nodded at Bobby. They’d met last night after the meeting. “Morning, Bobby.”

“Morning, Mr. July.”

“Trent, can you come out into the hall for a minute?”

“Sure.” His confusion was high. Excusing himself, he followed his dad.

Out in the hallway, Mal asked, “Is there someplace private where we can talk?”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Your mother’s here.”

Trent froze, studying his father’s face for signs of joking. “Not funny.”

“No, it isn’t. She’s out at Tamar’s. I just talked with Rita. Came to get you.”

A million questions screamed in his head. He drew in a deep breath, hoping it would slow his racing heart. “Let me send Bobby home.” Stunned, he walked back into the office.

Bobby took one look at his face and asked, “You okay, man?”

Trent’s brain was stuck on Your mother’s here. “No. I mean yeah, but I need to talk to my dad. Take the day off. I’ll probably be tied up most of the day.”

“Everybody okay? Your wife, kids, Tamar?”

Trent nodded. “Yeah. Just something needing my attention. I’ll pay you for the full day. Go on home. I’ll give you a call later.”

Still viewing him with concern, Bobby put on his coat. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“I will.”

After Bobby had gone, Mal stepped back in and closed the door.

“So why is she here after all this time?” Trent asked. The bitterness of being abandoned crept up even as he fought to keep it from claiming him. “Does she want forgiveness? Money? A kidney?” The sadness in Mal’s eyes was something he’d rarely seen, and it made him pause. “What? Tell me.”

“Up until recently, she thought you’d died at birth.”

Trent’s heart stopped.

Mal nodded. “Her mother told her you were stillborn.”

Trent’s eyes widened. Horror overrode bitterness.

“It’s in a letter her mother left for her to read after she died a few weeks back. She has it with her.”

Trent’s knees were so watery he thought he might fall. He dropped into a chair. All these years, he’d never imagined anything close to this. “Why would her mother have done that?”

“Shame, I guess. Rita Lynn was seventeen. Out-­of-­wedlock babies were the ultimate disgrace back then. Her parents thought they were doing the right thing.”

“God, Dad, look at my hands. I’m shaking.”

“It almost put me on the floor when she told me, too. Tamar wanted me to come and get you because she wasn’t sure you’d be able to drive safely.”

He wanted to say he was fine and could manage on his own, but it was a lie. Your mother’s here.

“She’s waiting to meet you, Trent. Do you want to see her?”

Focusing was difficult, so he drew in another deep breath. “Yes.”

“Okay. I’m going to let Bernadine know what’s going on, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

Like a man entranced, Trent stood alone for a moment in the silent office, not knowing what to say, think, or do. His world had been turned upside down. Nothing in life had prepared him for this. She thought you’d died at birth.

Minutes later he was in the passenger seat of Mal’s souped-­up red Ford truck being driven to Tamar’s. He had so many questions. “Did she come alone?”

“Yes. She’s married, but came by herself.”

“Where’s she live?”

Mal looked his way. “California. Parents moved there after they left here. I guess they wanted to get as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.”

“All this time, I thought . . .” He stopped, not wanting the angst tied to forty-­five years of being without her to rise again.

“I know what you thought. Me, I was damn mad that she never reached out. I know I wasn’t ready for prime time back then, but you were a baby. Hers and mine.”

“Tamar raised me well.”

“Yes, she did. But a kid needs his mother. I cursed her every day for turning her back on you the way I thought she did.”

“But she didn’t.”

“No. You two have a lot to catch up on.”

“So it’s okay with you—­she and I connecting?”

“Yes, but even if it wasn’t, you’re her son, too.”

He noted the tears shining in his father’s eyes. They mirrored his own.

Mal stopped the truck in front of Tamar’s house.

“Are you coming in?” Trent asked.

“No. She and I visited a little earlier, and we will again later. It’s your turn now.”

Trent looked up at the house, wondering what his mother might be thinking as she waited. He opened the door.

“Trent?”

He looked back. “Yeah, Dad?”

“A man couldn’t ask for a better son. I’m so proud of you. Even prouder of the way you’re raising your sons. You’re much better at it than I ever was. Rita’s going to be proud of you, too.”

In spite of Mal’s faults of the past—­the years of drinking, the womanizing, and all the worrying he’d caused family and friends—­Trent had loved him, and he loved this new and improved version even more. “We’ll talk later.”

“Okay.”

As he climbed the steps to the porch, Mal drove away.

Tamar met him at the door. “She’s in the kitchen. I’ll look in on you two later.”

He looked into his grandmother’s familiar eyes and suddenly, there were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to thank her for raising him and being the strong rudder he’d often needed to keep him on course in life. She, who drove her ancient truck Olivia as if they were qualifying for the pole at Indy, who’d taught him to catch fish and ice skate and made him paint the Jefferson fence twice one summer for what she called “stupid boy tricks,” was the main reason he was standing there today. She meant so much, he’d love her until night turned into day.

“I’ll see you in a little while.” He walked into the kitchen.

She was wearing a soft gray sweater and matching gray slacks. “Trenton?”

“Yes,” he replied softly.

Her eyes welled up, and the tears spilled down her brown cheeks. Her hand covered her mouth as if she were too overwhelmed to speak.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered, even as his own eyes filled up. He’d had no idea what he’d planned to say to her, but realized there was no script, only emotion. He went to her, she stood, he took her in his arms and held her like the treasure he’d been searching for his entire life while she held him like she never wanted to let him go. They rocked. She sobbed brokenly. He cried silently.

She whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“What you must’ve thought of me,” she countered “Oh, my son. My son . . . All the years I’ve missed, but I didn’t know.”

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” And for him it was. It must have taken great courage for her to come back, not knowing whether she’d be embraced or stoned, even though none of it had been her fault. But she’d come anyway, and that told him all he needed to know. He eased back a bit and met her watery gaze. “The past is the past. I’m so glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, too.”

“Let’s go forward. Okay? You and me.”

She placed her hand against his cheek. “So wise. That must’ve come from your grandmother, because you certainly didn’t get it from me or Mal.”

The sarcasm caught him off guard.

Her wet eyes glowed with twinkling mischief, and he threw back his head and laughed.

From that moment on, things went well. After making liberal use of the box of tissues on the table, she had a thousand and one questions about him and his life. And he had just as many for her. He told her about Lily and the boys and their adoptions.

“I have two grandsons?” she replied eagerly.

“Yes, Devon is twelve, and Amari is fourteen.”

“You and your Lily are very special ­people to open your hearts and home that way. I can’t wait to meet them all.” She quieted for moment as if thinking on that, then echoed in a proud voice, “Two grandsons. Paul is going to be ecstatic.”

Trent knew from what she’d told him that Paul was her husband. He also knew that she and Paul had a daughter named Val, who was ten years younger than Trent and a high-­powered criminal attorney.

“She graduated top of her class from Harvard Law. Worked Wall Street for a year or two, then moved to LA. Represents the rich and infamous in everything from embezzlement to murder to baby-­mama lawsuits.” Her still-­damp eyes sparked humorously. “Has a wall in her office I call her Wall of Shame, covered with pictures of her posed up with her clients: actors, rappers, politicians, Silicon Valley high-­ups. She makes a very good living. And she’s happy. Which is all that matters.”

“Can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’s anxious to meet you, too.”

They talked about everything and nothing, but mostly they drank each other in with their eyes. Trent feasted on the way she moved, spoke, and laughed. At one point she said, “Lord, you look so much like Mal.”

“That a compliment?”

She cracked up. “When I was seventeen, it definitely was. He’s still a good-­looking man, though, as are you.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I think I’m still pretty hot for sixty-­plus. Not sure if the world agrees, but I don’t much care.”

He liked her feistiness. “So what do you do? Are you a teacher? A doctor like your husband?”

“I’m an artist. Own a small gallery in Monterey, not too far from where we live.”

He found that surprising, though he didn’t know why. An artist. He noted the many silver bracelets on her wrists and the striking silver earrings dangling from her lobes. Very old-­school, but she wore them with the style and attitude he’d often seen in women her age.

Tamar entered the kitchen, carrying a ­couple of battered shoe boxes and a photo album. “Since it sounded like all the crying’s stopped, I figured it was safe to come in.” She set the items on the table. “Remember that old TV show, This Is Your Life?”

They nodded.

She gestured.

Confused, Trent removed the lids from the boxes and saw his track medals lying neatly on top of a stack of report cards held together with an aging rubber band. Beneath them were football game flyers from his high school days and programs from his band concerts. He saw his Boy Scout handbooks and all the badges he’d earned, and many other items from his formative years he’d forgotten about over time. The photo album held faded Polaroids of him as a toddler and other photos of him all spruced up for school picture day, ranging from kindergarten to graduation. There was even a shot of him and Lily on their way to the senior prom. The memorabilia filled him with such wonder, all he could do was stare.

Tamar smiled. “Enjoy. Mal will be here with lunch in a bit,” she said, and then exited.

They dove in and lost track of time as Trent explained the items in the shoe boxes. His mother read over one of the band programs from high school. “You played the flute?”

“Yes, but after high school I let it go. Picked it up again recently when I was courting Lily.”

“Really? How romantic.”

“Amari thought I was nuts, but I got the girl.”

His college diplomas were in the album too, and when she saw them, she raised her eyes to his and her voice echoed with surprise. “You went to Stanford?”

He nodded.

“Gosh, you were just up the road from us. So close, and yet so far . . .” Tears shone in her eyes. She pulled a tissue from the nearly depleted box. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he said reassuringly. “We’re fine.”

About thirty minutes later, Mal entered the kitchen carrying a huge bag. “Is all the crying done? I brought lunch.”

Rita and Trent replied with contented nods.

“Good. Then, Rita Lynn, would you mind having lunch with your baby-­daddy?”

She laughed. “Lord, forty-­five years, and you have not changed.”

Trent shook his head and moved the photo albums and the shoe box contents aside. Mal set the bag in the newly cleared spot. “I have, but I try and keep that under wraps. Do you mind, son?”

“No, Dad. Just hand me my food, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Mal passed him a sandwich wrapped in white paper that had his name written on it in Rocky’s handwriting and a Styrofoam container of smoking-­hot fries. Trent grabbed a can of cola from Tamar’s fridge and told Rita, “If he gets too outrageous, just yell.”

Once he’d gone, Rita said seriously, “He’s a fine man, Mal. You raised him well.”

Mal extracted two more sandwiches from the bag. “Not me. Had very little to do with his raising. You still like pastrami?”

Her smile answered.

They unwrapped their sandwiches, doctored their fries, and dug in. Rita groaned pleasurably at the taste of the pastrami. “Oh, this is damn good.”

“From my diner.”

“Your diner?”

“Yes, the Dog and Cow,” he said proudly.

She choked on the cola she was sipping. “The Dog and what?”

“Cow. As in moo.”

“Why in hell did you name it that?”

“Drinking.”

“I guess,” she said, still amused.

He turned serious. “No, Rita Lynn. Really, drinking.”

She paused and studied the serious set of his features.

“Which is why I had nothing to do with how he’s turned out. Tamar did it all.”

And as if to answer all the questions competing in her head to be asked, he gave a one-­word answer. “ ’Nam.”

She understood, or at least she thought she did. Many of the men of their generation went into the jungles of Southeast Asia and were irrevocably changed by the death and horror. There were incredible stories of courage and sacrifice too, but when they returned home, they were vilified, spit upon, and marginalized for having served their country in a war like no other the world had ever seen.

“Out of the twelve men I signed up with, only two of us came back—­me and Clay Dobbs. Remember Clay?”

“I do.”

“He still lives here. ’Nam changed him from the happy-­go-­lucky joker we used to hang with into somebody so quiet and rigid you wouldn’t even know he was the same person.”

She was saddened by that. Clay had always been such a joy to be around.

“Me, I thought I’d come home fairly whole, but about a year later I started having nightmares.”

She listened as he talked about using the liquor initially to help him sleep, but as his tolerance to alcohol increased, drinking more and more to escape the nightly demons.

“Five years in, I was a full-­fledged drunk, and of course I didn’t think I needed help. I’d managed to get my degree in veterinary medicine on Uncle Sam’s dime and start my practice. I was what they now call a functional alcoholic. In my mind I was controlling the drink, it wasn’t controlling me. And during all this, Tamar raised our boy.”

“How did he handle your drinking?”

“I don’t know. I was too drunk to know, most of the time.”

“Oh, Mal.” She ached for their son. An absentee mother and an alcoholic father. She thanked God for Tamar.

For a few silent moments he stared off into the distance, as if viewing the memories. “If I could go back and change things . . . But of course I can’t.”

Her heart broke.

“If it hadn’t been for Trent, though, I’d probably be dead or serving time.”

“What do you mean?”

He told her about the teenage Trent hunting him down and pulling him out of bars. “He and Lily riding around in Black Beauty every weekend, dragging my sorry ass home when they should’ve been going to dances and the drive-­in.”

“Black Beauty? The New Yorker you used to have?”

“Yep. Gave it to him when he turned sixteen. He still has it.”

If she remembered correctly, the backseat of that car was where Trent had been conceived, but she saw no need to bring that up. “How long have you been sober?”

“Eleven years and counting.”

“Very proud of you.”

“Proud of myself.”

When she made the decision to return, she’d envisioned Mal’s life being as full yet as uneventful as her own, not fraught with challenge. “Married?”

“No. Alcohol was my woman, and when I divorced her, I discovered PYTs.”

She knew the acronym from the old Michael Jackson song. “Pretty young things?”

He grinned over his sandwich.

“Oh god.” She groaned.

“Those little blue pills will make a man lose his mind.”

She laughed.

“Then a few years back I met the love of my life. Her name’s Bernadine Brown, and I’m hoping to live happily ever after.”

That was good to hear. She wanted him to be happy. “Does she live around here?”

“Owns the place.”

“Owns what place?”

“Henry Adams.”

“What do you mean, she owns Henry Adams?”

So he told her about Henry Adams going broke, and Bernadine buying the town off eBay.

“Stop lying.”

He held up his hand like he was taking the oath in court. “Truth. Hopefully, you’ll get a chance to meet her. We’ve been good for each other.”

“I’m glad you’re happy, Mal.”

“I am, too. She’s amazing. So enough about me. Tell me about you and your cardiac surgeon guy.”

In the living room, Trent heard the occasional laughter coming from the kitchen. “Sounds like they’re having a good time catching up.”

“Yes, it does,” Tamar said.

They were watching SportsCenter. It was now the top of the hour, so she changed the channel. “Time for All My Children.”

He laughed. “All My Children is still on?” She’d been an AMC fan for as long as he could remember. As the episode began, he was startled by the sight of two familiar characters from his youth. “Angie and Jesse are still on, too? Didn’t he die way back when?”

“He did. Died of a gunshot wound in the hospital. Then he was a ghost.”

He chuckled. “Wait. A ghost?”

“Don’t judge. Now he’s back as a real person, but a different character.”

“But he’s Jesse.”

“No, he’s not.” She picked up the remote and turned back to SportsCenter. “I’ll watch it later. Won’t be able to enjoy it with you commenting the whole time.”

“Sorry.”

“Finish your lunch.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

After lunch, it was decided that Rita would stay with Tamar. She’d originally planned on flying back to California the next day, but she thought she might hang around a few days longer. She especially wanted to meet her grandchildren. “Can I meet them and Lily tomorrow?” she asked Trent, who was in the kitchen with her. Mal had already said good-­bye. “Today’s been so emotional, I’m not sure I can take much more.”

“I understand. Go ahead and rest up. I’ll come get you tomorrow, show you around the new and improved Henry Adams, and you can have dinner with us.”

“I’d like that.”

They shared a long parting hug, “Thank you for today,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for your courage.”

“Thank you for your grace.”

He went out to her rental car, brought her suitcase in, and watched as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. He’d called Lily, who was on her way to pick him up and drive him back to his truck, still parked in the lot at the Power Plant. He stayed a few moments longer to talk with Tamar.

“Do you like her?” asked Tamar.

“I do.” He couldn’t wait for Lily and the boys to meet her.

“I wasn’t a big fan of her parents. Both were way too stuck-­up and class-­conscious for me, but Rita Lynn, I liked. When Mal told me she was pregnant, I wanted to slap both of them into next week for being so careless, but out of that mess came you.”

“Yes.” He’d seen a picture of the young Rita and Mal. They were seated on Tamar’s steps, relaxed and smiling, both sporting the huge Afros that were so popular then.

“Now everything has come full circle, and the hole in your heart has been filled.”

He never remembered talking with Tamar about it, but the kindness in her eyes stoked his emotions.

“Trenton, I know better than anyone how much it hurt you, not having her in your life. When you were little, it hurt me every time you asked where she might be, and why she didn’t love you like the mothers of your friends loved them. When you got to be around eight or nine, you stopped asking altogether, and that hurt me as well.”

Trent had fought hard to be stoic growing up, so that no one would see his pain. “You were my port in the storm. Thank you for raising me.”

“I wasn’t going to let Mal do it,” she tossed back in her frank way. “As much as I love him, I knew he didn’t have the maturity, plus there was the alcohol, so—­it was you and me.” She quieted for a moment, as if thinking back on those years. “You favor her a lot, you know.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You look like a typical July, but I could always see her in your face, too. Still can.”

That made him smile.

A horn sounded outside. Lily. It was time to go. She opened her arms, and he stepped into her hug to be buoyed by her love. “You are one amazing old lady.”

She hugged him tighter. “Most of this gray hair is from you, mister, but for your love it’s been worth it.”

He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for your love, too.”

“You’re welcome.”

On the walk to the car, Tamar’s words resonated within like a heartbeat: The hole in your heart has been filled. And that’s how he felt.

Lily got out of the car and walked into his arms. They held each other tightly. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered.

Indeed, he felt like the happiest man in the world. He was married to a beautiful force of nature, father to a pair of awesome sons, and he’d just spent the afternoon getting to know the mother he’d been longing for his entire life. “Thanks for loving me.”

“No problem. You ready to talk about it?”

“How about we wait until we get home. That okay?”

“You bet.”

On the drive back to town, he didn’t know if he was overreacting or being a wimp, but he wanted to think about this privately for a while longer. Finally he too had a mother. Growing up, he’d wondered more times than he cared to acknowledge whether there’d been something wrong with him, whether it was his fault that she never came to see him. Of course, he never lacked for love or guidance, but Mother’s Day was always hard. He’d wanted to be able to buy cards for his mother the way Gary Clark and his other friends did for theirs. He’d wanted to see her smile, give her presents for her birthday and for Christmas, and sit beside her at church on Easter morning. Over the years he’d convinced himself that the hole in his life didn’t matter; so what if he had no mom cheering for him in the stands at his sporting events, or to talk with on the porch on starry summer nights or take pictures of him and Lily on their way to the prom? Tamar had done all those things and more. But in the hidden recesses of himself, he’d always wanted Rita Lynn Merchant to suddenly appear and tell him how much he meant and how much she loved him. Being with her today was like being given a cool drink of water after crossing a desert. Lily and the boys filled his world with purpose, love, and joy, but his life had felt incomplete because of one small missing piece. Now that piece was in place, and he couldn’t be happier.

They reached the Power Plant parking lot, and he said, “Thanks. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

When he got home, Lily was in the living room and, true to her word, silent, waiting until he was ready. He went into the powder room off the kitchen, splashed water on his face, and paused for a moment to view his reflection in the mirror. What a day. He flashed himself a smile, dried his hands, and went to talk with his wife.