After Rose and the children leave, and the dishes are done, Mother tidies up before heading to bed. I know it’s still light out, she says. But I’m beat. What a lovely day this was. It was indeed, Bea says, holding up her arms to give Mother a hug from where she sits at the kitchen table. And what a delicious lemon meringue pie. You outdid yourself. Thank you, my dear, Mother says, and she lays a hand on each of Gerald’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. I’ll see you in the morning, she says to Bea, and Gerald, you’ll come over to get Bea to the airport? Absolutely, Gerald says. I’ll be here.
Let’s go sit in the living room, Bea says. Gerald nods and grabs two beers from the fridge before following her down the hall. The dark is just beginning to fall, and from the pair of armchairs by the tall windows, the highest branches of the trees are set in relief against the sky. I love this view, Bea says, settling into her chair, tucking her legs up under her. It hasn’t changed. All this land. I love my garden at home, but it’s not this. It doesn’t have this feeling of expansiveness. She turns to Gerald. I wish you’d seen my garden in bloom. I’ve become somewhat obsessed. Maybe you can come over this summer?
I’d love to, he says, although I’m planning to go to Mississippi again. So wonderful, Bea says. Really. Your father would be proud. Would he, though? Gerald asks. I don’t know for sure. He’s like Mother. A different generation. I think she believes this is just a phase, and by next year I’ll take up golf or something, and move along. I don’t think you give her enough credit, Bea says. Look where she came from. Look at how well she’s doing. This is not the life she thought she would have. But she’s managed, she’s adjusted, she’s figured it out. Did you see her dancing with Kat after dinner?
They both smile. That Kathleen, Bea continues, she has your father’s brain. We’ve been playing postal chess, did I tell you? Her moves are something else—so similar to the kind of moves he used to make. But she looks and acts like you. Jack, though, reminds me of William. I told Rose this afternoon that she’s going to have her hands full in a few years. Gerald smiles. How did she respond? he asks. She laughed and said she knew. That she already did.
They each take a sip of beer. Bea wraps her sweater around her shoulders and yawns. Do you want to call it a night? Gerald asks, and Bea shakes her head. I want to stay up as long as possible, she says. I don’t want to miss a minute. Gerald nods. Who do you think you’re like? he asks after a minute. Which of your parents? I don’t know, Bea says. I really don’t. It’s not that clear for me. It’s way muddier.
Why? Gerald asks. What do you mean? I had four parents, she says. I think a little of each of them is in me, in some way or another. It’s a nice thought, though, isn’t it, she says, turning toward him and away from the darkening sky. Dead or alive, we carry these people with us. Your father is always with me. That’s lovely, Gerald says. That makes me happy.
Bea is quiet for a moment. This is the place that feels like my home, she says, no matter what I try to tell myself, no matter how hard I work to be at home there. I became who I am here. And I’m so happy to be able to come back. I’m sorry that it took William’s death to allow this to happen, but there you have it.
Gerald turns toward her and wants to hold her dear, familiar face in his hands. They hadn’t switched on the lamps, and it’s dark enough now that they are both covered in shadows. He can’t quite see the contours of her face. He pulls the ring box out of his pocket, the one Mother gave him a few years back, having carried it around with him since the night before, never able to find the right words. He cups it in his hands, one hand under, the other over, not quite ready to open it up. Bea, he says, feeling his cheeks turn red—but knowing this must be the moment, that he needs to do this now if he’s going to do this at all—could you see your way clear to staying here? To truly making this your home? She leans toward him, and now he can see, in the gaze of the moon, her cheekbones, her wide smile. She stands and holds out her hand, and he takes it, his palm touching hers. Let’s take a walk, she says. Let’s take a walk together.