CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX  

Lorraine checked the clock. The girls should have landed in DC by now. She hoped she could someday make the journey in person but wasn’t sure that was going to happen. The therapy exhausted her, for such little payoff. She’d already had one session with Erin the Therapist today, and would have another one later today. She was working on a surprise. The physical therapy was even more exhausting. Just standing and shuffling a few feet forward sapped her energy. At this rate, she couldn’t imagine ever living on her own again.

In the corner of the room, May colored with the kids, working on WELCOME HOME signs for their moms. They had brought a carton of glue sticks, glitter, and scissors to go with the paper. The ground would sparkle for weeks, holding on to the memory long after she had been released to go home. They’d even managed to get a few sparkles on her hands, which she hadn’t expected to like so much.

“When do I get to say ‘I told you so’?” Roza entered the room and flopped into the chair near the window. Lorraine tried to scowl, but couldn’t tell if she had succeeded. Lorraine envied Roza’s mobility. Of course, she had envied so much of Roza’s life. She loved her husband for forty-eight years before he died, and they had four strong boys and an entire bushel of grandchildren to spoil and cuddle. She had never known Roza to be unhappy—sure, there were frustrations, like not having enough money to replace their rusted-out Bonneville or her husband not listening to the doctor’s orders to cut his salt intake. But Roza had the life Lorraine had chosen once and been too scared to choose again. “I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like this no-talking thing.” Roza chuckled.

And to answer her question, no, she didn’t need to say “I told you so.” Roza had been right.

“Why did one man need so many different navy-blue suits? They all look the same.”

After Floyd had died, the two women boxed up his room, dumping armfuls of clothes into cardboard boxes to take to Goodwill. Floyd had always been a dapper dresser—his closet full of custom suits proved that. The navy were just the beginning. He also had black, pinstriped, tan, and even a few summer suits for the occasional summer wedding or lawn bowling party. He had a suit for every occasion, even his own funeral. Floyd would be buried in a dark green Italian suit he’d bought on his last business trip. She dumped another armful into the box.

“Who knows. He didn’t like to wear a suit more than a few times a year.”

Lorraine looked around Floyd’s room, her eyes searching for some evidence that he had been married to her. He had always kept his room spartan—only his bed, nightstand, and lamp for furniture, and art she’d chosen on the wall. Other than his closet, this could have been anyone’s room—his office had been where he’d made himself at home.

“Now that he’s gone, you can tell the girls the truth. Won’t that be a relief?” Roza sat on the edge of the bed to rest. They’d both begun to do that more these days. “I still have the box.”

Lorraine looked over her shoulder before she could stop herself. Old habits died slowly.

“Absolutely not. There’s no reason to dredge up the past now. What good would it do?”

Roza stood, retrieved an armload of white shirts, and dumped them into an empty box, not even bothering to remove the sturdy wood hangers.

“They deserve to know the truth. They should know Joe was their father, not Floyd.”

“They’ve both grown up just fine, married and with their own babies now.”

Lorraine knew these were excuses, so she did what she always did when she felt uncomfortable feelings, she ignored them and focused on something else, something practical. She stopped to rest and stretch her arms, which had started to ache from packing. Floyd’s room, the house’s master bedroom, was a touch bigger than hers. Maybe she could turn this into a guest room for when Victoria and Jeff came to visit—then their kids could bunk in Victoria’s and Regina’s old rooms and the whole family wouldn’t be crowded. She’d take this one herself, but her room did get better natural light.

“Are you listening to yourself? Someday it’s going to be too late, Lorraine. Gina and Vicky should know that Joe loved them, and that you loved him, and that you were happy once.”

That caught Lorraine’s attention.

“I am happy,” Lorraine said.

Roza snorted.

“I have been. How could I not be happy with my girls?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. It’s time to let them in, after hiding for thirty years. Don’t you want them to know you?”

Lorraine thought about it. Thought about telling her daughters her biggest secret. Would they understand? Would they forgive her? They were both so capable—could they grasp why she’d made the choices she’d made? No. It was too big of a risk.

“No. The past is the past, and there is nothing to be gained from airing dirty laundry at this late date. That’s the end of it.”

“Fine. But when you die, I’m telling them.” Roza closed the lid on a box, folding the flaps so it would stay shut.

“You’re assuming you’ll outlive me, but you have almost twenty years on me.”

“It’s more like fifteen, and you never let me forget it.”

Had Lorraine taken Roza’s advice that day, she would have been able to make the journey to DC with her girls instead of waiting for them to return, worrying about their flight, and wondering what they were thinking. She’d been reflecting a lot on the mistakes she had made in her life—almost always, it seemed now, the choices she’d made had been based on what was easier. She chose marrying for convenience, really, over hard work. She chose keeping Joe a secret over facing the anger of her daughters. She chose artifice over authenticity every time. Since the stroke, she’d begun to wonder if easier was not always the answer.

But she had to believe it was never too late to change. She wanted to be the woman who’d fallen in love with the flirtatious used-car salesman, the one who only needed love to be happy.

Lorraine smoothed the sheet on her lap, admiring the way the glitter picked up the sunshine streaming in the window. Roza had fallen asleep in the chair, a soft snore rumbling with each breath, almost like a cat purring. They both nodded off a bit more these days. Nathan crawled onto her bed, his hands covered in glue and more glitter, leaving a trail of specks on the white bedding.

Nathan’s large brown eyes were exactly the same shape as Joe’s, down to the long, thick lashes. His sticky fingers clasped her cheeks as he gazed at her intently and seriously. Lorraine sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. It felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

Sure, she had always spent time with her grandchildren, Christmas and Easter, when rooms were crowded, parents were stressed, and kids were exhausted from being on their best behavior for too many hours in a row. Before the stroke, she was too busy finding fault in their behavior, or their parents’ parenting decisions to really see them. Or for them to see her.

As frustrating as not being able to speak was, maybe there were some benefits to it. Room to breathe. Room to see.

May had watched the exchange and retrieved a damp washcloth from the bathroom to clean off the glitter coating her face. Lorraine waved her off, squeezing her hand so she’d feel her gratitude. She was sure that she looked ridiculous, but she had no intention of removing the physical evidence of Nathan’s affection anytime soon. She’d leave it there until the day she died, if she could.