“One morning I asked whether she thought he had been handsome.”
Clara laughed.
“I nearly dropped the vase.”
“That was when I knew.”
Mother’s face softened.
“She had his eyes.”
I looked at Clara.
Gray-green.
I could see it now.
Not because she resembled Father exactly.
Because I finally knew what to look for.
Mother grew tired.
Ruth came in and ended the conversation.
For once, none of us argued.
As Clara and I walked into the hall, she stopped.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look all right.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That is your favorite excuse.”
I leaned against the wall.
“I spent years believing my family was simple.”
Clara nodded.
“Mine too.”
“Father. Mother. Me.”
“And mine was Mother and me.”
“And now?”
She looked toward Mother’s door.
“Now I think families are probably never as simple as the people inside them imagine.”
I smiled.
