There are moments when a mother wants desperately to provide an answer.
I had done that all Brenda’s life.
This time I gave her something better.
My hand.
She held it.
We sat quietly.
The following weeks felt ordinary.
That was perhaps the best part.
Nobody transformed overnight.
Brenda still called me twice in one afternoon to ask questions she could have answered herself.
On the second call, she stopped halfway through.
“Actually, never mind. I can figure this out.”
“I believe in you.”
“Don’t sound so pleased.”
“I’m not pleased.”
“You’re extremely pleased.”
“I might be a little pleased.”
Gregory started calling without needing anything.
At first, our conversations were painfully awkward.
“How’s your day?”
“Fine.”
“Mine too.”
Then, gradually, we found things to talk about.
Books.
Baseball.
His children.
Robert.
Sometimes nothing important.
Jennifer invited me to lunch and confessed she had occasionally resented how quickly everyone expected me to step in.
