Page 28 of Things You Save in a Fire

Wallace was the man she’d left my father for. The cheater. We didn’t talk about him. “He gave it to you?”

“Left it to me,” she said, nodding. “After he died.”

A pause. I’d never met Wallace. I knew about him, but I’d refused to meet him in the same way I’d refused to visit Rockport. I’d blamed him. I’d been angry. I’d been far too absorbed in the pain he caused me—and my dad—to see Wallace as anything other than the source of all my problems. Now, of course, it was too late. He’d died when I was in college.

“It’ll be yours one day,” my mom added then.

“I don’t want it,” I said, too quickly. She couldn’t just make me move here and then give me a house.

She blinked. “Oh, well, that’s okay. But I’ll leave it to you anyway. In my will. You can sell it, of course, if you want.”

“You don’t have to leave it to me.”

“Who else would I possibly leave it to?”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“No. I agree. Hardly our first order of business.”

I looked around the room.

“I’m so grateful to you for coming,” she said after a minute. “I know you gave up a lot to be here.”

There it was again. That magic she had for draining my anger: her gratitude, her sympathy. She didn’t make things easy. With my dad, things were always simple. He was dedicated, true-blue, kindhearted,and tough. You knew exactly where you stood with him, always. No layers of conflicting feelings to sort through. He was just a good guy, plain and easy.

But there was no feeling I had about my mom that wasn’t mixed with other feelings—often opposite ones. Everything was always tinged with something else.

Plus, I couldn’t get over the eye patch. It gave her a strange, incongruous vibe—as if Laura Ingalls Wilder had turned pirate.

Assessing her gave me a flutter of fear through my chest, and in response to fear, I always got all-business. “Let me take a look at that eye,” I said, stepping toward her and reaching toward the patch, relieved for something to do.

She lifted a hand to block me. “Not sure that’s a great idea.”

“You do know what I do for a living, right? I see this stuff all the time. You can’t shock me.”

“I know,” she said. “This is different.”

“I might be able to help you,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Just let me take a look.”

She wasn’t going for it. “I’ve got a whole team of doctors. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Isn’t that the reason I’m here?” I asked. “To concern myself with it?”

She shook her head. “You’re just here to help me up and down the stairs. And do the driving. And buy the groceries.”

“That’s really all you want?” I asked. Seemed like just about anybody could do that.

“That’s what Ineed,” she said. Then she took my hand and squeezed it. “What I actuallywant,after all these years, is to spend a little time with my long-lost daughter.”

Seven

DINNER WAS HOMEMADElobster bisque and a salad with greens from her garden—and I felt both grateful for and annoyed by how delicious it was. I’d been thinking I’d just take a sandwich up to my room, but she’d cooked everything already and set the table. With her own charming dishes.

Plan B: Eat quickly and say good night.

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