Mornings in Blue Springs always start the same way. I wake up at first light, when most of my neighbors are still asleep. At 78, one appreciates each new day as a gift.
To be honest, though, some days are more like an ordeal, especially when my joints ache so badly that even walking to the bathroom becomes a feat. My little house on Maplewood Avenue isn’t what it used to be. The wallpaper in the living room has faded over 30 years, and the wooden porch steps creak louder each spring.
George, my husband, was always going to fix them, but never got around to it before his heart attack. Eight years have passed, and I still talk to him sometimes in the mornings, telling him the news, as if he’s just gone out to the garden and will be back soon. This is the house where my children, Wesley and Thelma, grew up.
Everything here remembers their baby steps, their laughter and their fights. Now it seems like those happy, noisy days never happened. Thelma comes in once a month, always in a hurry, always looking at her watch.
Wesley shows up more often, but only when he needs something, usually money or a signature on some paperwork. Every time he swears he’ll pay it back soon, but in 15 years he’s never paid it back. Today is Wednesday, the day I usually bake blueberry pie.
Not for me, because I can’t eat that much on my own. It’s for Reed, my grandson, the only one in the family who visits me without an ulterior motive. Just so he can spend time with his old grandmother, drink tea, talk about his college business.
I hear the gate slam and I know it’s him. Reed has a peculiar gate, light but a little clumsy, as if he’s not used to his tall stature yet. He inherited it from his grandfather.
Grandmother Edith, his voice comes from the doorway. I smell a specialty pie. Sure you do, I said, smiling, wiping my hands on my apron.
Come on in, it’s just about the temperature. Reed leans over to hug me. Now I have to tilt my head back to see his face…
It’s weird, when did he get so big? How’s school going? I ask, sitting him down at the kitchen table. Still struggling with higher math? I got an A on my last exam, Reed said proudly, eating his pie. Professor Duval even asked me to work on a research project.
I always knew you were smart. I pour his tea. Your grandfather would be proud of you.
Reed is silent for a moment, staring out the window at the old apple tree. I know what he’s thinking. George taught him to climb it when he was only seven.
Wesley yelled that we’d never do the kid any good, and George just laughed. A boy’s gotta be able to fall down and get up. Grandma, have you decided what you’re going to wear on Friday? Reed suddenly asks, returning to the pie.
Friday? I look at him puzzled. What’s going to be on Friday? Reed freezes with his fork in the air. A strange expression appears on his face, a mixture of surprise and confusion.
Dinner. It’s Dad and Mom’s wedding anniversary, 30 years. They have reservations at Willow Creek, didn’t Daddy tell you? I slowly sit down across from him, feeling something chill inside.
30 years of my son’s marriage is a significant date. Of course they should celebrate. But why am I hearing about it from my grandson and not Wesley himself? Maybe he was going to call, I answer, trying to keep my voice lighthearted.
You know your father, always putting things off until the last minute. Reed looks uncomfortable, picking at the leftover pie with his fork. I guess he does, he agrees without much conviction.
We move on to other topics. Reed talks about his plans for the summer, about a girl named Audrey he met at the library. I listen, nodding, asking questions, but my thoughts keep returning to this dinner.
Why hasn’t Wesley called? Is he really planning to celebrate without me? When Reed leaves, promising to stop by over the weekend, I stand at the window for a long time, staring out at the empty street. In the house across the street, Mrs. Fletcher my age, plays with her grandchildren. Her daughter comes every Wednesday bringing the kids.
They are noisy, running around the yard, and old Beatrice is glowing with happiness. I wish my children could be there too. The phone rings, interrupting my thoughts.
I recognize Wesley’s number immediately. Mom, it’s me! His voice sounds a little strained. Hello darling, I answer, trying to sound normal.
How are you doing? I’m fine. Listen, I’m calling about Friday, so you were going to ask me out after all. I feel warm inside.
Maybe I was wrong to think badly of them, maybe they were just running around and didn’t give me enough notice. Cora and I were planning a little anniversary dinner, Wesley continued, but unfortunately, we’re going to have to cancel. Cora caught some kind of virus, fever, the whole thing.
The doctor said she needs to stay home for at least a week. Oh that’s too bad, I’m genuinely saddened, though there’s something in his voice that makes me uneasy. Is there anything I can do to help? Can I get some chicken broth or… No, no, no, that’s okay, Wesley interrupts hastily.
We have everything. I just wanted to let you know. We’ll reschedule for another day when Cora’s better.
We’ll be sure to call you. Of course, darling. Give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery.
I will. Okay mom, I gotta run. I’ll call you later.
He hangs up before I can say anything else. The conversation leaves a strange aftertaste. Something’s wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is.
I spend the rest of the day flipping through old photo albums. Here’s Wesley at five years old, with a knocked out front tooth and a proud smile. Here’s Thelma on her first bike.
George teaching them to swim in the lake. Christmas dinner’s when we all got together. When did all that change? When did my children become so… distant? That evening, I call Thelma, casually asking about Cora.
To my surprise, she knows nothing about her daughter-in-law’s illness. Mom, I have a lot to do at the store before the weekend, she says impatiently. If you want to know about Cora, call Wesley.
But you’re coming to their anniversary on Friday, right? I ask cautiously. The pause on the other end of the line is too long. Oh, that’s what you mean, yeah, sure, Thelma finally answers…
Look, I really have to go, I’ll talk to you later, and then the short beeps again. I stare at the phone, feeling the anxiety growing inside. They’re hiding something.
Both of them. Thursday morning I go to the local supermarket. I don’t so much need to get groceries as to stretch my legs and clear my head.
In the vegetable section I run into Doris Simmons, an old acquaintance who works in the same flower store as Thelma. Edith, it’s been a long time, she exclaims, hugging me. How’s your health? Not bad for my age, I smile.
Are you still working with Thelma? Of course I am. Only tomorrow is my day off. Thelma’s taking the evening off, a family celebration I hear.
30 years is a big date. I nod, trying to hide my confusion. So dinner wasn’t cancelled, so Wesley lied to me, but why? When I get home I sit in my chair for a long time, trying to figure out what’s going on.
Maybe they’re springing a surprise on me. But then why the lies about Cora being sick? And why was Thelma acting so strangely? The phone rings again, but it’s not Wesley or Thelma. It’s Reed.
Grandma, I forgot to ask, have you seen my blue notebook? I think I left it at your place last time. Let me see. I go into the living room where Reed usually sits.
I don’t see it. Maybe it’s in the kitchen. While I’m looking, Reed keeps talking.
If you find it, can you give it to Dad tomorrow? He’ll pick you up, right? I freeze with the phone to my ear. Pick me up? Well, yeah, for dinner at Willow Creek. I can stop by if you want, but I have classes until 6, I’m afraid I’ll be late for the start.
I’m gripping the phone tighter. Reed, honey, I think you’re confused. Wesley told me dinner was cancelled, Cora’s sick.
Reed is silent now, for a long time, too long. Reed? I’m calling, are you there? Grandma, I, uh, I don’t understand. Dad called me an hour ago asking if I could be at the restaurant by 7 o’clock.
Nobody cancelled anything. I’m slowly sinking into the couch, so that’s how it is. I was just decided not to be invited.
My own son lied to me so I wouldn’t come to the family reunion. Grandma, are you okay? Reed’s voice sounds concerned. Yes, honey, I’m fine.
I try to keep my voice normal. I must have misunderstood something. You know, at my age, you get confused sometimes.
I’m sure it’s some kind of misunderstanding. Do you want me to call my dad and find out? No, I answer hastily. There’s no need.
I’ll talk to him myself, don’t worry. After the conversation, I sit in silence for a long time, looking at the picture of us all together, me, George, the kids, happy, smiling. When did it all go wrong? When did I become a burden to them, better left at home than taken to a family party? Resentment and bitterness rise up inside, but I force myself to breathe deeply.
Now is not the time for tears. Now is the time to think. If my kids don’t want me at the family reunion, then I’ve become a stranger to them.
And I need to figure out why. I walk over to the closet where I keep old letters and documents. Among them are George’s will, the insurance policy, the deeds to the house.
Wesley has hinted several times that I should sign the house over to him. For your own safety, mom. Thelma suggested I sell it and move into a nursing home.
They’ll take better care of you than we can. I always refused, sensing that there was something else behind those suggestions. Now I think I’m beginning to realize what it is.
In the evening, the phone rings. This time it’s Cora, my sister-in-law. Her voice sounds cheerful and energetic, for someone with a high fever and bed rest.
Edith, honey, how are you? Wesley said he called you about Friday. Yes, he said you were sick and dinner was canceled, I answer in a steady voice. That’s right, Cora confirms too hastily.
It’s a terrible virus just knocked me off my feet. The doctor prescribed bed rest for at least a week. I hope you feel better soon, I say.
Say hello to the others. The others? I can hear the tension in her voice. Yeah.
Thelma, read. They’re upset about the canceled holiday, aren’t they? Oh yes, of course. They’re all very upset.
But it can’t be helped. Health is more important. Well Edith, I have to take my medication, feel better.
I hang up the phone and look out of the window at the darkening sky. Well now I have confirmation. They’re planning dinner without me.
They haven’t even bothered to come up with a plausible lie. I pull out of my closet the dark blue dress I haven’t worn since George’s funeral. I try it on in front of the mirror, it still fits well, even though I’ve lost weight over the years.
If my children think they can just cut me out of their lives, they’re sorely mistaken. Edith Thornberry hasn’t said her last word yet. And tomorrow night promises to be interesting.
Very interesting. I’ve been up all night. Not because of the pain in my joints although that was coming on.
Not because of the insomnia that often afflicts people my age. I was awake because the thoughts of the day ahead kept me awake. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of my children gathered around the holiday table without me.
Laughing, raising their glasses, telling each other how lucky they were to be rid of their old mother for the evening. Friday morning was overcast. Heavy clouds hung over Blue Springs, as if reflecting my mood.
I made tea, but it went cold, untouched. I didn’t feel like eating. Something inside me seemed to be frozen, waiting for a decision I hadn’t made yet.
What would I do tonight, would I stay home like my children had planned or… My gaze fell on George’s picture on the mantelpiece. He was looking at me with a slight smile, tilting his head slightly to the side, a gesture that always meant he had something important to say. What would you do, George? I mentally asked him…
And I could almost hear the answer. Don’t let them trample on your dignity, Edith. You deserve better than that.
I went to the window. Outside, Mrs. Fletcher was walking her dachshund. When she saw me, she waved.
I waved back, thinking about how few people were left in my life who were actually happy to see me. The phone rang, snapping me out of my musings. It was Wesley.
Mom, good morning. His voice sounded suspiciously cheerful. How are you feeling? Fine, I answered.
How’s Cora, is she better? There was a second’s pause. I could almost see him frantically recalling last night’s lie. No, she’s the same.
She’s lying down with a fever. The doctor said it might be a while. That’s a shame, I said with fake sympathy.
I was thinking of baking her a chicken pot pie and bringing it over. Nothing like a home-cooked meal for a cold. No, no, you don’t have to, Wesley answered hastily.
We have everything, really. I’m just calling to see if you need anything. Maybe you’re out of medication? Oh, that’s it.
Checking to see if I’m going out tonight. Making sure I stay home while they celebrate without me. Thanks, son.
I’ve got everything, I replied. I’m going to spend the evening reading. I’ve been wanting to reread Agatha Christie for ages.
That’s a great idea, Wesley said with obvious relief. Okay, Mom, I have to go to work. If you need anything, call me.
I hung up the phone and looked at my watch. Ten o’clock in the morning. There was still plenty of time before dinner tonight.
Time to think about how things had gotten to this point. When had things changed? When did my children stop considering me? When did I go from being a mother to being a burden? Maybe it started after George died. Wesley and Thelma used to come every day, help with the funeral, the paperwork.
But then their visits became less and less frequent. First once a week, then once a month. Thelma was always in a hurry, always looking at her watch.
Wesley came more often, but his visits usually coincided with requests for money. Mom, it’s Cora’s birthday. I want to get her a necklace, but we’re tight on money this month.
Mom, we have a leaky roof. We need repairs right away, but all the money went to pay for Reed’s College. Mom, I’ve invested in a promising project, but we need to re-borrow for now.
I always gave. Not because I believed his stories—they’d gotten less and less believable over the years—but because I wanted to feel that they needed me at least that way. That they’d come to me even if only for money.
I pulled an old notebook out of the closet where I’d written down all of Wesley’s loans. Over fifteen years it had accumulated a sizable sum. Money he’ll never pay back, and we both know it.
It’s different with Thelma. She doesn’t ask for money directly, but every time I go to her flower store she insists I buy the most expensive bouquet. Mom, you don’t want people to think I can’t provide my mother with decent flowers, do you? And I buy.
Every time. And then there was the case of the medication. Six months ago the doctor prescribed me new blood pressure pills.
Expensive, but effective. Wesley made a big fuss about it. Mom, are you crazy? $400 a month for pills? That’s ruin.
Let’s look for cheaper alternatives. I tried to explain that other medications don’t work for me, that I can be allergic, but he wouldn’t listen. Thelma backed him up.
Mom, you have to be more frugal. We all have expenses. And this was coming from people who changed their cell phones to new models every month.
Who went on vacation to the Bahamas and bragged about their new car. My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. Audrey, Reed’s girlfriend, stood on the doorstep.
A sweet, shy girl with a lock of red hair and freckles. Hello, Mrs. Thornberry, she fidgeted nervously with the strap of her bag. Reed said he might have left his notebook here.
Yes, dear, come in, I let her in. I was just going to look for it. Would you like some tea? While I made tea, Audrey looked around the living room at the pictures.
Is that Reed as a child? She asked, pointing to a picture of a five-year-old boy holding a fishing rod. Yes, his first fishing trip with his grandfather. I smiled, handing her a cup.
He caught such a tiny little fish, but he was as proud as if it was a shark. Audrey laughed, and for a moment the house felt young and alive again. Mrs. Thornberry, she said suddenly…
Reed is very fond of you. He talks about you all the time, about your stories, about how you taught him how to bake pies. I felt tears coming to my eyes, but I held them back.
He’s a good boy. The only one who… I hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of my children in front of a stranger. He looks a lot like his grandfather.
Audrey helped me find Reed’s notebook. It turned out to be under the couch cushion. As she was leaving, she suddenly turned around in the doorway.
I’ll see you tonight? Reed said you’d be at Willow Creek too. I smiled, strained. We’ll see.
I have a bit of a headache. I’m not sure I can go. After Audrey left, I stood at the window for a long time, watching her get into her car and drive away.
Sweet girl. Sincere. She has no idea that I wasn’t invited to the family reunion, that my own son lied to me so I wouldn’t come.
The decision came suddenly. I looked at my watch. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon.
Dinner was still five hours away. Plenty of time to get ready. I pulled out the dark blue dress I’d tried on yesterday.
It still fit well, even though I’d lost weight over the years. The low-heeled shoes I’d worn at Thelma’s wedding. The pearl necklace George had given me for our thirtieth anniversary.
I wasn’t going to sit at home and feel sorry for myself. I wanted to see for myself how my children celebrated without me. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding but a conscious choice on their part.
At five o’clock I hailed a cab. The driver, a young guy with tattoos on his arms, looked at me in surprise when I gave him the address. Willow Creek? Really, Grandma? That’s where the prices are.
I know the prices, young man, I said firmly. And I’m not your grandmother. He shrugged and didn’t ask any more questions.
I stared out the window the whole way, watching the streets of Blue Springs change, from my humble neighborhood of small houses to downtown with its modern glass and concrete buildings. Willow Creek was on the outskirts, in a picturesque spot by the river. It was starting to get dark when the cab pulled up to the restaurant.
I asked the driver not to pull right up to the entrance, but to stop a little to the side. Wait for me here, please, I said, handing him the money. I won’t be long.
Willow Creek was the most expensive and prestigious restaurant in Blue Springs. It was a two-story red brick building buried in greenery, with a terrace overlooking the river. Only special occasions were celebrated here—anniversaries, engagements, important business deals.
I didn’t go to the entrance. Instead, I walked around to the side of the building, where the parking lot was for guests. I saw their cars right away—Wesley’s Silver Lexus, Thelma’s Red Ford, Reed’s Old Honda.
They were all here, all of them except me. The pain of the realization was so sharp it took my breath away for a moment. This wasn’t a mistake, not a misunderstanding.
They really had decided to celebrate without me, lied to me to stay home. I walked slowly to the windows of the restaurant. The curtains didn’t show what was going on inside, but one side of the curtain wasn’t fully drawn, leaving a narrow gap.
I stood in the shade of the trees, watching my family through that gap. They were sitting at a large round table in the center of the room. Wesley at the head of the table, Cora next to him, healthy, smiling, without the slightest sign of illness.
Thelma and her husband, Reed and Audrey, and a few other people I didn’t know, apparently friends of Wesley and Cora. They were laughing. They were raising champagne glasses.
They were enjoying the evening, oblivious to me. The waiter brought out a huge seafood platter, then another with some sort of elaborate meat platter. On the table were bottles of expensive wine.
I knew the prices at this restaurant one dinner like this cost as much as a month’s rent for an apartment. We’re tight on money, Mom. Could you help with the bills? Mom, these medications are too expensive.
Let’s look for something cheaper. All this time they’ve been lying to me, pretending they were barely making ends meet, begging me for money for emergencies, while they spent hundreds of dollars on restaurants, travel, new cars. I watched Wesley raise his glass in a toast.
Everyone laughs, applauding. Cora kisses him on the cheek. Thelma adds something, laughter again.
I suddenly remember how last year I asked Wesley to help fix a leaky roof. He said he couldn’t right now, that he was having financial difficulties. I waited three months until the roof started leaking so badly that I had to put buckets under it.
I ended up hiring a handyman myself, giving almost all of my savings. And when I had a mild heart attack last winter, Thelma couldn’t come to the hospital because she had an important order at the store. Reed then sat up with me all night holding my hand.
And now they’re all together, merry, happy, celebrating without me. It’s like I’m not even alive anymore. I notice Reed looking around like he’s looking for someone.
Then he leans over to Audrey, asking something. She shakes her head. They’re talking about something.
A concerned expression appears on Reed’s face. He pulls out his phone, looks at the screen, then puts it back in his pocket. At that minute, the waiter brings out a huge cake with candles.
Everyone clapped, laughed. Wesley put his arm around Cora, they kissed. Thirty years together, thirty years, and they hadn’t found a place at the table for the woman who’d given birth and raised Wesley.
I felt a tear run down my cheek. I brushed it away with an irritated gesture. Now was not the time for tears.
Now was the time for decisions. Stepping away from the window, I walked slowly toward the entrance to the restaurant. A young man in a uniform stood at the door, apparently the manager or the maitre d’a.
Good evening, ma’am, he said politely. Do you have a reservation? I’m here to see the Thornberry family, I answered. They’re celebrating their wedding anniversary.
He checked the list on his clipboard. Yes, they’re in the main hall, are you, uh… He hesitated, looking at me questioningly. I’m Wesley Thornberry’s mother, I said firmly…
Edith Thornberry. Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Thornberry. He became more respectful at once.
Please come in, your family is already here. My family, I thought bitterly as I entered the restaurant’s spacious lobby. The family that doesn’t want to see me, a family that lies to my face, but in just a moment they will see me, and it’s a night they’ll remember for a long time.
Because Edith Thornberry is not the kind of woman you can just throw out of your life like an old, unwanted thing. And it’s time my children realized that. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and strode resolutely toward the main hall doors.
Standing at the main hall doors I stood still for a moment. The music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the sounds of merriment came even through the heavy oak doors. Just one step and I’d ruin their perfect evening.
Should I do it? Should I turn around and walk away with what little dignity I had left? But something inside me, some steel thread running through my life, wouldn’t let me do it. I’m not one to back down. I never have been.
Even when George died, leaving me alone with huge medical bills, I didn’t give up. I didn’t ask my kids for help, even though I could have. I did it on my own.
I can handle it now. But I wasn’t going to burst in there like a fury. No, that would have been too easy and predictable.
I wanted this evening to be a lesson to them. A lesson they would never forget. Mrs. Thornberry? A voice behind me made me flinch.
I turned around. Standing in front of me was a tall man in his sixties with a neatly trimmed gray beard and attentive gray eyes. He wore an impeccably tailored dark suit with a small gold pin in the shape of a willow branch, the restaurant symbol.
Lewis? I couldn’t believe my eyes. Lewis Quinlan? In person, he smiled, bowing slightly. I’m glad to see you remember me.
How could I forget? Lewis Quinlan was a Blue Springs legend, a former chef who opened the most successful restaurant in town. But to me, he’d always been the shy boy across the street who’d come over to borrow books and eat my blueberry pies. You haven’t changed at all, I said, though it wasn’t true.
The boy had grown into an imposing man. Time had left marks on his face, but his eyes, his eyes were the same. But you, Edith, have become even more beautiful, he replied with that special gallantry which does not look false.
Blue has always been your color. I touched the pearl necklace involuntarily. For the first time all evening, I did not feel like an angry old woman, but just a woman.
Are you alone? Lewis asked, glancing around the hall. I thought you were coming with your son and his family. They’re celebrating their anniversary today, aren’t they? Oh, so you know about that? I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
Of course. I was personally involved in organizing their party. Thirty years is a big deal.
I wanted it to be perfect. I felt a lump come up in my throat. Lewis must have noticed the change in my face, because his smile was replaced by a look of concern.
Is something wrong, Edith? I wanted to lie, to say that nothing was wrong, that I was just late. But somehow I couldn’t. There were too many lies in that story already.
I wasn’t invited, Lewis, I said quietly. My son told me that the dinner had been canceled because his wife was ill. But I found out the truth by accident.
There was such genuine indignation on Lewis’s face that I felt a surge of gratitude. There must be some mistake, he said firmly. There must be a misunderstanding.
Wesley couldn’t. He could, I interrupted him. And he did.
I’ve seen them all through the window. They’re having a great time without me. Lewis frowned, his eyes darkening.
This is unacceptable, he said in a tone that brooked no objection. Absolutely unacceptable. He offered me his hand.
Let me show you out, Edith. The mother of the guest of honor should not stand in the hall. I hesitated.
It’s one thing to have a confrontation and quite another to drag a stranger into it. Lewis, I don’t want to cause problems for your restaurant. The only problem here is your lack of respect for your parents.
He cut him off. My restaurant is not a place where I would allow that, if I may. He offered me his hand again, and this time I took it.
His touch was warm and sure, like an anchor in a stormy sea. How do you want to do this? Lewis asked when we stopped at the hall door. Just walk in? Or I could organize something special.
I hesitated. I didn’t feel like making a scene. I didn’t feel like yelling or crying or blaming.
That would be too easy, too expected. They probably thought that if I found out the truth, I’d either burst into tears or cause a scandal. Either way, I could be accused of inadequacy, of senile hysteria.
No, I won’t give them that pleasure. I want to go in quietly, I said, like the honored guest I was supposed to be. No announcements, no fanfare, just… show up.
Lewis nodded understandingly. The perfect choice. Elegance is always more effective than drama.
He squeezed my hand lightly. Ready? I took a deep breath and nodded. Ready…
Lewis opened the doors and we entered the hall. The first thing I noticed was the abundance of flowers. White and cream roses, lilies, orchids.
They were everywhere, in tall vases on the tables, in garlands on the walls, even coming down from the ceiling, giving the impression of a blooming garden. The soft light of the crystal chandeliers reflected in the silverware and crystal, creating an almost magical atmosphere. My family’s table was in the center of the room.
It was round, decorated especially lavishly, with a birthday cake in the middle. Wesley sat at the head, wearing a dark gray suit I’d never seen before. Next to him was Cora, in an elegant burgundy dress, with a new necklace around her neck, apparently an anniversary gift.
Thelma and her husband, Reed and Audrey, and a few other people I didn’t know. They didn’t notice us right away. They were too caught up in the toast Wesley was giving.
Something about love overcoming all odds, about family values and mutual support. Lewis led me straight to their table. We walked slowly with dignity.
I could feel the stares of the other visitors, but I paid no attention to them. All my attention was on my family. Reed noticed me first.
His eyes widened in surprise and he jerked as if he wanted to get up, but something stopped him. Then Audrey, who was sitting next to him. She turned pale and tugged on Reed’s sleeve.
Wesley was still talking, not noticing the change in the atmosphere. But then Thelma looked up and her hand holding her glass froze, halfway. One by one they noticed me.
Their faces changed. Surprise, confusion, and then fear. Yes, fear.
They were afraid of the scene, of the scandal, of being embarrassed in front of the other guests. Finally Wesley, sensing the tension, turned around. And that’s why I want to say… His voice trailed off when he saw me.
Lewis stepped forward. I apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Thornberry. His voice was impeccably polite, but with a note of steel.
It seems your mother was a little late for the celebration. I took the liberty of escorting her to your table. There was silence.
A silence so thick you could touch it. All eyes were on us. Mom? Wesley finally squeezed out.
His face was as white as a tablecloth. But you… You said you’d stay home. I changed my mind, I said calmly.
I decided I wanted to congratulate my son and daughter-in-law on thirty years of marriage. It’s an important date. Lewis pulled a chair back for me between Reed and a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize, apparently one of Cora’s friends.
Thank you, Lewis, I said sitting down. You’ve always been so attentive. Always at your service, Edith, he said with a slight bow.
Then he turned to the others. I’ll have another appetizer brought in, and perhaps a bottle of our best champagne. On the house, of course.
With these words he departed, leaving us in a heavy silence. Wesley was the first to come to his senses. Mom, he began, his voice sounding falsely happy.
What a surprise. We thought you weren’t feeling well. I feel fine, I answered, looking him straight in the eye.
Cora, on the other hand, seems to have recovered surprisingly quickly. Even this morning she had such a high fever. Cora blushed and lowered her eyes.
She was always a bad actress. Ea, I was better by lunchtime, she murmured. Miraculously.
Truly a miracle, I nodded. Especially since Dora Simmons saw you at the supermarket yesterday, perfectly healthy. Thelma set her glass down sharply on the table.
Mom, her voice was taught as a string. Maybe we shouldn’t… Don’t what, dear? I turned to her. Tell the truth? You always taught your son that lying is wrong.
Remember? A waiter came to the table with an extra plate and a bottle of champagne. As he set out plates and glasses, everyone remained silent, smiling strangely. The perfect family.
People who love each other. What a falsity. Grandma, Reed said quietly, leaning toward me as the waiter stepped away.
I didn’t know. I thought you knew about dinner. I know, honey, I replied just as quietly.
Squeezing his hand under the table. It’s not your fault. Wesley coughed, drawing everyone’s attention.
Well, now that we’re all here, he emphasized the word all with a faint note of irritation. Let’s get on with the party. Mom, you’re just in time for dessert.
He made a sign to the waiter and he began to cut the cake. Huge, tiered, with a bride and groom on top. It must have cost a fortune.
What a beautiful cake, I said, taking the plate with a slice. Must be expensive. Not at all, Mom, Wesley said too quickly.
It’s not expensive at all. It’s just a small family party. Nothing fancy.
I looked around at the table with exquisite dishes, crystal glasses, floral arrangements. Yes, I can see how modest it is, I nodded. And how many guests…
And I thought you were having financial difficulties. Isn’t that why you asked me for two thousand dollars last month? For car repairs, if I’m not mistaken. One of the guests coughed.
The woman next to me, the same friend of Cora’s, looked at Wesley curiously. Mom, he gritted through his teeth, still trying to keep a smile on his face. Can’t we discuss this later? In the family circle? Aren’t we in a family circle? I was genuinely surprised.
Or am I no longer considered part of the family? I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t get the memo. Of course you’re part of the family. Thelma interjected.
Her voice sounded too loud, too falsely cheerful. It’s just that we thought it would be tiring for you. At your age, the late dinner, the noise.
At my age, I repeated slowly. Yes, of course. My age.
Interesting that it didn’t stop me from watching your cats last month while you went on a spa weekend. Or helping Wesley with his tax returns. Or lending him the $2,000 he never paid back.
There was silence at the table again. Wesley was nervously fiddling with his cufflink, avoiding my gaze. Cora was suddenly interested in the pattern on the table cloth.
I wanted to invite you, Mom, Wesley finally said, feigning remorse. I just didn’t think you’d be comfortable. You don’t like noisy gatherings, do you? I don’t like loud gatherings, I interjected.
That’s weird. Who threw the family Christmas dinner every year? Who organized a backyard barbecue for the whole neighborhood? Who gathered guests for your father’s birthday, even when he was already in the hospital? Wesley was silent. He had nothing to say.
It’s not because I’m not my age or because I don’t like loud gatherings, I continued in a quiet but firm voice. It’s that you didn’t want to see me. It was easier to lie than to invite my own mother.
Mom, that’s not true, Thelma began, but I held up my hand to stop her. I’m not finished, dear. I didn’t come here to make a scene.
I didn’t come here to ruin your party. I came here to understand. I looked around at their faces.
Tense, confused, scared. I wanted to understand when my children turned into people who could lie to their own mother’s face. Who could exclude her from a family celebration like some kind of… I hesitated for a moment, searching for a word, like some inconvenient obligation.
Grandma, Reed said quietly. I didn’t realize they hadn’t invited you. I swear, I thought you were just running late.
I put my hand on his shoulder. I know, sweetheart. This has nothing to do with you.
At that moment, Louis came to the table with a bottle of champagne. I hope everyone is enjoying the evening, he asked, though it was clear from his face that he could feel the tension at the table. Everything is just fine, Louis, I replied with a genuine smile.
Great restaurant, great service. Always the best for you, Edith, he filled my glass with champagne. I remember how your pies saved me as a child from the perpetual hunger of adolescence.
No one in Blue Springs bakes like you. I felt a warmth rush to my cheeks. For the first time all evening, I had a real smile on my face.
You’ve always been gallant, Louis, even when you were a child. He smiled back, but his gaze was serious, understanding. Then he turned to Wesley.
Mr. Thornberry, may I ask why you didn’t list your mother on the guest list? I’ve had some confusion about the seating arrangements. Wesley choked on his champagne. Yeah, we… it was a misunderstanding, he mumbled.
Mom was supposed to come, of course. It’s just that this morning she said she wasn’t feeling well. It’s strange, Louis went on nonchalantly.
I thought she said you told her that you had cancelled the dinner because of your wife’s illness. Cora made a strange sound, something between a cough and a sob. Thelma stared at her plate as if it contained the answers to all the questions of the universe.
Apparently there was some kind of misunderstanding, Wesley said. His face flushed red. Apparently, Louis agreed dryly.
Well, the important thing is that we’re all here now. Enjoy the evening. He squeezed my hand again and stepped away, leaving us in an even more tense silence than before.
Wesley was the first to break it. Mom, I can explain, he began. Cora and I wanted to spend this evening in a small circle.
A small circle of fifteen people? I clarified, looking around the table. I mean, without the older generation, he continued awkwardly. There’s no Cora’s parents, no.
You’re lying, I said calmly. Lying again. Cora’s parents died five years ago and you know it.
I was at both funerals. And your brother-in-law’s parents, I nodded toward Thelma’s husband. I can see them at that table over there.
They waved at me as I entered. Wesley paled even more if that was even possible. Mom, Thelma intervened.
We didn’t mean to offend you. We just thought you might be uncomfortable. You’ve been complaining about your health lately and… We all complain about our health sometimes, dear, I said.
But usually the people closest to us ask how we’re feeling, not decide for us. I sipped my champagne. It was excellent, dry, with light notes of citrus and vanilla.
You know what the saddest part is? I continued looking at my kids. It’s not that you didn’t invite me. It’s that you lied.
Instead of honestly saying, Mom, we want to spend this evening without you, you made up a story about being sick. Made me worry about Cora’s health, calling, offering to help. I shook my head.
I’d always taught you to be honest. Even when the truth is unpleasant. Even when it might upset someone.
Because lying, lies destroy trust. And without trust, there’s no family. Mom, Wesley’s voice trembled.
We just… You just didn’t want your old mother to ruin your party. I finished for him. I understand.
I really do. But you know what? You could have just told me that. I would have understood.
Maybe I would have been upset. But I would have understood. Because I’ve always respected your right to make decisions.
Even when I didn’t agree with them. I finished my champagne and put my glass on the table. But you chose to lie instead.
And now that I’m sitting here, I see more than just those lies. I see all the times you’ve lied to me over the years. When you asked for money for emergencies and spent it on entertainment.
When you said you couldn’t visit me because of important business and you went out of town for the weekend. Wesley tried to say something but I stopped him with a gesture. I don’t want to hear excuses, son…
I’m just curious. When did you stop respecting your mother? The question hung in the air. Wesley looked at me with the expression of a man caught red-handed.
Cora was nervously fidgeting with her napkin, avoiding my gaze. Thelma looked like she was ready to fall through the ground. Mom, Wesley finally said, lowering his voice to a whisper.
Let’s not make a scene. We can talk about this later in a more appropriate setting. A more appropriate setting, I repeated, feeling a cold resolve growing inside, not even anger, but a cold resolve.
You mean when there are no witnesses around? I mean when we can all discuss the situation calmly. His tone became condescending, as if he were talking to a naughty child. You’re upset, understandably, but this isn’t the time or place.
And when is the time and place, Wesley? I spoke softly but firmly. When you stop by my place for five minutes to ask me for money, or when Thelma stops by for a cup of tea, glancing at her watch. Thelma flinched as if I’d hit her.
It’s not fair, mother, she said in a shaky voice. I’ve got the store, I’ve got things to do. Everybody has things to do, dear, I said, but people usually make time for the ones they love.
Reed squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. His girlfriend Audrey was staring at us, all wide-eyed, clearly feeling out of place. Maybe I should leave, she said quietly, leaning toward Reed.
No, stay, I touched her arm gently. This has nothing to do with you, and I’m not going to make a scene like Wesley’s afraid of. I looked around the table.
The guests seated farther away from us had already gone back to their conversations, ignoring us. But our part of the table, the kids, their spouses, a few close friends were all looking at me, waiting for me to continue. I just want you to know that I understand, I continued, looking directly at Wesley and Thelma.
I realize that I’ve been a burden to you, an uncomfortable reminder that we’re all getting older. I realize it’s easier to pretend I don’t exist than to admit that one day you’ll be like me. Mom, that’s not true, Wesley tried to object, but I shook my head.
Let me finish, son. I’d been silent for a long time, now it was my turn to speak. I took a sip of water gathering my thoughts.
I know you talk about me behind my back, I know you’re discussing my deteriorating condition and senile quirks. Mrs. Dawson, your neighbor, I nodded toward Wesley and Cora, happened to mention it when we met at the pharmacy, she was very concerned when she heard you say that I was starting to lose my mind. Cora turned pale.
Edith, it wasn’t that, we’re just worried. Don’t bother dear, I interrupted her gently. I know the truth, just like I know that you and Wesley have already been looking at a nursing home for me.
Sunny Hills, isn’t it? The administrator there is an old high school friend of yours, if I’m not mistaken. Wesley was pale now. He threw a quick glance at Cora, as if asking how I could have known about it.
It was just in case, he muttered. We wanted to be ready in case you needed help. Without my knowledge, I finished for him.
Without a single conversation with me about my wishes, you decided everything for me, as if I was no longer capable of making decisions for myself. I turned to Thelma, and don’t think I don’t know about your conversations with the realtor about my house, about how it might be sold when I’m gone, or when I move to a place where I’ll be taken care of. Thelma blushed.
Mom, I was just wondering about the prices on the real estate market. Of course you were, I nodded, and the fact that the realtor was looking at my house while I was at the doctor’s office was just a coincidence. There was a dead silence at the table.
Even the outside guests, those I didn’t know, seemed to hold their breath. Where did you… Wesley started, but stopped. How do I know? I finished for him.
I have eyes and ears, son, and neighbors who, unlike my children, care about me. Mrs. Fletcher saw the realtor walking around the house, taking pictures. She called me because she was worried.
I pulled an envelope out of my purse, a plain white envelope, nothing remarkable, but my kids stared at it like it was a ticking bomb. You know, the sad thing is that you think I’m a helpless old woman who can’t take care of herself. I put the envelope on the table.
You think I don’t see your neglect? I don’t notice how you avoid my calls. I don’t realize that your infrequent visits are more of an obligation than a desire. Mom, it’s not like that.
Thelma tried to take my hand, but I pulled away. It’s exactly like that, dear, and I’ve wondered why for a long time. Why do my children, whom I raised with love, to whom I gave everything I could, treat me like a burden, and I realized it was the house? Wesley and Thelma looked at each other.
What do you mean, the house? Wesley asked cautiously. Our family home, I explained. The one you grew up in…
The one where every floorboard holds the memory of your childhood. The one you’re so eager to inherit. I opened the envelope and pulled out some documents.
You’re both just waiting for me to either die or become so helpless that you can stick me in Sunny Hills and take over the house. I spread the papers out in front of me. You’ve never asked what I want.
What my plans are. You just decided everything for me. Mom, what are you talking about? Wesley asked nervously.
What are your plans? I took the first document and put it on the table in front of the kids. I sold the house, I said simply. There was such silence you could have heard a pin drop.
Wesley froze with his glass in his hand. Thelma made a strange sound, something between a sob and a cough. What do you mean, sold it? Wesley finally squeezed out.
You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. But I answered calmly.
Three days ago. Mr. Jenkins, my lawyer, arranged everything very quickly. The house was bought by a young couple with two children.
Lovely people, full of plans and hope. They’re going to breathe new life into it. But what about you? Where will you live? Thelma looked like she was about to cry.
Oh, don’t worry about me, dear. I smiled. I’ve rented a small apartment near the center, near the library.
You know how much I love to read. An apartment? Wesley looked at me as if I’d told him I was moving to Mars. But the house, it’s our family home.
Dad wanted it to stay in the family. Your father wanted me to be happy, I said firmly, and for his children to grow up to be good people. One of those wishes I can fulfill.
I took the second document. But as for the money from the sale of the house, Wesley stepped forward, his eyes glittering greedily. Even at a moment like this, all he could think about was money.
I donated it to build a new wing of the city library. I finished showing him the donation document. It will bear your father’s name.
George always loved books. It’s a fitting tribute to him. You… what? Wesley looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language.
But, uh, it’s, uh, that’s a lot of money. Yes, almost half a million dollars, I nodded. The house was well kept, and the neighborhood was very popular with young families.
And you’d just give it away? Thelma looked stunned. But mom, it’s, uh, it could, uh, secure your future? I finished for her. But you already have a future, honey.
You have a job, you have houses, you have cars, you have everything you need. I glanced at Reed who sat with his head down. He looked upset, but not about the money, because of the whole situation.
I’ve thought about the future, though, I continued, pulling out a third document. I changed the will. Wesley and Thelma looked at each other again, this time with ill-concealed hope.
Maybe they thought I’d left them something else, some savings, jewelry, anything. Everything I have left, my personal savings, jewelry, belongings, I’m leaving to Reed. I put a copy of the will on the table.
To the only member of this family who sees me not as a source of inheritance, but as a human being. Reed looked up, tears in his eyes. Grandmother, I don’t want… I don’t need to… I know, sweetheart, I said softly.
That’s exactly why you’re going to get it. Don’t worry, there’s not much in there, but enough to help you get started on your own. I turned to the others.
Their faces were a gamut of emotions. Shock, disbelief, disappointment, anger. You thought I didn’t notice how you treated me, I said quietly.
You thought I was too old and stupid to understand your plans. But I’ve seen it all, all these years. Every time you avoided my calls, every time you made excuses not to visit me, every time you lied to my face, I put the papers back in the envelope.
And you know what the saddest part is? I still loved you, no matter what, because you’re my children. But love doesn’t mean you have to let others violate your dignity. That’s what your father taught me, and that’s what I’ve tried to teach you…
Wesley was the first to regain his speech. Mom, this is… this is crazy. He tried to keep his voice low, but there was panic in his voice.
You can’t just just take everything away from us because of one misunderstanding. A misunderstanding? I looked at him with genuine surprise. You consider years of neglect a misunderstanding.
Lying about tonight is a misunderstanding. Talking behind my back about my supposed dementia is also a misunderstanding. Mom, we were worried about you, Thelma interjected.
Her voice trembled, but her eyes remained dry. You live alone in a big house. It’s hard for you to take care of it.
And that’s why you decided to sell it without asking me? I interrupted. Anxiety looks different, dear. Worry is when you call every day to see how I’m doing, when you offer to help instead of waiting for me to become so helpless that you can run my life.
Cora, who had been silent until then, suddenly spoke up. Edith, you’re being unfair. We have always treated you with respect, always cared.
Have we? I turned to her. Then why, when I needed money for medication that wasn’t covered by insurance, did Wesley say you were having financial difficulties? And then a week later, you flew to the Bahamas? Cora blushed and lowered her eyes. It was a planned vacation, she mumbled.
We couldn’t cancel them. Of course, I nodded. Vacations are more important than old mother’s health.
I understand. I got up from the table, gathering my purse. Well, I won’t spoil your holiday with my presence anymore.
I’ve said all I have to say. You’re leaving? Thelma looked confused. But, uh, but what about the- what about the money? I finished it for her.
It’s gone, dear. Not the house, not the savings you’ve been waiting for. There’s only me, your mother, who has finally decided to live for herself instead of waiting for you to find five minutes in your schedule to visit me.
Reed jumped to his feet. I’ll walk you out, Grandma. Thank you, sweetheart, but you don’t have to.
I touched his shoulder gently. Stay, finish your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I turned to the others. And with you, maybe not. It’s up to you.
I headed for the exit, feeling the stares of not only my family, but the other diners as well. But I didn’t care. For the first time in years, I felt free.
Free from expectations, from disappointment, from the endless expectation of attention and care that would never come. Lewis was waiting for me at the exit. Leaving Edith? He asked with a slight sadness in his voice.
Not because of the quality of the service, I hope? The service was excellent, Lewis, I replied sincerely. As it always is with you. It’s just that I have to go home.
Let me call you a cab, he offered as he walked me out. I’d appreciate it. While we waited for the cab, Lewis looked at me carefully.
Tense atmosphere at your table. Family matters, I smiled weakly. Sometimes the truth is bitter.
But necessary, he nodded. Like bitter medicine? Exactly, I agreed. Like bitter medicine.
The cab pulled up and Lewis gallantly opened the door for me. You know, Edith, I’ve always admired you, he said suddenly. When I was a boy, you were always so real.
No pretenses, no falsehoods. Thank you, Lewis. I was touched by his words.
It means a lot to me. I heard about the project for the new wing of the library, he added. It’s a wonderful idea.
George would be proud. I froze halfway into the cab. Do you know about it? Blue Springs is a small town, Edith, he smiled softly.
Everybody knows everything here, especially when it comes to such a generous donation. I nodded, feeling oddly relieved that the news had already spread. There was no turning back now.
It’s the right thing to do, I said, getting into the cab. The only right decision. I don’t doubt it, Lewis said seriously.
And Edith, if you ever want to talk or have a cup of tea, my door is always open to you. I’ll remember that, I promised. I, as the cab pulled away, I didn’t look back at the restaurant.
I didn’t want to see if my children would come out to say goodbye to me or stay inside discussing what had happened. In the end, it didn’t matter anymore. I had done what I should have done a long time ago.
I had regained control of my life. And though my heart was heavy with the realization of what my children had grown up to be, I felt strangely relieved, like I’d gotten rid of a heavy weight I’d been carrying around all these years. The cab turned the corner and the Willow Creek restaurant disappeared from view…
The part of my life that I’d let others decide for me. The part where I waited for attention and love from those who couldn’t or wouldn’t give it. The spring sun was peeking through the windows of my new apartment, filling it with warmth and light.
I sat in an armchair with a cup of morning tea, watching the city come to life. From the third floor, I had a beautiful view of Blue Spring Central Square, with its neat flower beds and ancient fountain. Across the street from me was the city library building, my new second home.
It had been three months since that night at the Willow Creek restaurant. Three months since I’d turned the page on my life and started writing a new chapter. Change wasn’t easy.
I’d lived in the same house my whole life, every corner of which held memories. But in a strange way, this small apartment, with its light walls and minimal belongings, gave me a sense of freedom I hadn’t felt in years. The ringing of the phone interrupted my thoughts.
I glanced at the screen Wesley, the fourth call this week. I put the phone away without answering it. Let him leave a message if it was really important.
After that night at the restaurant it was like my kids woke up. Suddenly they remembered I existed. At first there were angry phone calls.
How could I do this, sell the house, disinherit them? Then when they realized the anger wasn’t working, they started trying to ingratiate themselves. Wesley would arrive with flowers and a guilty look, talking about the misunderstanding and how much they really loved me. Thelma called every day offering to help me set up my new apartment, inviting me to lunch.
Even Cora sent a fruit basket and an apology card. I didn’t reject their attempts at reconciliation outright. I just kept my distance.
I accepted the gifts with a polite smile, but I wasn’t in a hurry to re-establish the old relationship. They had to realize that trust, once broken, doesn’t magically rebuild itself. Besides, I understood all too well the real reason for their sudden concern.
They hoped that I hadn’t yet had time to dispose of the money from the sale of the house, that maybe the donation to the library was just a threat. Wesley even cautiously wondered if I’d been too hasty in my decision to make such a large donation. And when I confirmed that the deal was finalized and the money had already been deposited into the library’s account, his face changed as if a mask had fallen.
For a moment I saw the real Wesley the calculating, money-minded one. The phone rang again. This time it was Reed.
Good morning, Grandma. His voice sounded cheerful despite the early hour. How are you today? Good morning, honey, I smiled involuntarily.
Beautiful as always. I admire the view from the window and think about the day ahead. Did you remember that today is the opening of the new wing of the library? I could hear the excitement in his voice.
I’ll pick you up at three o’clock like we agreed. Of course I remembered. I glanced at the dress I’d prepared for the ceremony, dark blue with a light silver pattern.
It’s all ready now. After a brief conversation with Reed, I went back to my tea. The opening of the new wing of the library is an important event for me.
The George Thornberry Wing is what it will be called. A place where children will be able to discover the world of books as George once did. He would be happy knowing that his name was associated with something so meaningful.
Finished with my tea, I began to get ready for my morning shift at the library. Three times a week I volunteered there, helping out in the children’s department. I read fairy tales to the kids, helped school children with book selection, and sometimes just talked to teenagers who came to the library not so much for books as for the silence and understanding they lacked at home.
This work gave me a sense of need that I had been deprived of for so long. The children looked at me not as a burden, not as a source of inheritance, but as a person who could give them something. Knowledge, attention, kindness.
On my way to the library, I met Martha Finch, my new friend and housemate. An energetic widow in her 70s, a former math teacher, she was one of the people who had helped me settle into my new place. Edith, she waved at me.
I’m going to the bakery for fresh bread. Do you want me to bring you anything? Thank you Martha, I’m fine, I smiled. I have a big day today and I’ll have lunch in town after the opening ceremony.
Oh yes, today is the opening of your George Wing, she nodded. That’s very good of you Edith, such a generous donation, such a tribute to your husband. I thanked her and continued on my way to the library.
After that night at the restaurant, news of my donation spread quickly through Blue Springs. People’s reactions varied. Some thought I was a heroine, some thought I was a crazy old woman who had disinherited her own children, but I didn’t care.
I knew I’d done the right thing. At the library, preparations for the opening ceremony were already in full swing. Workers were setting up the stage in front of the new wing.
Volunteers were hanging garlands and arranging chairs. Miss Prentiss, the head librarian, was running between them, dispensing instructions with an energy surprising for a woman of her age. Edith, she exclaimed when she saw me, how good of you to come.
We need help with the books for the new shelves. Can you select the children’s books that you think should be displayed first? I happily agreed. I spent the next few hours going through books ranging from classic fairy tales to contemporary stories…
Each one I evaluated in terms of what would appeal to children of different ages. It was an enjoyable job, reminding me of the times I used to read Wesley and Thelma before bedtime. Memories of the children no longer caused such acute pain as they used to.
I accepted the situation for what it was. They didn’t grow up to be what I wanted them to be, but they were my children and I still loved them. It’s just that now that love was more detached, without illusions or expectations.
At noon, I returned home to rest before the ceremony. Walking into the apartment, I saw the blinking indicator for new messages on my answering machine. The first one was from Wesley.
Mom, it’s me. I wanted to tell you that Cora and I are coming to the library opening tonight. I know you didn’t invite us, but it’s a community event, and we, we want to support you.
Please call me back if you get this message. The second message was from Thelma. Mom, I’m calling to say I can’t make it to the ceremony today.
I have an emergency order at the store. I need to get the flowers ready for the wedding. I know it’s a big day for you and I’m very sorry.
I’ll call you tonight to see how it went. I grinned. Some things don’t change.
Wesley had probably hoped that his presence at the ceremony would somehow soften me up. Perhaps he still thought he could convince me to change my mind about the inheritance. And Thelma, as usual, found a reason not to come.
Rush order was an old excuse she’d used for years. After a light lunch, I started getting ready for the ceremony. I showered, styled my hair, put on the same dark blue dress and pearl necklace, a gift from George.
Finishing getting ready, I sat down in a chair to get some rest before Reid arrived. My gaze fell on the picture of George on the dresser, the only one I’d taken from the old house. It showed him the way I loved him best, laughing with a slight streak in his hair, wrinkles around his eyes from his frequent smiles.
What would you say if you saw me now, George? I mentally asked him. Would you approve of my decisions? And I could almost hear his answer. You are living for yourself at last, Edith.
Of course I approve. The doorbell heralded Reid’s arrival. He looked excited and happy, wearing a strict suit that made him look even more like his grandfather.
Grandma, you look amazing! He exclaimed, kissing me on the cheek. Are you ready for your finest hour? I don’t think you could call it star time, I grinned, picking up my purse. But yeah, I’m ready.
On the way to the library, Reid talked about his schoolwork, his plans for the summer, how he and Audrey were thinking of taking a little trip down the coast. Wouldn’t you like to come with us, grandma? He suddenly asked. It would be great.
Quiet beaches, small coastal towns, great food. Honey, you’re a young couple, I smiled. You don’t need an old grandmother as a third extra.
You’ll never be an extra, Reid said seriously. Not for me, not for Audrey. She really wants you to go too, by the way.
She says you tell the most interesting stories. I was touched. Perhaps I really could go with them for a few days.
It would be a new experience, traveling without commitment, without having to take care of anyone, just for fun. I’ll think about it. I promised.
In the meantime, let’s focus on today. When we arrived at the library, the square in front of it was already filled with people. The white chairs arranged in rows in front of the makeshift stage were almost all occupied.
The new wing of the library, built of light-colored brick and glass, gleamed in the afternoon sun. Above the entrance hung a golden plaque, still covered with cloth, George Thornberry’s wing. Miss Prentiss met us at the entrance, glowing with excitement.
Edith, at last! We’ve been expecting you. Your place in the front row, of course. And for your grandson, too.
She led us to the seats for the guests of honor. I spotted Wesley and Cora in the crowd, standing off to the side, looking around uncertainly. When Wesley saw me, he waved and started making his way toward us.
I nodded back but didn’t linger, following Miss Prentiss. As I sat down, I looked around at the crowd. Many familiar faces, neighbors from the old neighborhood, new friends from the house where I now lived, parents of the kids I worked with at the library, and among them, Lewis Quinlan, in an elegant light-gray suit.
Noticing my gaze, he nodded slightly and smiled. After that evening at the restaurant, we saw each other several times. He stopped by the library, seemingly by chance, when I was working there.
He invited me for a cup of coffee and asked me how I was settling in at my new place. In his company, I felt not like an old widow, but just a woman, an interesting conversationalist. The ceremony began with the mayor’s speech, a standard speech about the importance of education and culture for small towns.
Miss Prentiss then spoke, talking about how long the library has needed expansion and how my donation made it possible. And now I would like to invite to the stage the woman who has brought us all here, she announced, Mrs. Edith Thornberry. To a round of applause, I took the stage.
I had never liked public speaking, but today I felt strangely calm. I knew what I had to say, and I knew it would be the right words. Good afternoon, friends, I began as the applause died down.
I am not a great master of speeches, so I will be brief. This wing is named in honor of my husband, George Thornberry, a man who loved two things more than anything, his family and books. I paused, looking at the people gathered.
Books open doors to other worlds. They teach us to empathize, to think, to dream. They help us realize that we are not alone in our feelings and thoughts.
George believed in the power of books. He read to our children every night, even though he was tired after work. He believed that a good book could change a child’s life.
I saw Wesley and Cora squeeze closer to the stage. Wesley’s face was tense, as if he expected me to say something unpleasant about him. My hope is that this new wing will be a place where the children of Blue Springs can find books that will change their lives, where they will learn to love reading the way my George loved it, and where they will realize that the most important things in life are not material possessions, but knowledge, love, and kindness.
I looked right at my children. Sometimes we forget these simple truths. Sometimes we get too caught up in the pursuit of material things, forgetting what really matters….
But it’s never too late to remember. It’s never too late to change your life. With those words, I turned to Miss Prentiss, letting her know I was done.
The hall exploded with applause, and I, feeling slightly dizzy, walked down from the stage, where Reed was waiting for me. The next item on the program was the unveiling of George’s nameplate. I was handed large ceremonial scissors to cut the ribbon.
I did so to camera flashes and renewed applause. After the formal part, a small informal part began, with champagne, light hors d’oeuvres, and a tour of the new wing. Many people came up to me to congratulate and thank me.
Wesley and Cora were among them. Mom, that was impressive, Wesley said, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. Dad would be proud.
Yes, he would have been proud, I agreed, especially if he saw his grandson Reed helping to organize this event, the way he takes care of his grandmother. George always appreciated family loyalty, Wesley flinched, catching the hint. Mom, I know that we, that what I did was wrong, but we can fix it, start over.
Maybe, I nodded, but it takes time and trust, and trust, Wesley, is something you have to earn. I saw Louis Quinlan coming toward us and I felt strangely relieved. I apologize for interrupting, he said, coming up.
Edith, Miss Prentiss would like you to say a few words to the children who are already learning the new section. Of course, I turned to my son. Excuse me, Wesley, duty calls.
Louis offered me his hand and I gratefully accepted it. We stepped back, but instead of leading me to Miss Prentiss, he headed toward a quiet corner of the garden near the library. Miss Prentiss wasn’t looking for me, was she? I asked with a slight smile.
Guilty, he admitted. Just thought you might need an escape from a tense conversation. Thank you, I thanked him sincerely.
It’s, it’s not easy, they’re my kids, no matter what. I understand, Louis nodded. Family relationships are always complicated, but you’re right that trust has to be earned.
We sat on a bench in the shade of an old oak tree. We had a view of the new wing of the library, the gold plaque with George’s name on it glistening in the sunlight. It’s beautiful, Louis said.
The architect did a good job of harmonizing the new wing with the old building. Yes, it’s very nice, I agreed. George would be pleased.
We were silent for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet of the little garden, despite the noise of the celebrations nearby. I’ve been thinking, Louis said suddenly. Next weekend they’re doing King Lear at the town theater.
I’ve bought two tickets, but my sister with whom I was going to go has to leave unexpectedly to visit her daughter. Would you like to keep me company? I looked at him, surprised by the invitation. There was something in his eyes, warmth, hope, maybe even a hint of uncertainty that made my heartbeat a little faster.
I’d love to, I replied, surprised at my own resolve. Louis brightened. Great, I’ll pick you up at six.
The play starts at seven, but I thought we could have dinner before then. That sounds wonderful, I smiled, feeling a slight excitement I hadn’t felt in years. We headed back to the celebration where Reed was already looking for us.
Grandma, there you are, he exclaimed. Miss Prentice wants you to meet the kids from the summer reading club. Coming, honey, I turned to Louis.
Duty calls for real this time. Of course, he bowed slightly. I’ll see you this weekend…
The next two hours flew by in a whirlwind of meetings, conversations, pictures. I met with the kids from the reading club, told them about George’s favorite books, and promised to read one of them to them at the next class. Answered questions from the local newspaper who wanted to do an article about the opening.
Listened to the many thanks from parents whose children would be using the new wing. Finally, when the ceremony came to an end and most of the guests had dispersed, Reed and I got into his car to head home. It was a beautiful day, he said as he started the engine.
You did good, Grandma. Thanks, honey. I felt pleasantly tired.
Yes, it was a special day. I saw you talking to Mr. Quinlan. Reed gave me a sly look.
You two seem to get along well, don’t you? I felt warmth rush to my cheeks. He’s an interesting person to talk to, I said evasively. Is that all? Reed was clearly enjoying my embarrassment.
I thought there was something between you two. Don’t be silly, I shook my head, but I couldn’t hold back a smile. At my age, I’m not looking for romance anymore.
Why not? Reed objected. Age is no barrier to happiness, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the same way I look at Audrey. I didn’t answer, but his words made me think.
Was age really a handicap? Hadn’t I proven to myself in those three months that life could begin again at any moment if I put my mind to it? As we pulled up to my house, I noticed a familiar car parked nearby. Thelma. She was sitting on the bench in front of the driveway, obviously waiting for me.
Mommy! She got up when she saw us. I’m so glad I made it. My order ran out sooner than I thought, so I decided to come.
I didn’t want to miss the big day. She was holding a bouquet, not store-bought but personally made. I could tell by the particular way she put it together, the way her work was always distinctive.
Thank you, dear. I accepted the flowers. They’re beautiful.
May I come in? There was an uncertainty in her voice that I hadn’t noticed before. If you’re not too tired, of course. I looked at my daughter, at her tense face, at the way she was nervously rubbing the strap of her bag.
Maybe she really was sorry for what had happened. Maybe she was trying to change. Sure, come on in.
I opened the front door. Reed, are you coming in too? No, Grandma, I have a meeting with Audrey. He kissed my cheek.
I’ll call you tomorrow. Thelma and I went up to the apartment. She was looking around with obvious interest.
It was her first visit here. I could see the surprise on her face. She was probably expecting something more modest, not a bright, spacious apartment with new furniture and a nice view from the windows.
It’s very nice, she said at last. It’s cozy. Thank you.
I put the bouquet in the vase. Tea, coffee, tea if I may. While I made tea, Thelma looked at the pictures on the walls, a few old ones from the old house, and many new ones of me with the kids at the library, with new friends with Reed and Audrey on a picnic…
You have a busy life, she remarked when I returned with the tray. I didn’t realize you were so… active. A lot of people didn’t realize it.
I poured the tea into cups, including myself. We sat down at a small table by the window. Thelma was clearly nervous, not knowing where to start the conversation.
The ceremony was beautiful, she said finally. Wesley called me, told me. He was… impressed.
Thank you. I sipped my tea. I’m glad it went well.
Mom. Thelma took a deep breath. I owe you an apology for that night at the restaurant.
For all these years, we… I… did wrong. I stared at her in silence, waiting for her to continue. I don’t know how things got this way, she continued, staring into her cup.
We were close once. And then… then everyday life, the worries, the store… it all seemed to come between us. I forgot that you’re not just a mom who’ll always be there for me.
You’re a person, with your own feelings, desires, plans. For the first time in a long time I saw sincerity in her eyes. Thank you for those words, Thelma, I said quietly.
They mean a lot to me. I’m not asking you to forgive me right away. She twirled the cup nervously in her hands.
I realize that trust doesn’t rebuild quickly. But I want to try. I want to be a part of your life again, a real part.
Not just a daughter who calls once a month. I looked at my daughter, seeing her not only as a grown woman with graying temples, but also as a little girl who once came to me with her joys and sorrows. Maybe there was still something of that little girl left in her.
I wish there was, I said at last. But you’re right, trust must be rebuilt gradually, day by day. We talked into the evening.
For the first time in years we had a real conversation instead of just a few sentences. And when Thelma left promising to come back over the weekend, I stayed at the window, looking out at the darkening sky and the lights of the city. My new life was just beginning.
A life in which I was not just a mother, a grandmother, a widow, but above all, myself. Edith Thornberry, a woman with so much to look forward to.
