Chapter 5
I knew almost nothing about Mom's life before she met Dad. There were photographs, certainly. Graduation pictures. A few college friends. A summer road trip. But she rarely told stories about those years.
“What happened?”
“Nothing I want you worrying about today.”
“Mom.”
She looked at me. I had spent months hearing carefully constructed answers. I had learned what evasiveness sounded like. Mom understood that I recognized it.
Finally, she said, “There was someone before your father.”
Mara sat down again. Apparently this part was new to her too.
“You never told us that,” she said.
“There was very little worth telling.”
“But something happened.”
Mom looked at me. “I stayed in a relationship after I knew I shouldn't.”
The words settled quietly between us. There were no dramatic details. Mom didn't offer them, and I didn't ask. Instead, she said something I wasn't expecting.
“I became very good at explaining.”
I stared at her. “Explaining what?”
“Everything. Why he forgot something important. Why plans changed. Why my friends misunderstood him. Why I was tired. Why I wasn't visiting home.”
I felt a chill unrelated to the hospital room.
Mom continued. “The explanations became automatic. Eventually, I didn't even know whether I was convincing other people or myself.”
Mara was watching her now with an expression I couldn't read.
“How did you leave?” I asked.
Mom looked toward the window. “My sister.”
“Aunt Ruth?”
“Yes.”
Aunt Ruth had died when I was twelve. I remembered her mostly as perfume, crossword puzzles, and peppermint candies.
“She helped you?”
“She gave me somewhere to stay.”
I looked at Mara. She looked at me. Mom noticed.
“Families repeat sentences,” she said quietly. “Sometimes without knowing where those sentences came from.”
May you like
My eyes filled again. Aunt Ruth had told Mom her door was open. Mom had told me I didn't need to explain. Mara had told me the same thing.
Three generations of women handing one another the same invisible key.
