Chapter 16
After we hung up, I called Benjamin.
He answered almost immediately.
“Mom?”
“Lily wants to visit on Saturday.”
A long silence followed.
“She’s been asking about you.”
“Then perhaps you should have brought her.”
“Genevieve thought it was better to wait until things settled down.”
“Things don’t settle down by keeping a child away from someone she loves.”
“I know.”
I heard him exhale.
“I’ll bring her Saturday morning.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry about the message.”
It was the first time he had apologized specifically for what he had done, rather than for the consequences that followed.
I felt a small ache in my chest.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“I shouldn’t have sent it.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“I was angry.
Genevieve and I had been arguing about money, and she didn’t want you there because she thought you would ask questions about our finances.”
“Would I have?”
“Probably.”
“Would that have been unreasonable?”
He was silent.
“No,” he admitted.
“I suppose not.”
I looked out the window at the bare branches of the maple tree in my yard.
“Benjamin, you don’t have to tell me every detail of your life.
You’re an adult.
But if you ask me to pay for something, I am allowed to understand what I’m paying for.”
“I know.”
“And if you don’t want me at a family dinner, you need to be honest with me.
You cannot accept my money and then pretend I don’t belong in your life.”
His voice grew rough.
“I know, Mom.”
For the first time, I thought he might truly be listening.
But listening was not the same as changing.
I had learned that distinction the hard way.
Lily arrived on Saturday at ten in the morning, carrying a drawing she had made at school.
She ran through the front door before Benjamin could finish knocking.
“Grandma!”
I knelt carefully, and she wrapped her arms around my neck.
She smelled of strawberry shampoo and the vanilla lotion I had bought her for Christmas.
For a few seconds, I held her without speaking.
Then she pulled away and unfolded her drawing.
It showed a house with a red roof, three people standing outside, and a yellow sun in the corner.
“That’s you,” she said, pointing to the smallest figure.
“And that’s me.
And that’s Grandpa.”
My eyes filled.
Thomas had been gone for nearly four years, but Lily still remembered him from the stories I told her.