She nodded once.
So I sat.
We did not talk at first.
The curtain shifted slightly when people passed.
My mother picked at the tape on her hand until I told her to stop.
She stopped.
That made me sadder than defiance would have.
After a while, she said, “Elowen got a job.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“She told me.”
My mother looked wounded by that.
“She didn’t tell me.”
I said nothing.
“Elowen tells you things now.”
“Sometimes.”
My mother swallowed.
“I suppose that makes sense.”
I waited.
She stared at the wall.
“When your father died,” she said, “everyone told me how strong I was.”
My throat tightened.
I had not expected Dad to enter this room.
Not gently.
Not like this.
“They brought casseroles,” she continued. “They patted my shoulder. They said, ‘Maura, you are so strong.’ And I believed them because I had to. I had two daughters and bills and a house that suddenly sounded too quiet.”
