As she turns up her walkway, the boys zipping ahead of her, Gwen flashes back to last night. How she threw that coffee mug, hitting him in the head. How it landed on the tile floor, shattering, and he stormed off. She was so sure she had cleaned up every last bit of broken ceramic. She must be more careful in the future. All eyes will be on her.
“Gram!” George yells as soon as they are inside the house.
Gwen is startled to see her mother standing in the middle of her living room, fully made-up, her short wheat-colored bob shellacked into place.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
Her mother steps forward and hugs her stiffly. Gwen can smell her mother’s Yves Saint Laurent perfume, the heady scent she has worn continuously since the 1980s.
“Darling, you poor, poor thing,” she whispers in Gwen’s ear. “I came as soon as I heard.”
Gwen pulls back, trying to do the math. It’s about a two-and-a-half-hour drive from her parents’ house outside Richmond. “But how did you hear?”
“Your friend told me. Lisa something?”
“Lisa called you?”
“Are you staying, Grammy?” George asks, running into the room. “I want to show you a magic trick. Stay there.” He runs off.
“I take it they don’t know?”
Gwen shakes her head. “So, Lisa told you? About Anton?”
Barb looks around the room, as if she is a Realtor assessing the place. “I texted the boys to ask them about Christmas presents. You never responded to that email I sent—”
“Because it’s September.”
“—and she responded. Apparently, Rafi had taken off his watch thingamajig. Not sure why boys that age need a device at all.” She glares at Gwen pointedly. Barb had been opposed to letting the boys have Apple watches, had deluged Gwen with articles about the dangers of screens, even when Gwen explained it would make her feel safer letting them go down to the playground if she could track them.
“But you’re the one who texted them.”
Barb waves away the inconsistency. “And I’m glad I did. When this Lisa person called me and told me what was going on, well, you can imagine my reaction. I tried you immediately, but you didn’t answer.”
“I’ve been busy. It’s been a horrible morning.”
“What I don’t understand is how could I not be the first call that you made, Gwendolyn?”
The old familiar mix of anger and embarrassment burbles within her. “Because I just found out a few hours ago that my husband is dead, so sorry I didn’t call you right away.” She storms off into the kitchen, noting that it took less than five minutes in her mother’s presence for her to revert to an impertinent teenager. She grabs the electric kettle and fills it with water, making sure to bang it around the sink a bit.
Barb follows her in, tsk-tsking. “Oh sweetie, my poor sweetie, I didn’t mean to accuse you. Don’t be upset. Come to Mommy.” She comes around the island, arms open, and envelops Gwen in a hug. “My poor little baby.” Barb pulls back and holds her at arm’s length. “How can I help? Let me help you. What happened? Tell me everything. I’ll take that. You sit down.”
She takes the kettle, puts it back on its base, and switches it on.
Gwen sits down, stunned by the power of Barb. She’s never been able to keep a secret from her mother, so what makes her think she can now? She sits and watches Barb make tea and then lets her mother lead her back to the living room, where she plumps up some pillows and orders Gwen to sit. Barb takes a seat beside her.
Gwen tells her everything, only stopping once George and Rafi return to perform some clunky card tricks they’ve been obsessing over the past few weeks.
“We need to practice more,” Rafi says.
“I think you were both wonderful!” Barb says.
After the boys leave, she turns to Gwen.
“Come back to our house for the weekend. You’re in no condition to be here by yourself. It’ll be good for you to let us take care of you. Daddy can take the boys to the club—did I tell you they upgraded the golf carts? The boys will like that. And I’ll look after you. You need your family at a time like this.”
“I don’t want to leave.” The house her parents live in isn’t even her childhood home. As soon as she left for college, they sold their house in Richmond proper for an immense one farther out in the country. Who buys a bigger house when their kids leave? Her parents, that’s who. More room for her dad’s cars and boats. More rooms for her mother to decorate.
“If you don’t want to come, at least let me take the boys for the weekend.”