“Like throwing my ball in the house.”
Jane smiled.“Something like that.Grandma wanted to paint, but it made your grandfather unhappy.”
“Why?If the pictures are pretty wouldn’t he want her to make them?”
“You’d think so.Grandpa is a different kind of person than Grandma.”She pulled off a cover and peered inside.“Oh, look.Here’s a couple.”She carefully drew out several flat canvases.The first watercolor painting showed a garden in full bloom.Luscious colors blended harmoniously.Small, sure brushstrokes added depth to the plants and a gazebo in the corner.
“I like this one,” Billie said, leaning against her arm.“What are the others like?”
Jane showed her, one by one.
“That one is like the roses Adam sent you.”
She was right.Pale peach-and-cream flowers floated in a glass bowl.She had a dozen of the same roses downstairs in the parlor.She’d placed them deliberately so that when she looked at them, she saw the patch of carpet where they’d first made love.
“Are we going to hang these up?”
“Yes.”
Billie touched the corner of the painting.“I don’t understand why Grandpa wouldn’t want her to do this.It’s nice.Can I have one in my room?”
“Sure.”Jane placed the watercolors on the floor by the doorof the attic.“I think there might be some more pictures.Let’s look for them for a little longer, then I’ll go start dinner.”
“Is Adam coming over tonight?”
“I hope so.”
She needed to see him and reassure herself that what had happened between them had been as perfect and right for him as it had been for her.She wanted to see him and touch him and—
“Should I call Adam ‘Dad’?”Billie asked.She wiped her hand down her face and left a trail of dust.
The question shouldn’t have been unexpected, but it was.So many changes.Still, she’d done this for Billie.And Adam.“If you want to.”
Billie shrugged.“I guess.I’m glad I have a father now.I wanted one for a long time.But when I think about him in my mind, he’s Adam.I’m afraid I’ll say it wrong.”
“It’s up to you.”Jane smiled at her daughter and ignored the small tug at her heart.It was going to be hard to learn how to share the affection of this eight-year-old.She’d been the only one for so long.“You could practice for a while.Soon you’ll start thinking of him as Dad instead of Adam and that will make it easier to say.”
“Okay.Dad.”She tried out the word.“Dad, Dad, Dad.”She twirled in the room, bumping into boxes and chanting the word like a song.She stopped and stared at her.“Did you love Ad—Dad?”
Where had that come from?It would be easy to make up a story, but she was so tired of the lies.“Yes, Billie, I loved your father with all my heart.”
“Then why did you leave?”
That was tougher.She wasn’t so sure anymore.At one time the answer to the question would have made a lot more sense.“I didn’t think I was ready to be married.Adam was all grown up, but I wasn’t.Relationships between men and women require that both people are ready.”
“Did he want you to go?”
She thought of all that he had told her.The bald way he talked about having to pick up the pieces of his life, the details of thefailed wedding, the anger when he spoke of her betrayal.“No, Billie, he didn’t.I hurt him very badly.”
“Are you sorry?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ‘pologize?”
She smiled.“Yes, I did.”
“Then it’s okay.You always told me ‘pologizing helps make it right.”
