Page 106 of In a Word, Yes

“Yes, of course. So nice to finally meet you, Lucy,” Dora says, going in for the hug.

When Mom and I arrive at my car, a food storage container has magically appeared on the passenger seat. Mom gets in and rests it on her lap.

“Go ahead and open that,” I say, buckling my seat belt. “I’m sure it’s from my friend Dot. She goes to church right across the street.”

“Don’t you lock your doors?”

“Mom.”

“Okay, fine, but you really should, you know, Lu Lu.” She pops the lid. “Oh! Heaven! Smell that cinnamon!”

“Looks like Dot’s pumpkin scones. They’re delish. How thoughtful. She knows how much Chase loves pump—”

But Mom is no longer looking at me. She flickers her eyelashes, watching something over my shoulder.

I turn to see Wyatt crossing the parking lot in slow strides, as if deep in thought.

Mom opens her mouth to comment, then stops. I can read what she isn’t saying. Instead, she pretends to draw a zipper across her lips.

The aroma of fall spices fills the car, and the temptation to offer one of the scones to Wyatt tugs hard. To be on the receiving end of one of his great smiles. It would certainly make my mother’s day. Except what would the gesture convey? “Here’s your consolation prize”?

No. I’ve had a close-up view of Wyatt’s tender heart, and one thing is for sure. It wouldn’t be appeased by a parting gift. Pumpkin spice or not.

Forty-One

elegiac(adj.): expressing sorrow, often for something now past

The following Wednesday evening, Chase is off somewhere with his grandparents. Strains of banjo and guitar float up to my balcony from one of the many music venues in town. The last ribbons of a cantaloupe sunset dissolve into twilight.

And I keep slipping into a daydream that I’m sharing all this with Wyatt.

Lord, why do you allow me to want something I can’t have?

I spot the first star. Or maybe it’s a planet. I really should know these things.

Could it be I’m the one denying myself, more comfortable crawling in fear back into old protective patterns?

Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

“Knock-knock!” My mother’s singsong voice. “Don’t get up, honey. I’m just setting something down on your counter.”

“Mom, what are you ... another gift?”

“Hang on! Be right there. Hey, what’s with all the gray-haired people wearing tie-dye I keep seeing around town?”

“Folk music festival. Come join me. You can listen for free out here.”

“That certainly explains it. I thought I’d time-traveled back to the seventies. Should I start the kettle?”

“Definitely. And grab that chunky blanket off the couch for yourself. Where are the boys?”

It normally takes a lot to get Mom to settle. Already she looks pretty relaxed in the other rattan chair. “Chase wanted to show Papa some special places around town. Something about historical plaques.”

I chuckle. “Sounds like Chase.”

“Ahh, isn’t this nice? I’m glad we finally have a quiet moment. I keep thinking about that opinion piece you wrote in this week’s paper. I know I already commended you about it, but I have a few more thoughts.”

“Okay.”