Page 121 of When We Were Young

“Yeah. Sure.”

As the next couple of hours pass, I pray that she takes me up on the offer. I want to spend time with Simon, but I also want to help her. It would mean the world to me if I could somehow support her through all of this.

Simon is at a friend’s playing, and after he gets home, Lizettes sits down to talk with him. I watch with awe as she gently tells him about her father. She tells him of his option to stay home.

“Would you rather come with me? You’d miss school and field day, but I’m happy to have you with me.”

Simon’s eyes are downcast. When he glances up at her through long, thick, hooded lashes, I can tell whatever he wants to say next isn’t easy for him.

“Do I have to go, Mom? Will you be okay without me? I’ll go if you need me, but...”

“But what, sweetie?”

Lizette bends forward, cups Simon’s face, and kisses the top of his head. Then, she sits upright before leaning back and focusing her attention on his face.

“But I’d rather stay home and do field day and hang out with Holden and fish and...”

“Okay. Are you sure?”

“Yes. If you’re not going to be mad at me.”

“Sweetheart, I could never be mad at you for something like that. I told you this was your choice, and that’s okay.”

It’s touching to watch the tenderness and trust between them. I find myself wondering if she realizes what an amazing mother she is.

“All right. Then I’ll stay home.” He rises from his seat and wraps his arms around Lizette, giving her a quick hug. Then he says, “I’m going to go read for a while and let you guys do grown-up talk.”

Simon turns toward me, his expression serious.

“She’s gonna have lots of directions for you, but you’ll be okay.” He pats me on the shoulder and wanders off to his room.

A hint of a laugh escapes Lizette, and I chuckle as well. I love that kid.

“Okay. So, you’ll let me take care of Simon?”

She bites her lower lip and nods.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the privilege of doing this.”

“Oh. Well, there’s nothing to thank me for.”

“I don’t know. I beg to differ. You normally don’t let many people help you.”

She casts her gaze downward and shrugs. “I can’t always expect people will be around to assist me. What happens when they’re gone?”

I wonder how much of this reluctance and fear she has is because of the man whose funeral she’s about to attend. The man who made promises to his daughters and broke them over and over again.

“I still think I should close the bakery. It’s a lot⁠—”

“No, that’s not necessary. My mom would love handling it for you. She thinks it’s a great idea—as long as you’re comfortable.”

“Well, I don’t know. What if⁠—”

“I’ll make sure it runs smoothly.”