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Lauren had removed the old faded drapes and polished up the windows, allowing the light to stream in.
“It makes the room seem bigger.” Nancy surveyed the changes to her home. “Those wretched things have been gathering dust for years and obscuring the light. I wanted to take them down, but Tom said the sunlight would fade the furniture.”
Lauren was filling a large glass vase with seashells. “He’s gone, Mom. You can do whatever you want to do.”
Whatever she wanted to do.
Nancy wasn’t sure if the thought was exciting or terrifying, and she realized her daughter was in much the same position.
“You can do whatever you want to do, too.”
“Not quite.” Lauren placed the jar on a low table. “I have Mack to think about.”
Lauren instinctively put her daughter first, Nancy thought.
If she had her time again, would she make different choices?
“You’re a wonderful mother.”
Lauren gave a tired smile. “I don’t think Mack would agree.”
“Children never agree with their parents. It’s part of the development cycle. You swear you’ll do things differently when you have your own, and then you make your own mistakes. But there is no doubt that you’re a much better mother than I was.” Nancy paused. Why did she find this type of interaction so hard? Maybe it was because her own mother had died when she was so young. And there was no way she ever would have talked to her grandmother. “I’m sorry for that. Sorry for the fact that you knew about your father and didn’t feel you could tell me. Sorry that when you were pregnant, you didn’t feel you could talk to me.”
Lauren added another shell to the collection. “Don’t be sorry. I wish you’d told us what you were dealing with.”
“I believed I was protecting you. I thought that was the right thing to do.”
Lauren took a deep breath. “I wish I’d known how you felt. You so rarely joined in, I guess Jenna and I both assumed you didn’t want to. We only thought about you in the context of us. You were our mother. I didn’t think about your life beyond that, who you really were or what you might have wanted. I certainly didn’t consider what sacrifices you might be making.”
“I doubt any child ever does that.” Nancy’s arms ached to reach out and hug Lauren, but she didn’t know if it was the right thing to do or not.
Jenna was the hugger of the family. Lauren was more reserved.
Protecting herself again? Nancy didn’t know.
And she wanted to. She wanted to know her daughter.
“One of my happiest childhood memories was being sick that time with chickenpox,” Lauren said. “Do you remember?”
“You were miserable with the spots and the itching. How could that memory possibly be happy?”
“Because you used to come and sit with me. Dad was never interested unless we were running around doing crazy, exciting things. When we were sick, he ignored us, but you used to come armed with piles of paper and paints and crayons, and we’d draw and color. I remember you taught me to draw a cat.”
“I remember that.” Nancy felt the hot sting of tears. It was funny how wrong you could be. “I thought all your childhood memories would have your father in them.”
“Not all of them.” Lauren settled herself on the sofa and picked up the quilt she’d been stitching. Every time Nancy saw her, she seemed to be sewing something. This one was destined for one of the bedrooms.
“How are you doing? Not with the redecorating, but with everything else.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She could have left it at that. Until recently she wouldn’t even have entertained the possibility of going deeper. But that was then and this was now.
Determined, Nancy took a step forward and put her hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “Are you really fine? I want to know.”
Lauren stopped stitchin
g. “I’m up and down. Sometimes it feels as if this is happening to someone else and I’m watching.”
