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She swallowed. For a moment, I thought she might actually break down and tell me what was bothering her. Instead, she glanced at her phone. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to arrange carpool for soccer practice this afternoon. Actually, I think I better go so I can wrap this up before the bell rings.”
I gave a slow nod and let her go.
At home that evening, I kept thinking about Brandy. What in the world was going on? Had I done something to make her feel like she couldn’t trust me?
Not wanting to spend the evening obsessing over something I couldn’t control, I poured myself a glass of wine and carried it outside to the backyard.
Like many women throughout history, I found great comfort in creating a garden. While I harvested a successful vegetable crop each year, I enjoyed my flowers the most. As I knelt to pull weeds, a sense of peace filled me. There was just something so inspiring about digging in the dirt.
Tossing the weeds aside, I used my hand to brush dirt off the cement statue that commemorated the life of my sweet German shepherd, Lady. I’d been blessed with three faithful dogs in my lifetime. The loss of each one had been rough, but losing Lady was still fresh.
As she was passing, I told myself to remember the pain because I never wanted to relive something like that again. And I never would. Whether it made sense or not, Lady would be my last dog.
Sometimes, however, during moments like tonight, when I felt unsettled, I thought about getting another dog. I missed Lady’s faithful presence as I worked in the yard. I missed how she sighed before falling asleep at the foot of my bed.
And yet welcoming another dog meant welcoming pain. Most likely, I would outlive any animal I brought into my life. Except a parrot. Didn’t parrots in captivity live hundreds of years? Who was I kidding? A parrot wasn’t a dog. Not by a long shot.
The sound of the side gate creaking open caused me to jump. I pressed a hand to my heart, relieved to see Lia. “You scared me to death.”
“Sorry.” She closed the gate and walked toward me, holding a white paper bag from the little vegetarian restaurant near the children’s theater. “Have you eaten yet? I was in the mood for something healthy, but you know how big their portions are.”
I brushed off my hands and came to my feet. “I don’t want to eat your food. You could save the leftovers for tomorrow night.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think I could eat butternut squash chili and whole wheat nut bread two days in a row.”
I studied her carefully. The butternut squash chili was my favorite not hers. And like Salvador, Lia preferred sourdough bread to whole wheat. She’d specifically chosen this meal for me.
“Don’t look at me like that, Mom.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re worried I’m going to jump off a bridge or something. Nothing is wrong. I’m fine. Seriously.”
“I’m not worried.” Using my jeans, I brushed the dirt off my hands before collecting my glass of wine from the stump I used as a side table. “I know you’re fine, honey.”
“Do you?”
“Of course.” That hadn’t always been the case. Lia had struggled emotionally in high school. She’d never been suicidal. At least, that’s what she told me, but she’d battled horrible anxiety and depression.
During her freshman year of college, she completely broke down after Salvador and I announced our divorce. Blaming me, she refused to stay at the house over Christmas break. Instead, she stayed with Salvador in the tiny apartment above the restaurant. At the time, I honestly didn’t think my daughter would ever speak to me again.
Abuelahad urged me to be patient with Lia and to give her time. Now, here she was bringing me dinner. Time really did heal all wounds. Well, most of them anyway.
Lia sat on the bench and unpacked our meal. She’d always loved eating out here in the garden. Sitting beside her, I accepted the container of soup and spoon she handed me. For several moments, we ate in companionable silence.
“By the way,” she said, “thank you.”
“Thank you? For what?”
“For the other day. For taking me to my appointment and out to lunch.”
“I was happy to do all that with you. Seeing your babies on the screen... That was something else, wasn’t it?”
“It was.” She dipped her bread in the soup and took a bite. “I’m sorry I was in such a bad mood after you asked about the babies’ father.”
“Were you?” Feigning ignorance, I smiled. “I hadn’t noticed.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I was. Anyway, I’m sorry. It’s just... Well, it’s complicated, okay? I’m not ready to talk about it.”
