A Long Walk Home. Diane Amos

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СКАЧАТЬ I wire her some cash and please hurry because she was moving again? As soon as she’d found a job, she’d repay me, which I knew would never happen. Against my mother’s advice, I’d sent the money and an extra couple hundred dollars hoping against very slim odds that my sister would use some of it on my niece.

      Vi looked so happy, so unaware of what I was going to say.

      Guilt gnawed at my insides. She waved for me to follow her into her bedroom. She was nearing sixty, and when she smiled, which was rare, she looked much younger. Usually her mouth turned down, her brow furrowed and her eyes filled with grief.

      I hated to cause her more pain. She’d already suffered too much.

      As she crossed the room and opened a cedar chest, I noticed the pictures of Paul on her dresser. There was a cute one of him as a toddler playing in the sand, another on his graduation from college and several of us on our wedding day. Our smiles wide and our hearts full. When we’d believed love conquered all.

      Vi reached way in the back of the chest and pulled out a small package. She turned, took my hand, and nestled a velvet box into my palm. “I’m sure you already know this, but I want to say again how much I love you. You’ve been like a daughter to me.” Her eyes misted. Blinking away tears, she reached into her apron pocket and blew her nose on a tissue. After sucking in a long breath, she continued, “I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get all mushy and sentimental, but you know how I am. If you and Paul had had babies, I’d planned to give you this in the hospital to enjoy for a while, then pass on to the next generation.”

      As I cupped the box in my hand, a faint scent of cedar rose to my nostrils.

      “Go ahead, open it,” Vi, said, looking happy. “I can’t wait to see your face.”

      Positioning a finger on either side of the box, I lifted the lid and looked down at a beautiful emerald ring that I’d seen only once before on Vi’s finger on the day Paul and I said our vows. It had belonged to her mother. Vi had explained she’d kept it locked away in a safe-deposit box for fear of losing it.

      “I can’t accept this,” I said, overwhelmed with emotion. Love and guilt consumed me. How could I tell her about Tony? How could I not?

      “It’s a gift from me to you. The decision has already been made. You’ve worked hard to earn your promotion. I’m proud of you. My only regret is that I didn’t give you this ring a lot sooner.”

      I was a traitor, about to send her world spinning out of control. I didn’t know what to say. My legs felt like rubber, shaky and about to give way. Before I could muster a coherent thought, the kettle on the stove whistled, and Vi ran out to pour our tea.

      As if in a dream I walked into the kitchen, still clutching the box, stealing another glance at the precious green stone twinkling in the light coming through the window. I watched Vi slide generous pieces of strudel onto two dishes, felt my throat constrict with dread, felt perspiration on my palms as I sat and caught my breath.

      “So aren’t you going to try it on,” she said indicating the ring. “I had it sized to fit your finger, but the jeweler at Day’s said if it needs to be adjusted to bring it back, and he’ll do it right away.”

      I set the box down and met her expectant gaze.

      Where to begin.

      I wanted to explain how many times I’d come over here planning to tell her about Tony. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, but that would only postpone the inevitable. Fearing I might back down again and leave without telling her the truth, I knew I had to dive right into the subject. Or she might hear the news from someone else.

      And that would be worse.

      “I need to tell you something that might upset you.”

      Worry etched deep lines around her mouth and eyes. “Are you sick?”

      “No, it’s nothing like that.”

      “Thank the good Lord. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What in heaven’s name is wrong?”

      I paused and tried to choose the right words. “Nothing is wrong. As a matter of fact it’s good news. Sort of.”

      Confusion clouded her eyes. “Now I’m really puzzled.”

      “I’ve met someone. His name is Anthony Marino.”

      She collapsed into the chair and heaved a sigh. I waited for the aftershocks to subside.

      “I’d like you to meet him,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’ll like him. I think Paul would have liked him, too.”

      “How long have you been seeing this Tony?”

      I considered lying, but that would only compound the guilt of not having told her sooner. “Seven months.”

      Her features twisted in disbelief. “Surely, it’s not serious, or you’d have told me about this man sooner.”

      I curled my hands around the warm mug of tea, tried to steady my grip, tried to soften the impact.

      I went for broke, no more skirting the issue. “He loves me, and I love him.”

      “What about Paul?”

      Paul’s dead.

      Too blunt, too hurtful. I sucked in my lower lip and blew out a soft breath. “I can’t bring Paul back.”

      “You mourned your husband for less than a year,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “How can you do this?”

      She made it sound as though I’d cheated on her son.

      I wanted to ask her how long I should mourn a man who’d betrayed me. I considered shattering her distorted image of her son, but I couldn’t do that to her.

      “I was a good wife to Paul while he was alive. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.”

      Avoiding eye contact, she stared across the room. Tense silence stretched between us until I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

      “I just need a chance to accept this,” she said, her voice hollow. “I know Paul is gone. I know we can’t bring him back. You’re young. You have a right to be happy. Maybe you’ll even have children. I could be their grandmother,” she said, a tinge of hope creeping into her tone.

      Tony already had three children from his first marriage. He’d made it clear he didn’t want any more babies. I understood. Plus, I’d reached the point in my life where I no longer yearned to hold an infant in my arms and to watch my child grow: first steps, first words, being loved unconditionally.

      At least I didn’t think I did.

      “I’m a bit old to have babies,” I said, not wanting to lead her astray.

      “You’re still young. Nowadays I can’t turn on the news without hearing of some actress having a baby in her forties. Lots of women are having children later in life. You could, too.” She sighed again and looked at me. “I apologize for overreacting a few minutes ago. I just never thought of you with another man. I can’t СКАЧАТЬ