could ask your mother."
"Oh, Sarah, I couldn't ."
"Sure you could. There'll be a moment in time when you'll be able to ask her. You'll see. And I bet she won't bite your head off, either. In fact, she'll probably be glad you asked, relieved to talk about your father and her. People do like to unburden themselves, especially mothers to their daughters."
I doubted my mother would feel this way, but I said, "I hope so, Sash. You know only too well that she and I have our differences. But my mother does love me, and I love her, even though she can be exasperating. And today I felt something else for her, something different—a rush of genuine sympathy, and a certain kind of… aching sorrow. I realized that she probably hadn't had it easy with Daddy. It was at that moment it occurred to me that I was being unfair, unjust. I think I've always been somewhat blinded to reality because of my adoration of my father."
"You might have been unjust, yes, but you can't change that now, honey. What's done is done. I'm glad you had this… this revelation, as you call it." Sarah cleared her throat, and looking me straight in the eye, she said, "Your father was never there for you, Mal. Your mother always was."
I gaped at her, about to protest, but clamped my mouth firmly shut. I realized that Sarah had spoken only the truth. Whenever there had been a crisis during the years I was growing up, my father had inevitably been abroad. It was my mother who had coped with my problems during my adolescence and teenage years and even when I was older.
I nodded. "You're right," I said at last, acknowledging the veracity of her words. Then with a twinge of dismay I realized this was the first time I had ever been disloyal to my father in my thoughts, let alone in my words. But he had most likely been as much at fault as my mother, when it came to the disintegration of their marriage.
She got up and walked around the table to my side, hugged me against her body. "I love you," she whispered.
"And I love you, Best Friend," I said, squeezing her hand, which rested on my shoulder.
Straightening, she said with a light laugh, "I'd better go inside and get dressed. I don't want to be caught in my robe when your guests arrive."
I also stood. "And I must finish setting these tables." As I spoke I picked up a handful of red-and-white checked napkins and began to fold them in half.
Sarah was a few yards away from me when she swung around and said, "It's going to be a good day, Mal. This Fourth of July is going to be the best you've ever had. I promise."
I believed her.
----
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
I could see them through the French doors of the sun-room, playing together on the terrace. My beautiful children.
And how glorious they looked this morning. They were like little Botticelli angels, with their sun-streaked blonde hair, the most vivid of blue eyes which echoed their father's, and rounded baby cheeks as smooth and pink as ripe peaches.
I drew closer to the glass, listening to them chattering away together. They were close to each other, quite inseparable, in fact. They were so alike, yet in many ways they were very different.
Lissa was saying, "Yes, Jamie, that's good . Give them a flag each . We've got a big flag on our house, so they should, too."
"I don't know when they'll see their flags," Jamie muttered, casting his sister a quick glance before turning back to the work at hand.
My six-year-old son was sticking a small Stars and Stripes into the top of the wall, trying to secure it between the cracks. "This one's for Tabitha and Henry. But they won't come out to look at it when there are lots of people here, and Mom's having a big lot of people for lunch. Vanessa and Luke are coming, too."
"Ugh!" Lissa made an ugly face. "How do you know?"
"Grandma Jess told me."
"Ugh," Lissa said again. Stepping over to her twin, she put her arm around his shoulders in a companionable way and gazed at the flag stuck on top of the wall. "Don't worry,
"Oh, Sarah, I couldn't ."
"Sure you could. There'll be a moment in time when you'll be able to ask her. You'll see. And I bet she won't bite your head off, either. In fact, she'll probably be glad you asked, relieved to talk about your father and her. People do like to unburden themselves, especially mothers to their daughters."
I doubted my mother would feel this way, but I said, "I hope so, Sash. You know only too well that she and I have our differences. But my mother does love me, and I love her, even though she can be exasperating. And today I felt something else for her, something different—a rush of genuine sympathy, and a certain kind of… aching sorrow. I realized that she probably hadn't had it easy with Daddy. It was at that moment it occurred to me that I was being unfair, unjust. I think I've always been somewhat blinded to reality because of my adoration of my father."
"You might have been unjust, yes, but you can't change that now, honey. What's done is done. I'm glad you had this… this revelation, as you call it." Sarah cleared her throat, and looking me straight in the eye, she said, "Your father was never there for you, Mal. Your mother always was."
I gaped at her, about to protest, but clamped my mouth firmly shut. I realized that Sarah had spoken only the truth. Whenever there had been a crisis during the years I was growing up, my father had inevitably been abroad. It was my mother who had coped with my problems during my adolescence and teenage years and even when I was older.
I nodded. "You're right," I said at last, acknowledging the veracity of her words. Then with a twinge of dismay I realized this was the first time I had ever been disloyal to my father in my thoughts, let alone in my words. But he had most likely been as much at fault as my mother, when it came to the disintegration of their marriage.
She got up and walked around the table to my side, hugged me against her body. "I love you," she whispered.
"And I love you, Best Friend," I said, squeezing her hand, which rested on my shoulder.
Straightening, she said with a light laugh, "I'd better go inside and get dressed. I don't want to be caught in my robe when your guests arrive."
I also stood. "And I must finish setting these tables." As I spoke I picked up a handful of red-and-white checked napkins and began to fold them in half.
Sarah was a few yards away from me when she swung around and said, "It's going to be a good day, Mal. This Fourth of July is going to be the best you've ever had. I promise."
I believed her.
----
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
I could see them through the French doors of the sun-room, playing together on the terrace. My beautiful children.
And how glorious they looked this morning. They were like little Botticelli angels, with their sun-streaked blonde hair, the most vivid of blue eyes which echoed their father's, and rounded baby cheeks as smooth and pink as ripe peaches.
I drew closer to the glass, listening to them chattering away together. They were close to each other, quite inseparable, in fact. They were so alike, yet in many ways they were very different.
Lissa was saying, "Yes, Jamie, that's good . Give them a flag each . We've got a big flag on our house, so they should, too."
"I don't know when they'll see their flags," Jamie muttered, casting his sister a quick glance before turning back to the work at hand.
My six-year-old son was sticking a small Stars and Stripes into the top of the wall, trying to secure it between the cracks. "This one's for Tabitha and Henry. But they won't come out to look at it when there are lots of people here, and Mom's having a big lot of people for lunch. Vanessa and Luke are coming, too."
"Ugh!" Lissa made an ugly face. "How do you know?"
"Grandma Jess told me."
"Ugh," Lissa said again. Stepping over to her twin, she put her arm around his shoulders in a companionable way and gazed at the flag stuck on top of the wall. "Don't worry,
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