Page 112 of Season of Gifts

He spat the word with venom.Finewas the first falsehood he’d felt in his bones, the unconscionable lie.The lie he’d been presenting to Alice and Jay for weeks.Like his younger self, they had struggled to find a way to peer beneath.He’d repeated the pattern Father had set.He would have to do better in the aftermath.

Mother bowed her head, nodding.“You were such a self-possessed little boy that it was easy to overlook how young you were.Children see and interpret differently from adults.”

His younger self crept forward, listening with a wary tension.Therapy in his twenties had crawled through his memories and quieted the turbulent emotions.Of hers, he knew nothing.The silence had blanketed them all, layer upon layer, year upon year.“You see it differently?”

“Your father wasn’t missing the signs, Henry.I suspect he was trying to divert your attention in that brusque way of his, the way he learned from his father.”

That grandfather he had no recollection of; the man had died before Henry turned two.Heartbreak from the loss of his wife the year before, the story went.

“What happened wasn’t your father’s fault, and it wasn’t your fault, either.”Mother clenched his hands so tightly they hurt, her eyes fierce and bright as a hawk’s.“I made choices, Henry.Poor ones, fueled by loneliness and despair, by rioting hormones and mental confusion.Persistent thoughts I imagined would never end.When your father grew concerned, I took pains to conceal more and more of the turmoil, until I landed upon the only escape I could envision.”Clicking her tongue softly, she cupped his cheek and swiped her thumb beneath his eye.“Those bad emotional habits you may have gotten from me, darling.”

“You were grieving.He ought to have…” Thirty-three years, and he still had no answers.

“So was he.”A vibration fluttered in her sigh.She stroked his shoulder and slid her hand down his arm, staring as if he might disappear when she wasn’t looking.“We were grieving alone, each of us.I was consumed with fear and anger.You and Robert were growing up; I felt as though all of my children had been stolen from me.I wanted more time.”

The openness swayed uneasily in him, a pendulum where before had been stillness.Many years they had sat in silence together, an unspoken communion for the lost.After that summer, they’d never spoken of the pain again.But every night, all summer, when she’d tucked him in and they’d read a story together and the soothing lap of the waves on the shore floated through the screen, he’d close his eyes, and she would kiss his forehead and whisper— “You told me I was enough.”

“And you are.”Her gaze traveled beyond him, peering into memories only she could see.“Sometimes, when we pour all our belief into a thing, we can make it true.I still wanted the children I had lost, Henry.The two little girls between you and your brother, and the two after you.”

He remembered only the last.Robert would have different memories.They’d never discussed their siblings, not since that long-ago December.

“But I couldn’t bring them to life, no matter how much of myself I poured into mourning them.And I was in my forties then, confronting those first fears of aging.”

Mother then had been barely older than he was now.Hadn’t he too begun questioning his purpose?Seeking stability and love with more urgency.He’d been terrified as he contemplated losing first Alice and then Jay to the past demons he couldn’t quell for them.But the years ahead offered tantalizing visions of the life they would lead together.“Nothing brought you joy?Hope?”

“Not until I made a deliberate choice to be grateful for what time I would have left with you.”Her soft smile flitted past.“The world had shattered.I saw despair, not hope.Life and youth looked to me as the creeping decay of age, a thin veneer above the horror beneath.”Her hands trembled, and he gently enclosed them in his own.Her pulse ticked lightly away in her wrist, steady under his fingertips.“I had no career but social obligations and you boys.The world was changing, but I hadn’t been raised for it.We raise children to inhabit the culture they inherit when they are born, not the culture they will create when they are grown.Everyone does; we can’t help it.We cannot know the future that will come to pass.We can only prepare you for the present, and that will be past when you are grown.”

He would learn for himself, someday.Although—he would return to therapy first.His response to Mother’s illness had ambushed him.His overprotective panic could not be permitted to stress Alice during pregnancy.“But something changed for you that summer.”

“Started to change, yes.”Mother lifted her chin toward the fallen sketchbook and scattered pencils.“I had learned to paint in school—an acceptable pastime for young ladies.I couldn’t have imagined it fulfilling me for the long years ahead, with you and Robert living lives of your own, and your father enamored with his work.Yet…” A wave flowed through her, the muscles of her face relaxing, the hands in his still and calm.“That summer by the shore, I discovered myself.I could have no more expectations of motherhood; I needed a wellspring within.You were enough to anchor me in the present while I searched for a future me, darling.Painting grew into a peace that sustained me.I’m not in any danger of choosing to leave this world too soon anymore, Henry.When I go, it will be because it’s my time.And that time is not yet.”

A choking sob burst from his chest.She urged him forward, and he slid from the table and knelt, clinging to her slight shoulders as she patted his back and hummed to him of sunrises over the water.For every ounce of fear he released, its equivalent in relief seeped into the rough edges left behind.Composure arrived unexpectedly, the faucet open but the fear vanquished.He shifted back, lightheaded, steadying himself with a hand on the table.“Thank you, Mother.I believe I dearly needed to hear that.”

“Perhaps we both did.”She took a sturdy breath, deep and untroubled.“I feel better myself.Though there is one thing I miss.”

A sly curve took hold of her mouth, and he matched it.They would be all right.The mess he’d created for all of them, though far-reaching, was not catastrophic.“And that is?”

“The rug in my bathroom.”Her eyes sparkled as she flashed her impish smile.“The tile is dreadfully chilly on my feet in the morning, Henry.”

Laughing, he pledged to prioritize the purchasing of non-slip padding and the restoration of her warmth.“After breakfast.”He gained his feet and offered his arm.“Shall we?”

“In pajamas?”She clasped his forearm and pulled herself up.“I did hope you would relax, darling, but that’s going entirely too far.”

He tucked her arm safely in his.“I see you’re considering a new career in comedy.”

“I’m unexpectedly joyous this morning.”Hugging his side, she poked his shoulder.“And devilishly curious about these daily cards of yours.Any hints about what Alice and Jay will uncover today?I’m so pleased you’re all here, Henry.More than I could possibly convey.”

“As am I.”They walked slowly, but he followed her pace rather than forcing an even more sedate one upon her.He would prepare the tea; if Alice and Jay had not appeared by then, he would dress when he fetched them and fix breakfast while they revealed the day’s activity.“No hints.You’ll simply have to wait.”

Chapter sixty-one

Alice

HowHenryandJaycould abandon a warm nest of blankets was a mystery.Grumbling, Alice swept her arms out on both sides and came up empty.The mattress hadn’t gone cold yet, so she hadn’t missed them by much.Dragging their pillows in tight, she breathed in their scents and sagged like a cooked noodle falling off the spaghetti spork.

Last night had broken the logjam.They had plenty more to talk about, but at least the information was flowing freely.The knot of anxiety in her chest had unraveled and slithered off somewhere to sulk while she basked in the relief that every problem could be solved.

Untwisting Jay’s tee around her stomach, she scooted off the bed.

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