Page 56 of When We Were Younger

"Well, probably at one point. He was a little taller than you when I met him, but he was smaller than he is now."

"Who was smaller than he is now?" Stephen says as he kneels on the floor next to me. Sadie launches herself at him, jumping into his arms and squishing his cheeks together.

"You Uncle Stephen! You were small!"

He tickles her sides, and Sadie squeals and squirms.

"I was never this small. I was born this way, just ask Nana. I came out tall as a tree and strong as a lumberjack," he says, deepening his voice like a cartoon character.

"Yeah right," Delilah snorts, "He wasn't always this big."

"How do you know, Mama?"

"Because I used to help change his diapers. He had a teeny, little butt and an even teenier little-"

"Okay! That's enough!" Mrs. Hudson calls over from the kitchen island, where she, Mr. Hudson, and Ivy are trying to suppress their laughter. "Sadie, your Uncle Stephen was little once upon a time, and so was your Mama, and that's all you need to know."

"Woah. Dottie Lynn, do you like cars?" Sadie says, changing the subject with the ease and conversational precision that only a child can manage.

"I love them!" I lie, and then Sadie, Delilah and I spend the next hour pushing toy cars across the living room and around the Christmas tree until a tear forms in my stockings.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath.

"Oh, I've got just the thing for that, Dottie Lynn. Why don't you come into the kitchen with me?" Mrs.Hudson says as she stands from her spot on the couch, holding her hand up to help me off the floor. I hold my breath to suppress the grunt working its way up my throat as I rise. I like to think I'm nice and limber, but an hour on your hands and knees trying to keep up with an energetic tot will take it out of a gal.

In the kitchen, I gesture towards the growing tear at my knee.

"I don't think clear nail polish is going to fix these tights, Mrs. Hudson, so unless you've got some sort of miracle in your back pocket…" I say, and she waves me off. Grabbing two glasses, she pops the cork on a bottle of red and starts to pour.

"Oh honey, those are beyond repair. You might as well throw them in the trash. I just thought you'd like a break from toon town in there for a bit," she hands me a glass and we clink before sipping.

"I appreciate it. Sadie is a lot of fun but-"

"But she's five years old and exhausting. I know, I know. She's just like her mother, that one. Always on the go. Besides, I've been wanting to get some time with you. How are you holding up, dear?" She's got that kind of sickly-sweet southern mom tone that I might think disingenuous if it were coming from anyone else, but Mrs. Hudson doesn't have an apathetic bone in her body. The sound of the television and Sadie playing provides us with a cloak of privacy, even in the open space.

"I'm doing good. It's all weird, being back here, but I'm okay."

She puts a hand on my forearm and squeezes gently.

"I was afraid it might be hard, being so close to that house you grew up in. Stephen told me not to worry, but the boy couldn't keep a secret from me if he tried. He was worried too."

I shrug.

"I know the way I grew up wasn't what people would consider normal. I know that. I've had a lot of therapy over the years, some real deep diving into my childhood and the impact my mom had on me. Do I love the memories? No. But believe me when I say that I've come to terms with it all. I'm okay now, really."

Tears glisten in Mrs. Hudson's eyes, and I almost can't take it. I take her hand in mine and squeeze.

"I always felt like I didn't do enough. We knew, Henry and me. Not all of it, I'm sure, but we knew she wasn't taking care of you right. There were those few times when child services came. It was us who called. I don't know if you ever knew that. That woman, your mother, she was always on her best behavior when they came around. But Henry and I saw enough. I tried, honey, I swear I did. I tried to make sure you were always welcome here, always knew where you could get a warm meal or a hug. I never said a word when you used to sneak over here at night and sleep in Stephen's bed.

Even when you were teenagers, and I didn't love the idea of the two of you alone in that room at night. I never let on that I knew because I just wanted you to feel safe. It wasn't fair, Dottie Lynn. I know you knowthat, but I hope you know that that's all I ever wanted. I wanted you to know that you were safe here in my home."

She's crying now and I can't help my own tears from spilling down my cheeks. I squeeze her hand harder, then step in and pull her into a hug. In my heels, I have an inch or two on her, and she rests her face on my shoulder.

"You did everything you could, Mrs. Hudson. You did everything you could. And I always felt safe here. Even more, I felt loved in this home. I was loved, wasn't I?"

"Oh, Dottie Lynn, youareabsolutely loved. So, so loved."

We hug and we cry for a moment or two, and then we gather ourselves, wiping our tears and fanning our faces before anyone else notices the emotional breakdown happening a few feet behind them. I pick up my wine glass and take a long, deep sip of the ruby-red Cabernet.

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