Page 112 of Happiness for Beginners

So I sat on her green velvet couch on the sun porch, sipped my coffee, and told her all about the wilderness, and what I learned in the mountains. I told her about the blizzard, and Hugh’s evac, and getting lost on the Solo. I told her about wiping with pinecones and smelling like a skunk. I told her that I’d been terrified and shy at the beginning, but I’d found a way to make some friends. I’d surprised myself. I’d been brave in all kinds of ways.

“You’ve always been brave,” she said. “You were my brave one.”

“I was?”

She nodded. “And Duncan was my scaredy-cat. Just like your mom.”

I frowned. “My mom was a scaredy-cat?”

GiGi nodded. “She was terrified of everything. Still is.”

“But she’s a yoga instructor!”

GiGi nodded. “I think that helps. She does seem to find that soothing.”

I had never once thought of my mother as a “scaredy-cat.” “I don’t think of her as scared,” I said.

“Well, children can’t see their parents clearly until they grow up.”

“What is she scared of?”

“Oh, everything, just about. Dogs. People. Life.”

I took a breath. “Is that why she gave us up?”

GiGi held very still, and moved only her eyes to look over at me. “In part, I suppose.”

Then I said, “On the trip, Jake was asking me about what happened that day. I told him we were too much for her. She dropped us with you and never came back. But he didn’t think that could be the whole story.”

“Jake’s a smart boy.”

“So that’s not the whole story?”

“Is there any story in the world that can be told in two sentences?”

We all knew what happened—the basics, anyway—but I suddenly realized I was fuzzy on the details. “Tell me,” I said.

“Well,” GiGi said, carefully continuing to paint, “she did drop you off for a sleepover with me that day. I don’t know if she intended to come back or not. I’ve often wondered what was going through her head as she said good-bye to you.”

“She said she’d see us in the morning.”

“Yes, she did. But I think she knew she wouldn’t. She lingered over the two of you a little too long.”

“Did you know she wouldn’t be back?”

“No! I was going to make you pancakes in the morning, drop you off at home, and then head out to a sitting.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, she drove away. I fed the two of you spaghetti and then it was time for bed. But your brother had forgotten his blankie. What did he call that thing?”

“Softie.”

“That’s right! He’d forgotten Softie. When he realized it was bedtime, and he didn’t have it, he wailed like a widow at a wake.”

“I remember,” I said. He was three then. He had those striped, footed pajamas.

“I kept thinking he would give up and conk out, but after about an hour and a half, you came up to me like the little caregiver you were and said, ‘You’d better go home and get it, GiGi. Or he’ll be up all night.’”

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