That morning, I worked in the garden like never before. I planted new seeds of cilantro and parsley. I watered the tomatoes that were beginning to ripen. I pulled the weeds that were growing between the lettuce. Every movement was an affirmation.
This land is mine. These plants are mine. This life is mine.
Helen arrived around noon as always, but this time she didn’t bring her flowered mug. She brought a bag full of freshlymade pastries and a bottle of bourbon.
“To celebrate,” she said with a smile that crinkled her whole face.
“Celebrate what?”
“That you finally got your nerve back, Margaret.”
We sat on the porch eating pastries and taking small sips of the bourbon that burned my throat in the best way. The midday sun fell on us like a blessing.
“Do you think I did the right thing, Helen?”
“Honey, the only thing you did wrong was taking so long to do it.”
She then told me that for months she had seen how I was fading away, how I stopped smiling when I talked about David, how my shoulders had started to stoop under the weight of always being available for everyone.
“Your late husband, God rest his soul, once told me, ‘Helen, if anything happens to me, make sure no one takes advantage of Margaret. She’s too good for her own good.’”
Those words touched my soul. My husband had seen something I had refused to see for years.
The phone rang again at 3:00 in the afternoon. This time it was Amber.
“Mother-in-law, we need to talk.” Her voice had lost all its usual fake sweetness. Now it sounded sharp, desperate.
