By the next Sunday, I had stopped checking the clock every ten minutes.
That was how I knew something had changed.
I made chicken and dumplings, the kind Dwight used to ask for whenever the weather turned cool.
I almost made enough for two people.
Then I remembered Zach and his family were coming.
So I made more.
The kitchen smelled like pepper, butter, and the broth I'd been simmering since noon.
I set the yellow dish towel beside the sink and pulled out the plates.
There was a time when preparing Sunday supper felt like a job I couldn't quit.
After Dwight died, I sometimes cooked out of habit and threw half the food away.
Now I found myself looking forward to it.
That frightened me a little.
Happiness had become something I checked for signs of trouble.
Wendell arrived first.
He carried a paper sack containing two apples and a loaf of bread.
"You know I have bread," I told him.
"Then you can have more."
He set the sack on the counter.
I looked at his hands.
There was no fresh paint this time, only a small scrape across one knuckle.
"What happened?"
He glanced down.
"Caught it on a board."
"Did you clean it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I narrowed my eyes.
He smiled.
"I knew you'd ask."
I fetched the first-aid box anyway.
Old habits.
He sat at the kitchen table while I cleaned the scrape and put a small bandage over it.
It was hardly worth treating.
Still, I liked having something useful to do for him.
"You know," he said, watching me tape the bandage in place, "I worked around electricity for most of my life, and somehow a piece of lumber is what gets me."
"That's because electricity has the good sense to warn you."
He laughed.
I put the first-aid box away.
Then I heard tires on the driveway.
Zach's truck.
Wendell glanced toward the window.
"Want me to give you two some time?"
"No."
I answered too quickly.
He looked at me.
I softened my voice.
"You don't have to leave every time my son arrives."
"All right."
Zach came through the door carrying a container of ice cream.
The children followed him.
Jordyn brought a bag of rolls from the car.
For a few minutes, everybody was busy with ordinary things.
Coats went over chairs.
The grandchildren argued about who got to sit beside their father.
Zach washed his hands at the kitchen sink.
Wendell asked him how business had been.
Zach answered without the sharpness I'd heard before.
It wasn't friendship.
Not yet.
But it wasn't hostility, either.
We ate together.
The children talked about school, and Jordyn told me about a problem with one of the appliances at home.
Wendell listened while Zach described a difficult repair job at the body shop.
He didn't pretend to know more about cars than he did.
When Zach mentioned a customer who'd brought in a vehicle with a damaged electrical system, Wendell asked one sensible question.
Zach answered it.
They spoke for another minute.
Then Zach returned to his food.
It was a small exchange.
I noticed it anyway.
After supper, the children went to watch television.
Jordyn helped me clear the table.
Wendell carried the serving dishes to the kitchen.
Zach remained in the dining room.
I expected him to ask about the ramp again.
Instead, he said, "Mama, can I talk to you?"
I dried my hands.
"Of course."
He glanced toward the kitchen.
"Privately."
I followed him onto the porch.
The evening air had cooled, and the porch light cast a circle across the steps.
Wendell had fixed that light months earlier.
I hadn't forgotten.
Zach stood beside the railing.
"I've been thinking about what you said."
I waited.
"About the bank account."
I folded my arms.
He looked uncomfortable.
"I shouldn't have opened it in front of everybody."
"No, you shouldn't have."
He nodded.
"I was trying to make sure you were safe."
"I know."
"But I went too far."
I looked at my son.
For years, I'd watched him grow from a boy who needed help tying his shoes into a man who could run a business and raise children of his own.
I was proud of him.
That was part of why his treatment of me had hurt so much.
I wanted him to see me as the woman who had raised him, not someone who needed to be managed.
"Thank you for saying that," I told him.
He rubbed his palms against his jeans.
"Are you going to keep seeing Wendell?"
I looked through the screen door.
Wendell was standing at the kitchen counter, helping Jordyn wrap the leftover dumplings.
"Yes," I said.
Zach followed my gaze.
"All right."
He sounded resigned, but he didn't argue.
Then he asked something I hadn't expected.
"Does he make you happy?"
I looked back at him.
"Yes, Zach. He does."
He nodded slowly.
"Then I guess I need to get used to him."
I touched his arm.
"You don't have to love him."
"I know."
"You don't have to pretend he's your father."
"I know that, too."
"But you do have to respect my choices."
He looked at me.
"I'll try."
It wasn't perfect.
But it was honest enough for that evening.
When Zach left, he hugged me at the door.
He didn't promise that everything would be fine.
Neither did I.
I watched his truck disappear down the street, then returned to the kitchen.
Wendell was putting the last clean plate away.
"Everything all right?" he asked.
"Better than it was."
He nodded.
I leaned against the counter.
"I think Zach is beginning to understand."
"That's good."
I looked at the yellow dish towel in my hands.
"But I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to convince my children that I'm allowed to be happy."
Wendell turned toward me.
"You shouldn't have to."
That was all he said.
I was grateful he didn't offer to solve the problem.
Some things had to be worked out between a mother and her children.
Later, after he went home, I sat in Dwight's recliner.
I had started doing that more often.
At first, I sat on the edge, as if I were borrowing the chair.
Now I leaned back.
The cushion had softened where Dwight's body had rested for so many years.
I could still remember him there.
That memory didn't disappear because Wendell had come into my life.
It simply stopped being the only thing I could think about.
I switched off the lamp and sat in the dim room for a while.
The porch light shone through the window.
For once, I wasn't waiting for somebody to tell me whether I was making the right choice.
I was learning to make it myself.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Yellow Bowl on Wendell’s Kitchen Table Reminded Me That Being Remembered Was Different From Being Rescued
My Husband Had Been Gone Two Years, but the First Man Who Made Me Feel Alive Again Had Something He Wouldn’t Explain
Part 9 of 24
