Megan visited on a Saturday near the end of spring.
She arrived shortly after lunch and put her overnight bag in the guest room.
I had made iced tea.
She sat at the kitchen table and told me about work, the children, and a problem with her car.
I listened while I cut peaches into a bowl.
After a while, she asked if we could go to Wendell's house.
I looked at her.
"Of course."
She smiled.
"I want to see the garden."
We drove out that afternoon.
The pecan tree was full of leaves, and the garden had grown enough to look like something more than a patch of soil.
Wendell met us at the garage.
He greeted Megan warmly and showed her the rows of vegetables.
She asked about the ramp, too.
He walked with her along the boards and explained how he'd built it.
Megan ran her hand along the rail.
"It's lovely work," she said.
Wendell thanked her.
Then she looked at me.
"I can see why you wanted us to understand."
I didn't answer.
I hadn't known how much I'd wanted that until she said it.
We went inside.
Megan noticed the yellow bowl immediately.
She smiled when I told her the story again.
"You must have talked about Grandma's kitchen a hundred times."
"Probably."
"I remember the way you described it."
She sat at the table.
Wendell made coffee, and we talked for a while.
He told Megan about Marjorie.
She asked about his life before retirement and listened as he described the years he'd spent working for the electric co-op.
There was no awkwardness between them.
They were simply getting to know each other.
After a while, Wendell went outside to check the garden.
Megan watched him through the window.
Then she turned toward me.
"Mama, can I ask you something?"
I nodded.
"Do you love him?"
I looked at my daughter.
The question was simple.
My answer wasn't.
I thought about Dwight.
I thought about Wendell sitting across from me at the kitchen table.
I thought about the coffee he brought to the grief group and the way he'd fixed the porch light without making me feel helpless.
I thought about the ramp.
The yellow paint.
The long conversations about our spouses.
The way he let me remember Dwight without treating those memories as a threat.
"I care about him very much," I said.
Megan waited.
I looked down at my hands.
"And yes, I think I'm falling in love with him."
She nodded slowly.
I couldn't tell whether she was surprised.
Then she reached across the table and took my hand.
"I'm glad."
I stared at her.
"You are?"
She smiled.
"Yes, Mama."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I was so afraid you were going to get hurt that I forgot you could also be happy."
I squeezed her hand.
I didn't know what to say.
Sometimes an apology doesn't need a long answer.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is accept it.
We sat together for a while.
Then Megan asked whether I still missed Dwight.
I laughed softly.
"Every day."
She nodded.
"I thought so."
"I don't think that will ever change."
I looked toward the window.
Wendell was standing in the garden, checking the soil around the tomato plants.
"But missing your father doesn't mean I have to stop living."
Megan wiped her eyes.
"I know."
I reached for the yellow bowl and moved it slightly to make room for our cups.
It had become part of the kitchen.
A little reminder of my mother's house, my memories, and the things Wendell had taken the time to notice.
Megan looked at it.
"I think Grandma would have liked him."
I smiled.
"She would have asked him why he was spending so much time building things instead of sitting down."
Megan laughed.
"That sounds like her."
We talked about my mother for a while.
Then we talked about Dwight.
Megan told a story about the time he'd tried to teach her to drive and ended up gripping the dashboard so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
I laughed until I had tears in my eyes.
I'd forgotten that story.
For a moment, it felt as if Dwight were sitting at the table with us.
Not as a ghost.
Not as somebody we needed to bring back.
Just as a person we had loved and would always remember.
When Wendell came inside, he found us laughing.
He looked from one of us to the other.
"What did I miss?"
Megan smiled.
"Your future mother-in-law is telling stories about her husband."
I stared at her.
"Megan!"
She burst out laughing.
Wendell looked startled, then laughed too.
I felt my face grow warm.
It was the first time anybody had used those words about me and Wendell.
I didn't know whether they would ever become true.
But I wasn't offended.
I wasn't frightened.
I simply felt the possibility settle into the room.
Later, Megan and I drove home.
She was staying another night before returning to Longview.
As we turned onto the main road, she looked at me.
"Whatever happens with Wendell, I want you to know that I'm not going to make you choose between him and us."
I gripped the steering wheel.
"Thank you, honey."
She nodded.
"I mean it."
When we got home, we sat on the porch until the evening cooled.
The repaired porch light came on above us.
I thought about how much had changed since the day Wendell had first fixed it.
Back then, I had invited him to supper because I wanted to thank him.
I hadn't expected anything else.
Now he was part of my life.
Not a replacement for Dwight.
Not a solution to grief.
A man I loved spending time with.
A man who had made room for me in his home and in his plans.
I still didn't know whether we would marry.
I didn't know how long we would have together.
But I no longer believed that uncertainty meant I should be afraid.
The next morning, Megan helped me make breakfast.
Before she left, she hugged me tightly.
"Be happy, Mama."
I held her for a moment longer.
"I'm trying."
After she drove away, I went inside and washed the breakfast dishes.
The clock above the stove showed the correct time.
The yellow dish towel hung beside the sink.
The house was quiet again.
But it wasn't empty in the way it had been before.
I had people to call.
Places to go.
A man waiting for me at Sunday supper.
And a life that was still unfolding.
Click here to continue reading: PART 21: The Question I Had Avoided Asking Wendell Was Not About His House Anymore
My Husband Had Been Gone Two Years, but the First Man Who Made Me Feel Alive Again Had Something He Wouldn’t Explain
Part 20 of 24
