Zach called that evening.
I was putting away the dishes when my phone rang.
His name appeared on the screen.
For a moment, I considered letting it go to voicemail.
Then I answered.
"Hello, Zachary."
"Mama, how are you?"
"I'm fine."
He asked if I'd heard from Wendell.
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
"Actually, I went to see him today."
There was silence.
"You did what?"
"I drove out to his house."
"Without telling anybody?"
I closed my eyes.
"Zach, I'm sixty-four years old. I don't need to submit my travel plans for approval."
He sighed.
"That's not what I meant."
"Then tell me what you meant."
He didn't answer.
I could picture him in the office at his shop, leaning back in his chair with his phone against his ear.
He had always been uncomfortable when I refused to follow his lead.
I told him about the house.
I told him about the unfinished rooms, the paint cans, and the lumber.
I told him about the ramp.
I didn't make it sound grander than it was.
I simply explained what I'd seen.
When I finished, Zach said nothing for several seconds.
Then he asked, "What did he say it was for?"
"For me."
He gave a short laugh.
I felt my shoulders tighten.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Laugh as if I haven't told you something important."
"I'm not laughing at you, Mama."
"Then listen to what I'm saying."
He went quiet again.
I explained that Wendell had been working on the ramp because he'd remembered what I'd said about my knees.
He'd also remembered my mother needing help getting around.
The details had mattered to him.
Zach interrupted.
"That doesn't mean he's trustworthy."
I felt the anger rise again.
"No, it doesn't prove everything about a person. But it does mean you were wrong about the wife."
He didn't answer.
I continued.
"He isn't hiding a woman, Zach. He's been working on his house."
"Maybe."
I gripped the edge of the counter.
"What do you mean, maybe?"
"I mean we still don't know everything."
I took a slow breath.
That was true.
But it wasn't what he'd wanted me to hear when he first accused Wendell of trying to get Dwight's insurance money.
He'd spoken as if he already knew the man's intentions.
Now that his first suspicion had fallen apart, he was moving the argument somewhere else.
"Zach, he has never asked me for money."
"People don't always ask right away."
I stared at the kitchen clock.
The second hand moved around the face with a tiny click.
"You know what hurts?" I asked.
He didn't speak.
"You didn't ask me what I knew about him. You didn't ask me what I'd seen. You decided I was being fooled because I wanted somebody in my life."
"Mama, that's not fair."
"Was it fair to open my bank account in front of your children?"
He went quiet.
I waited.
Finally, he said, "I was worried."
"I understand that."
"I don't want you getting hurt."
"I understand that, too."
I pressed my fingertips against the counter.
"But you cannot protect me by humiliating me."
He breathed out heavily.
I knew that sound.
It was the sound he made when he wanted a conversation to be over without admitting he'd been wrong.
"I'll come by this weekend," he said.
"You can come for supper if you'd like."
I ended the call before either of us could make things worse.
The next morning, I called Megan.
I didn't want her hearing another version of the story from Zach first.
She answered on the third ring.
"Mama?"
"I went to Wendell's house."
She was quiet.
I told her about the ramp.
I told her about the work he'd been doing and the way he'd remembered what I'd said.
Megan listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she let out a small breath.
"Oh, Mama."
I couldn't tell whether she was relieved or embarrassed.
"I know you were worried," I said. "I was worried, too."
"Is he a good man?"
I looked toward the living room.
Dwight's recliner stood beside the window.
The blanket I'd used for Wendell was folded across the arm.
"I think he's trying to be."
Megan didn't press me.
She asked if I was happy.
It was such a simple question that I almost cried.
"I think I am," I told her.
"Then I want you to have that."
I sat down at the kitchen table.
For the first time in days, I felt as if I could breathe normally.
Megan said she'd talk to Zach.
I asked her not to turn it into another argument.
"I just want him to understand that I'm still his mother," I said. "I'm not a problem he has to solve."
"I know."
We talked a little longer.
Before we hung up, she asked if she could come visit the following month.
I told her the grandchildren were always welcome.
After the call, I went outside to check the mail.
There was a bill, a grocery advertisement, and a postcard from a woman I'd worked with at the hospital.
She'd retired several years before me and was traveling around the country with her sister.
I smiled at the postcard.
Then I looked at the porch light Wendell had fixed.
It came on automatically as the afternoon began to darken.
A small thing.
But it reminded me that the world hadn't stopped offering me new experiences just because Dwight was gone.
That Sunday, Wendell came over for supper.
I made chicken and rice.
He arrived carrying a paper bag of peaches.
I let him in, and he looked at my face.
"Everything all right?"
"Zach knows about the ramp."
Wendell stopped near the kitchen doorway.
"How did that go?"
"About as well as you might expect."
He nodded.
I could tell he wanted to ask more, but he waited for me to decide whether to tell him.
I appreciated that.
We ate at the table.
Afterward, he helped me wash the dishes.
I handed him a plate, and he dried it with the towel.
"I don't want you getting into trouble with your family because of me," he said.
I turned off the faucet.
"You aren't responsible for the way my son talks to me."
"I know he's worried."
"So am I."
Wendell looked at me.
I placed the plate in the cupboard.
"But worrying doesn't give either of us the right to decide what the other person can do."
He nodded.
We stood in the kitchen for a moment.
Then he put the towel down.
"I can finish the ramp without asking anything from you," he said. "If you decide you don't want it, that's all right."
I looked at him.
"Is that what you think this is about?"
He seemed surprised.
"I don't know."
I touched his arm.
"I don't want you to stop because Zach doesn't understand."
He didn't say anything.
"And I don't want you to keep going because you think you owe me something."
He nodded slowly.
"All right."
We went into the living room.
For the first time, I sat in Dwight's recliner while Wendell took the sofa.
I had avoided that chair for two years.
Now I sat there with my feet resting on the little footstool Dwight had bought at a garage sale.
It felt strange.
It also felt good.
Wendell didn't comment on it.
He simply asked if I wanted the television on.
I said no.
We sat together in the quiet.
And for once, the empty space in the room didn't feel quite so large.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Next Sunday, My Son Came Back to My Table With More Questions, and I Finally Told Him What His Concern Was Costing Me
My Husband Had Been Gone Two Years, but the First Man Who Made Me Feel Alive Again Had Something He Wouldn’t Explain
Part 6 of 24
