Chapter 22
Summer came.
We rented a modest cottage near Lake Erie for a week.
It was not one of Claudia’s luxury vacations.
There was no private chef.
No marina club.
No carefully planned itinerary.
The cottage smelled faintly of pine cleaner and old wood.
The screen door squeaked.
The air conditioner worked only when it felt like it.
Lily declared it perfect.
She spent mornings collecting smooth stones along the shore.
Sarah read novels under an umbrella.
I attempted to grill dinner every night and succeeded approximately half the time.
On the third evening, we watched the sunset from the beach.
Lily sat between us.
“Do you miss Grandma?”
The question caught Sarah off guard.
“Sometimes.”
“Even after everything?”
“Yes.”
Lily stared at the water.
“That’s confusing.”
“It is.”
“Can you miss someone and not want to see them?”
Sarah nodded.
“Absolutely.”
Lily seemed relieved.
“I miss her Christmas cookies.”
I laughed.
Sarah did too.
Then Lily said, “But I don’t miss being nervous at her house.”
Sarah’s smile faded.
“No.”
A gull passed overhead.
The lake reflected orange light.
Sarah put her arm around Lily.
“You never have to visit somewhere that makes you feel unsafe just because somebody says family is supposed to.”
Lily rested her head against her.
May you like
“Okay.”
That one word felt like a promise being transferred from mother to daughter.
