Now, finally, she understood.
Her mother’s character had been formed long before Liza had arrived on the scene. Beliefs and behavior arose from unseen events. Something that had happened to her mother sixty years before had continued to send aftershocks through her life. Her mother had been hurt, so she’d distanced, and that feeling of distance had made Liza determined to be closer to her own children, except that she’d got it wrong and now she needed to unravel that.
If Adam had married her mother then Kathleen might have been a different type of mother, which was a ridiculous thought because if Kathleen had married Adam then Liza wouldn’t have existed. But it was a reminder that everything was shaped by events and her own children would be shaped by events too. Perhaps they’d forever be cautious in relationships because they’d remember finding an article entitled “Eight Signs That Your Marriage Might Be in Trouble.” Perhaps they’d decide not to get married or perhaps they’d get married and watch for every one of those eight signs and be happier in their relationships because of it.
“You lived the life you needed to live,” she said. “I respect that. It’s inspiring, and I’m planning on doing more of that myself from now on.”
“You are? Tell me more.”
“Later.” There was time enough for that. “Let’s focus on these letters. What do you want to do?”
“Read them. All of them. Now we’ve started I don’t think I can bear the suspense of not knowing. Do you have the time?”
Liza glanced up as Sean walked into the room bearing a large glass of wine and a cheese platter.
He put it down quietly on the table next to the bed, raised his eyebrows when he saw Popeye curled into her lap and handed her a piece of paper that said “I love you.”
She smiled at him and then turned her attention back to her mother.
“I have all the time in the world. Let’s do this.”
20
KATHLEEN
ALBUQUERQUE~WINSLOW, ARIZONA
Our baby was born today. A little girl. We named her Hannah Elizabeth Kathleen. Perhaps you’ll think that foolish, or even thoughtless, but it’s important to me. Adam resisted. I suppose he didn’t want to be reminded, but I will always think of you as my true and best friend, even though I no longer have the right to call you that.
Kathleen stared out the window as they headed through the deserts of northern Arizona and took a scenic detour through the Petrified Forest National Park.
They’d set out early so that Martha and Josh could do a short hike, which their research had told them was best done early in the day. The hour was irrelevant to Kathleen, who hadn’t slept at all.
Somehow the rhythm of the car and the blur of the landscape was more relaxing than a still, silent hotel room filled with nothing but her thoughts.
They drove to the trailhead for the Blue Mesa Trail that wound its way to the valley floor.
“It’s not far, so we shouldn’t be long, Kathleen. Is that okay?” Even though it was early, Martha pulled on her sun hat and smothered her arms in sunscreen.
“Take your time. Enjoy.” She was looking forward to being alone so that she could spend time with her thoughts and memories.
She waved Martha and Josh off, delighted to see that Josh took Martha’s hand, and stepped closer as he pointed out something on the horizon.
The view was spectacular, but Kathleen stared at it for only a few seconds before closing her eyes.
Hannah Elizabeth.
Ruth had become a mother at twenty-one years of age, and Adam a father.
What a challenge that must have been for him, and yet it seemed he’d risen to that challenge.
She’d lain awake all night thinking about the letters Liza had carefully read aloud. Her memory was unreliable and frustrating much of the time, but for some reason she’d been able to recall every word and she’d reexamined the contents line by line.
She’d been able to picture Ruth clearly. She’d heard her friend’s voice in the words on the page, measured and thoughtful. There was an assurance by the end that had been missing in those early letters.
Kathleen had absorbed every one of the facts, delivered in chronological order. Each letter had been an update on Ruth’s life, another piece of the picture revealed.
She knew now that Hannah had been born with a heart defect that had required surgery when she was a few months old. That had fed Ruth’s maternal anxiety, even though the child had been strong and healthy since. It had been Hannah’s condition that had driven Adam’s choice to be a heart surgeon. Cardiothoracic, Kathleen thought, imagining him masked and gowned, with another person’s life in his hands.
In those early days, Ruth had doubted Adam’s love for her, but had never doubted his love for their daughter. She credited Hannah with being the reason he hadn’t left. Adam adored his daughter.
Hannah had been smart and creative, a talented violinist, with a love of sport that had brought her close to her father. In the winter they’d skied at Lake Tahoe, and in the summer they’d hired a boat and sailed down the Pacific Coast.
There had been photographs with that letter, which Liza had described and offered to send to Martha’s phone.
Kathleen had refused. Hearing it was one thing. Seeing was another. She could absorb only so much of the past at one time.
Adam’s career had taken them to Australia for a year, and then to Boston, before they returned to California and settled there.
The letters were filled with updates on Hannah and Adam, Ruth’s pride in her family as obvious as her love. She described a contented life, cemented in place by family.
Kathleen felt a sense of relief. She’d done the right thing. By stepping away, she’d given them a chance to make it work and they had done that.
She was pleased. Also sad that she’d missed so many of those years.
If she’d stayed in touch maybe she could have been a support to Ruth when she’d had that brush with cancer, or when Adam died suddenly ten years before.
But Ruth had other sources of support now, of course.
She had Hannah, who lived close by and worked as a pediatrician. She’d followed her father into medicine.
Kathleen imagined a woman who was part Ruth, part Adam, and wished now that she’d asked Liza to send the photos.
Ruth was proud of Hannah, just as Kathleen was proud of Liza.
Had she told her daughter she was proud?
She felt a moment of panic. Did she know?
The car door opened suddenly and Kathleen jumped and opened her eyes.
“Sorry. Were you dozing?” Martha was smiling down at her, her face pink from the sun. “That was amazing! Although I’m glad we came so early—no way would I want to slog back up that hill in the heat of the day.”