“That would have been memorable.”
“I thought coffee was safer.”
“So you invited me here because of the painting?”
“Partly.”
“Partly?”
For the first time, Arthur looked almost embarrassed.
“And partly because I wanted to spend more time with my best friend’s wife.”
He paused.
“The woman he loved with all his heart.”
Something shifted between us.
Arthur slowly placed his hand on the table, palm up.
I looked at it.
Then I placed mine in his.
I stayed in Australia three weeks longer than planned.
Arthur showed me places tourists rarely visited.
We listened to old records.
Ate terrible sandwiches near the beach.
And one afternoon, he took me to the lake where he and Robert had stayed as young men.
The cottage was gone.
The water remained.
Standing beside Arthur on the shore, I said,
“I thought coming here would make me sad.”
“Does it?”
“A little.”
Then I smiled.
“But not only sad.”
I didn’t cancel the rest of my trip.
Arthur joined me for two stops.
Then I continued alone.
Eventually, my children began calling again.
Karen apologized first.
Melissa admitted that my leaving had forced her to realize how much she depended on me.
David took longer.
Then Eric finally said,
“I guess I thought the house meant you’d always be there.”
I laughed softly.
“I’m still your mother. I’m just not your furniture.”
Even Eric laughed at that.
Arthur and I continued talking every day.
Six months later, I returned to Australia.
Not because Robert had somehow sent me there.
Not because my children had pushed me away.
I returned because I wanted to.
