the lump for nearly a year before she told you about it.”
“I know, but I sensed something was wrong. I should have made more of an effort to find out. I look at her lying in that bed and I feel so guilty. . . .” Mum’s eyes filled with tears. “My big sister . . . what will I do without her?”
I put my arms around my mother. “Come on, Mum, you’ve got me and Dad and the kids. We all love you.”
“I know. And I shouldn’t be upsetting you . . . not after what you’ve been through. I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I’m so fed up with this family,” I said. “Everybody dying. It has to stop.”
“She’ll be out of pain, which will be a blessing,” Dad said.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I finish my shift at three tomorrowand the kids have got playdates after school. Why don’t I pop in and see her?”
“She’d like that,” Mum said. She folded her cloth and put it in the cupboard under the sink.
Once Mum and Dad had gone, I began collapsing the last of the cardboard packing cases. I’d just added the last one to the pile when the doorbell rang. I peered through the spy hole—which, since I lived in such a lawless neighborhood, Mum had insisted I have fitted—and opened the door.
“Your financial advisor wishes to present his compliments,” Steve said. Then he handed me a bottle of champagne. “Housewarming present.”
“Aw, you really are a sweetie. You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. I can’t remember the last time I had champagne.”
It had taken Steve nine months to ask me out. After that awkward conversation about his bill, he’d started calling every so often, “just to check how you’re getting on.” His manner was always professional: he was glad to hear I was doing well and if he could be of any further assistance, I should let him know. I guessed he had a soft spot for me, but he didn’t push it. He clearly sensed that my emotions were pretty raw and that dating was the last thing on my mind.
Then, in October we erected Mike’s headstone. There was a religious service, which was pretty much a rerun of the funeral—only without a casket and with fewer people. I blamed the so-so attendance on people feeling that they had paid their respects once and that doing it a second time seemed over the top. My mother blamed the rain, which had fallen in lumps.
The stone setting stirred up so many emotions in me—as I knew it would. In the days that followed, I felt pretty low. When Steve called for one of his regular chats, I found myself blubbing and telling him how miserable I was. He didn’t say as much, but he left me in no doubt that if I needed a shoulder to cry on, his was ready and waiting. The following week we met for coffee and I availed myself of his shoulder—with far greater zeal than I intended. Afterwards, I convinced myself that all my tears and soul baring had blown our friendship. But it hadn’t. Coffee led to dinner, which led to more dinners, which led to us dating.
“I know you weren’t expecting me until tomorrow,” he said as he stepped into the hall, “but I wanted to see how you were doing and check you were OK. I’m so sorry I wasn’t around to help you move in. I almost never have to work weekends. . . .”
“It’s been fine, honest. Mum and Dad have been great and we coped brilliantly.” I led him into the kitchen and put the champagne bottle down on the worktop. “So, what do you think of the place?”
He stood taking it in. “Very nice. Somebody’s done a really great renovation job.”
I went to find some glasses.
“So, what are you doing about security? In this neighborhood you need to be careful. Have you got window locks? What about an alarm system?”
“You sound like my mother. Yes, there are window locks and yes, there’s an alarm system. . . . Stop panicking.”
“I’m sorry. I worry about you, that’s all.
“Oh, and I have another small gift,” he was
“I know, but I sensed something was wrong. I should have made more of an effort to find out. I look at her lying in that bed and I feel so guilty. . . .” Mum’s eyes filled with tears. “My big sister . . . what will I do without her?”
I put my arms around my mother. “Come on, Mum, you’ve got me and Dad and the kids. We all love you.”
“I know. And I shouldn’t be upsetting you . . . not after what you’ve been through. I’m sorry.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I’m so fed up with this family,” I said. “Everybody dying. It has to stop.”
“She’ll be out of pain, which will be a blessing,” Dad said.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I finish my shift at three tomorrowand the kids have got playdates after school. Why don’t I pop in and see her?”
“She’d like that,” Mum said. She folded her cloth and put it in the cupboard under the sink.
Once Mum and Dad had gone, I began collapsing the last of the cardboard packing cases. I’d just added the last one to the pile when the doorbell rang. I peered through the spy hole—which, since I lived in such a lawless neighborhood, Mum had insisted I have fitted—and opened the door.
“Your financial advisor wishes to present his compliments,” Steve said. Then he handed me a bottle of champagne. “Housewarming present.”
“Aw, you really are a sweetie. You shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did. I can’t remember the last time I had champagne.”
It had taken Steve nine months to ask me out. After that awkward conversation about his bill, he’d started calling every so often, “just to check how you’re getting on.” His manner was always professional: he was glad to hear I was doing well and if he could be of any further assistance, I should let him know. I guessed he had a soft spot for me, but he didn’t push it. He clearly sensed that my emotions were pretty raw and that dating was the last thing on my mind.
Then, in October we erected Mike’s headstone. There was a religious service, which was pretty much a rerun of the funeral—only without a casket and with fewer people. I blamed the so-so attendance on people feeling that they had paid their respects once and that doing it a second time seemed over the top. My mother blamed the rain, which had fallen in lumps.
The stone setting stirred up so many emotions in me—as I knew it would. In the days that followed, I felt pretty low. When Steve called for one of his regular chats, I found myself blubbing and telling him how miserable I was. He didn’t say as much, but he left me in no doubt that if I needed a shoulder to cry on, his was ready and waiting. The following week we met for coffee and I availed myself of his shoulder—with far greater zeal than I intended. Afterwards, I convinced myself that all my tears and soul baring had blown our friendship. But it hadn’t. Coffee led to dinner, which led to more dinners, which led to us dating.
“I know you weren’t expecting me until tomorrow,” he said as he stepped into the hall, “but I wanted to see how you were doing and check you were OK. I’m so sorry I wasn’t around to help you move in. I almost never have to work weekends. . . .”
“It’s been fine, honest. Mum and Dad have been great and we coped brilliantly.” I led him into the kitchen and put the champagne bottle down on the worktop. “So, what do you think of the place?”
He stood taking it in. “Very nice. Somebody’s done a really great renovation job.”
I went to find some glasses.
“So, what are you doing about security? In this neighborhood you need to be careful. Have you got window locks? What about an alarm system?”
“You sound like my mother. Yes, there are window locks and yes, there’s an alarm system. . . . Stop panicking.”
“I’m sorry. I worry about you, that’s all.
“Oh, and I have another small gift,” he was
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