“You weren’t here. And I’m practically thirteen.”
It was a sharp reminder of all the time Jolene had lost with her daughter, and of the problems that lay between them now. In Jolene’s absence, life had gone on; Michael had stepped up to the plate and guided their family, and he’d made decisions along the way. Jolene had never wanted to leave her children for any reason, and yet she had; she’d abandoned them in a way, and Betsy couldn’t forgive her.
“No,” Jolene said slowly. “I wasn’t. I’m sorry about that, Betsy.”
“I know you’re sorry.”
“It’s not enough. What is?”
Betsy looked away. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Come here, baby,” Jolene said gently.
Betsy moved forward woodenly.
“Closer,” Jolene said.
Betsy shook her head.
“You’re mad at me for leaving … and for getting hurt.”
Betsy shrugged, said, “Whatever.”
Jolene didn’t look away, even though the pain in her daughter’s eyes was a terrible thing to see. “I know I’m not the mom you remember, the mom you want. I know you’re mad at me. And I deserve it, Betsy. Not for going to war. I had to do that. But for who I’ve been since I got home.” She got up, trying not to limp, and reached out, taking hold of Betsy’s warm, soft hand. “I’m sorry I scared you. Or embarrassed you.”
Betsy’s eyes filled with tears. “I read Tami’s last letter to Seth. Did you write me one?”
Jolene wanted to lie, to say no, of course not, I knew I’d never leave you alone, but she was done with wrapping her life in pretty paper and pretending. “I did. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, thinking about leaving you and Lulu and your dad.”
“What did it say?”
“There were a lot of words and stories and advice, I guess. I tried to tell you everything you would need to know without me. I told you about my life, my parents, the kind of childhood I’d had, and how love—and motherhood—had changed me. I told you I was afraid to leave you. Things I should have told you before I left.” She looked at Betsy. “It said I love you in a thousand different ways.”
“Do you still?”
Jolene felt tears come to her eyes. She couldn’t help wondering how long it would wound her, the memory of this question. “I will love you forever, Elizabeth Andrea Zarkades. I might screw up, I might embarrass you, I might yell at you, but I will never, ever stop loving you. You’re my firstborn. The first time I held you…” Her voice broke on that; the tears started to fall. “I fell in love so hard it cracked my bones.”
The hug came so fast, Jolene stumbled sideways, almost lost her balance, but she clung to her daughter until they steadied. She held her daughter tightly, breathing in the familiar, girly scent of her corkscrewed blond hair, feeling Betsy’s sobs.
Jolene knew there would be more fights, probably lots of them, and screaming and hurt feelings and wrong things said, but there would be this, too.
Finally, Betsy drew back and looked up. Her beautiful, heart-shaped face glistened with tears. “I love you, Mom. To the moon and back. I should have said it when you left.”
Jolene didn’t know it until right then, this second, but those were the words she’d been waiting to hear. “I knew, baby,” she said, holding her close again. “I always knew…”
Twenty-Nine
The psychiatrist’s office was a boxy little midcentury house that backed up to the fury of Aurora Avenue. Michael pulled up out front and parked next to an electric car. “Are you ready for this?”
“Honestly? No.”
Michael smiled in encouragement. “I’m pretty sure that’s the right answer.”
Jolene got out of the car. In the week since Tami’s memorial service, she had relaxed a lot. The talk with Betsy, the reunion with Michael, the return of Lulu’s laughter—all of it had combined to restore Jolene’s sense of self. She’d poured her wine down the drain and put her sleeping pills away. But she still had a long way to go. Even in Michael’s arms, she sometimes woke screaming for the crew that had been lost, for the helicopter that had crashed. Sometimes she still found herself standing somewhere—in the kitchen, in the bathroom, on her own back porch—and loss would overwhelm her. Maybe that sadness would be a part of her now, a weave in the fabric of her soul; or maybe it had been there all along and she’d never let herself see it. All she knew was that it was time to dig deeply into her own psyche, to figure out how to come home from war figuratively as well as literally, how to forge a new life after a sharp bend in the road. Since she’d given up drinking, it was easier to see the path of her own life more clearly.