At the time Kaylee had said, “That’s so sweet.”

Meredith had agreed that it was very sweet. “But he doesn’t know what he might have done wrong. He doesn’t know why we’re breaking up. That’s a huge red flag. All that talking and arguing and he still doesn’t know what he might have done differently.” Then she had smiled and said, “Maybe he should have asked. And then listened to the answer.”

Kaylee wanted to be like Meredith. Strong and fearless, independent and confident.

She spent a couple of hours with her memories, gloomy and sad and lonely, and then she cried. She threw herself into the crying and wondered if there would ever be a day she wouldn’t long so much for her mother. At about three her phone rang, but she didn’t answer. She looked at it and saw it had been Landry. She might call him back later, after she’d pulled herself together. Then she fell asleep for a while. At five she woke up with a puffy face that cold water didn’t improve one bit.

The sun was setting much earlier and soon they would be turning the clocks back. Right now it was growing dark by six and in a couple of weeks that would be five o’clock sunset and it would stay dark much later in the mornings.

There was a knock at the door. She didn’t move. Landry knocked and yelled, “Kaylee! Are you all right?”

With a heavy sigh, she went to the door. “I’m fine. Just having one of those days.”

He looked alarmed and pushed inside. “Kaylee, what is it?”

Her eyes welled with tears because she hadn’t quite shaken it off. “I’m just having a sad day. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“But wait, what’s wrong? You’ve been fine! Did something happen? Everything all right with your publisher? Tell me.”

She shook her head. “It was one of those memory days. I couldn’t stop it so I let it take me. It’ll pass now, I think. But I’m not likely to be good company.”

“What was significant about today?” he wanted to know.

“It’s not that important...”

“Yes, it is.” He reached for her and pulled her close. “I can’t bear to see you hurting. It’s too familiar. I remember those feelings.”

That was all it took for her to lean against him and sob. He murmured that it was okay, he rocked her in his arms and she cried for what seemed like a long, long time but it was probably only five minutes. She finally pulled away and looked up at him. “It was this day a year ago that the decision was made. The doctor said they had done all they could with the chemo. She was weak and thin and bald and at the end of her endurance. She was done. That’s when we moved to Hospice care. From that day on, the focus was on quality of life rather than curing her cancer.”

She cried a little more.

“I was just going through some of the things I saved, things that were special to us. You know—artifacts. Her shawl, her scarf, some pictures and books.” She glanced over her shoulder at the open suitcase on the sofa.

He had the most gentle smile. “Tell me about her.”

“Aww, I don’t know...”

“No, really. Tell me all about her. I have a feeling you take after her.”

“If only...”

“Let me make us some coffee. Tell me everything.”

* * *

They sat on the couch together, holding their coffee mugs, when Kaylee began. “She was the most awesome woman. She was so strong and fearless. When I was a little girl she worked for a decorator in the LA area and after years of that, she began to design beautiful patio furniture. When I was a senior in high school she opened a company that manufactured high-end patio furniture. Sunshine was the name she gave her company. I didn’t pay that much attention at the time but I knew she took out loans, did all kinds of special promotions, had to do some part-time design to make ends meet, but eventually, Sunshine took off. She joined with a partner and they doubled in size. She designed the most beautiful, luxurious outdoor furniture, very heavy so the high wind we’re famous for wouldn’t blow it away, and she became successful. She sold a lot to resorts and hotels. She was in her early fifties and it all came together. She was featured in so many local design magazines. She worked long hours and we almost never got to spend days off together, but she was so happy. She was so proud of herself.”

They moved to the porch swing for a while with a second cup of coffee and unsurprisingly, Otis found them and lay down on the porch.

“When I was small and my father had left us, it was hard for her to work and keep all the mommy commitments from parent-teacher conferences to attending special programs and do her part to host playdates and sleepovers. I remember that I wanted a sleepover and she was up to her eyebrows in work and just couldn’t, so I pitched a fit and made things even more difficult. And she was furious, but she forgave me, and then we had a long talk about how it was just the two of us and we were going to have to work as a team or we just wouldn’t make it. I’m not sure I tried hard enough to hold up my end.”

“It sounds like she did very well even with all her duties. Was she fun?”

“Oh God, she was always fun. She had close girlfriends, some from as long ago as high school and some she had met later, but when the women were getting together I was included most of the time. Once I was out of college and teaching, I was always included, as were some of my friends. We were usually a group of four to eight and divided into two generations. We went on a few weekend trips together, to wineries or art walks in small towns, and we had a ball. It was so fun—we would gossip and laugh till we cried. There was one time when we were in a small restaurant in Half Moon Bay and we, mother and daughter, got hit on by a father and son. Oh God, our whole group found that hilarious. I was a little interested, to tell the truth, but my mother said, ‘You can have them both, I’m not going there.’ Then there were those times of crisis when we had to be there for each other as support and there might have been less laughing. Like when Janette went through a divorce and her pain was so awful and we propped her up.”

“And when you went through a divorce,” he said.

“Oh, that was classic,” she said. “My mother always knew it wouldn’t work. She could see right away that Dixon was self-centered and lazy and she really tried not to say anything. Then there was an incident—he stood me up for dinner on my birthday! He had an excuse, but it wasn’t a great one. And he wasn’t sorry. And my mother caved and broke her own rule. She asked me what I was thinking and had I lost my fucking mind. And yes, she said ‘fucking.’ And of course I said, ‘But I love him!’ and she stopped talking. She said she just had to do it once in case there was some sanity in my head.”

“Her rule?” he asked. “Do what once?”

“She said when you’re the mother of a young woman and you don’t think the boyfriend is good enough, you dare not say so or your daughter will marry him before morning. It’s more of a challenge than advice. So she always tried to be welcoming to any boyfriends, to be accepting. I strained her willpower with a few of the guys I brought around, but the thought of me marrying such a selfish egomaniac just wore her down. And of course I married him! He came on to the maid of honor and I still married him. And when I divorced him she never once said she told me so. Instead she was totally sympathetic.”

“You came up here together, after the divorce,” he said.

“That’s right. A quiet getaway. I told Dixon to get his stuff out of our house and that I was filing for divorce.” She grew quiet. “He never asked for another chance. Now, of course, I can see that I dodged a bullet. I’m so much better off. But at the time I felt abandoned and lonely and devastated.”

“We need to eat before there’s more story,” Landry said. “And I know there’s more story.”

“I can’t even think about eating,” she said.

“Even more reason.” He went inside and she followed him. He opened the refrigerator and took inventory. “There’s lots of stuff in here. How would you like an omelet? A veggie omelet with sausage and potatoes on the side?”

“Sounds delicious, but I don’t have sausage and potatoes.”

“I do. I should go check on Lady, make sure she gets out for a break. I’ll bring the rest of the stuff for a breakfast for dinner when I come back. You can go take a shower, see if it makes you feel better. I’ll be right back and I’ll cook. How’s that sound?”

So that’s what they did. She showered while he was dealing with Lady and gathering up his groceries. When she came out of the shower he was slicing and dicing in the kitchen. Of course showering, blowing out her hair and having a nice dinner made all the difference. The storytelling went on while they ate and continued through the washing up of dishes. Then they moved to the sofa with glasses of wine, Tux on her lap and Otis curled up on the floor at their feet.

“My mom was very smart about life issues. When I wanted to write she encouraged me to make it happen. On a teacher’s salary it was hard to afford everything and some of the writer’s conferences I wanted to attend were prohibitively expensive. I think money was still kind of tight then for her, but she found ways to help. My birthday gifts were plane tickets or conference fees. Then she listened to me for hours after I came home. For a long time I had to write and teach—even my first contract was barely enough to keep me for a month. She would bring dinner to me a couple of times a week.”

“Any reason you didn’t live with her?” he asked.

“We wanted to be independent. I wanted to be independent, especially once I recovered from Dixon. But I chose a town house very close to her house. We talked at least twice a day, but we only saw each other two or three times a week. There were a few times we’d get together, kill a bottle of wine and I’d stay overnight rather than drive. We’d have a sleepover. That didn’t happen very often, not even once a month, but we were very compatible even though we didn’t live together by choice. We had our own routines; we needed our own space.”