Chapter 13
Margaret died when Leo was ten.
A stroke.
Alone in her condo.
The call came from Denise.
Her voice was strange.
Not sad exactly.
Not relieved exactly.
Human.
I told Claire.
Then Leo.
He was quiet.
“Do I have to be sad?”
“No,” I said.
“Do you?”
I thought about it.
“I feel sad that she wasted her chances.”
Leo nodded.
Ava, now twelve, said, “I feel mad that she still makes everyone talk about feelings.”
Denise laughed and cried at once.
We held no large funeral.
Margaret had few friends left.
Denise and I went to the burial.
Claire stayed home with Leo.
Maria did not go.
No one asked her to.
At the cemetery, Denise stood beside me.
“She was our mother,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“She was dangerous.”
“Yes.”
“I wish those didn’t both fit.”
I took her hand.
“Me too.”
We placed flowers.
Then left.
No speeches.
No rewriting.
No pretending death had cleaned the record.
Afterward, I went home and found Leo playing cards with Maria at the kitchen table.
Claire was making coffee.
Ava was arguing with Denise about homework.
The house was loud.
Alive.
May you like
Safe.
That was the only memorial that mattered.
