Several weeks later, one of our relatives finally came to visit.
It was my aunt Linda, the same woman who had once insisted that my mother should never have allowed Ray back into the house.
She arrived holding a casserole dish.
When I opened the door, she looked uncomfortable.
“Is your mother home?”
“She is.”
Linda stepped inside.
Her eyes moved toward the kitchen window, where Ray was sorting seed packets at the table. Outside, neighbors were gathering around the food stand.
She stood quietly for a moment before approaching him.
“Ray.”
He looked up.
“Linda.”
She tightened her grip on the empty dish.
“I heard what you’ve been doing.”
Ray waited.
She glanced toward the garden.
“I didn’t know about any of this.”
“You never asked,” he replied.
The words were calm, but they landed heavily.
Linda lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
For a moment, I thought she might defend herself. I expected her to explain why she had judged him, why she had believed he would never change, or why she had kept her distance for so many years.
