I wanted to protect her from every difficult thing.
But she was no longer a child.
And neither was I.
“Come here,” I said.
She stood, walked around the table, and folded herself into my arms.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
This time, I held her tightly.
“I know.”
When she pulled away, I brushed a tear from her cheek.
“But we’re going to do things differently.”
She nodded.
We ate supper together that evening. The potatoes were a little overdone, and Todd ate enough of them to convince me he liked them. We talked about the children, the weather, the price of groceries, and whether the elevator would finish harvest before Thanksgiving.
Nobody mentioned the $800 again.
Before they left, Michelle stood in the doorway and looked toward the porch swing.
“Can we come over on Sunday?” she asked. “The kids want to see where you live.”
