“No.”
I went downstairs.
Mom was still on the deck.
Still beside her flowers.
Still holding the same book.
“Mom, did you tell Susan the lake house was becoming too much for you?”
Mom sighed.
“Oh, honey. It wasn’t a secret.”
“What exactly did you say?”
“Nothing important. We were talking.”
Susan had followed me downstairs.
She stood in the doorway.
“You told me the first weekend in June that taking care of the house was wearing you out.”
Mom frowned.
“I said I get tired more easily. I’m sixty-eight.”
“You also said grocery trips were annoying. Opening the house every weekend took a lot of energy. And your back had been bothering you since you fell off the ladder painting the shutters.”
I turned toward Mom.
“You fell off the ladder?”
She stared at her book.
“It was a little fall.”
“Mom.”
“I landed in the hydrangeas.”
I turned back toward Susan.
“So your solution was to do absolutely nothing?”
Her expression hardened.
“No.”
She walked onto the deck.
“My solution was not to make her feel like she was incapable of managing her own life.”
I laughed.
“By leaving coffee cups everywhere?”
“You don’t understand.”
