Closed it.
She had no answer.
We sat there in silence.
Then Mom finally spoke.
“I do like it.”
I turned toward her.
“I like cooking for everyone. I like the bedrooms being full. I like hearing people moving around in the morning.”
She looked toward the lake.
“When your father died, this house became so quiet.”
Her voice softened.
“For two summers, I couldn’t even come here.”
She looked back at us.
“Now it isn’t quiet anymore. And I love that.”
Susan’s shoulders relaxed.
Too soon.
Mom continued.
“But I suppose I got carried away.”
“With what?”
Mom gave a small, embarrassed laugh.
“Trying to make everybody want to come back.”
At first, I didn’t understand.
Then everything clicked.
“You got married,” Mom said. “Suddenly you had this whole new family. Daniel’s parents. His relatives. People I didn’t know.”
She swallowed.
“I wanted everything to be easy for you.”
She looked at me.
“I wanted them to like coming here.”
A pause.
“I wanted them to like me.”
Suddenly, the entire summer rearranged itself.
The new sheets.
The new towels.
The little hotel basket.
The special mayonnaise.
The peach cobbler.
Every meal.
Every coffee cup.
