But Susan got there first.
“Leave those. I’ll do it.”
Mom smiled.
Then caught herself.
“Don’t tell me to sit down either.”
Susan froze.
I almost laughed.
She corrected herself.
“Right. Sorry.”
Then she asked,
“Maggie, would you like to help me with the dishes?”
Mom thought.
Really thought.
Then said,
“No.”
Susan nodded.
“Okay.”
And carried the plates into the kitchen herself.
That night, I found Mom outside beside the flowers.
Moonlight covered the lake.
I sat next to her.
“I’m sorry for what I said this morning.”
“About being everyone’s maid?”
“Yes.”
“It was a little mean.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
“But also a little true.”
We sat quietly.
Then Mom said,
“Your father would’ve hated watching me all summer.”
I smiled.
“He always said I would give away my own shoes if someone complimented them.”
She laughed.
“He used to steal dish towels from me just to make me stop working.”
She looked at the lake.
“Once I found one in his tackle box three years after he died.”
I took her hand.
“I miss him.”
“I know.”
The next morning, I went downstairs at seven.
Mom was sitting at the table.
