I looked at Bernard’s photograph.
He was smiling, wearing his old beige sweater.
I gently traced the edge of the frame with my finger.
“You know, sweetheart,” I said, “I put myself in that box, too. I kept saying yes, even when I should have admitted I was tired.”
Claire sighed.
“I don’t want you to come on vacation with us just because you make our lives easier. I want you to come because we want to be with you. Because we genuinely enjoy having you there.”
I closed my eyes.
Those were the words I had wished to hear in Brittany.
Sometimes, the right words arrive late.
But late is still better than never.
We talked for a long time that evening.
Not like a mother and daughter settling old scores, but like two women finally discovering how badly they had misunderstood each other.
Claire told me that Noah had been asking questions in the car after we returned home.
