I laughed because the alternative was believing her. “Mom made Dad a dating list?”
“Seven names.”
“And he actually used it?”
“Eventually.”
Six women in 18 months. Every one at this restaurant.
My laughter stopped. “Why here?”
“Because this is where your parents met.”
“I know that.”
“It is also where your mother made the list.”
Helen finally lifted her hand from the letter.
“She made me help her.”
I snatched it. The first page wasn’t romantic. It was instructions.
Names.
Numbers.
Small descriptions beside each one.
“Anna likes old movies.”
“Beth hates seafood.”
“Lydia talks when she’s nervous, so give her time.”
Six names had check marks.
The seventh line had been violently crossed out.
Helen.
My eyes lifted.
“You were on it.”
“At first.”
“Why?”
Helen looked toward the empty chair where Dad always sat. “Because Maggie thought I understood him.”
I hadn’t heard anyone outside our family call Mom Maggie in years.
It made my skin prickle.
“And then she changed her mind.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Helen didn’t answer.
I stood.
“I’m calling Dad.”
“Rachel.”
I was already dialing. He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“I’m at the restaurant.”
Silence.
I looked at Helen.
Dad said, “Is she there?”
That hurt more than I expected.
“You knew she’d be here?”
“No.”
“But how did you know who I meant?”
Another silence.
“Dad…”
“Rachel, I can explain. Please don’t open the envelope.”
I looked down at my name.
“Why does everybody keep saying that?”
“Because it isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Then you shouldn’t have taped it underneath a table.”
He arrived 20 minutes later.
He looked older when he saw the photograph in my hands.
“Mom did this?”
Dad nodded. “At home. I brought it here after she died.”
He sat in his usual chair. Helen moved to leave.
I blocked her. “No. If Mom erased you from the photograph, you’re staying.”
Dad flinched.
I set the list between them. “Start talking.”
Dad looked at Helen. Helen said, “You tell her.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Your mother knew I wouldn’t try to date again.”
“Apparently she was wrong.”
“No. She was right.”
He tapped the list. “For five years, I never opened it.”
“Why start?”
“Because of you.”
I stared at him.
“On your 39th birthday, you told me you wanted me to have a life.”
I remembered.
Dad nodded. “That night I opened the box.”
