“Three weeks before she died.”
Dad’s head snapped toward her.
“What?”
Helen went pale.
“You didn’t know?”
Dad stood so quickly his chair struck the wall. “Helen.”
“She told me you knew.”
“No.”
For the first time, Helen looked really frightened.
Dad said, “What exactly did she say?”
Helen’s voice shook.
“She said you wanted your final weeks together without me around. She said you felt guilty asking me to leave yourself.”
Dad stared at her.
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
Helen reached into her handbag. This time she removed a small sealed envelope.
Her name was written across it.
“Maggie gave me this the day she asked me to go.”
Dad didn’t take it.
I did.
Inside was one page.
Helen had kept it for eight years.
Mom’s handwriting became shakier toward the bottom.
“I know what I am asking you to give up.”
“But I am dying, Helen.”
“You are not.”
“If you stay, he will love you after me.”
“Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not for years.”
“But he will.”
“And I cannot spend my final days watching the woman who will eventually take my place.”
“Please give me this one selfish thing.”
“Leave before I do.”
Dad sat down.
For eight years, he’d believed Helen disappeared because watching Mom die had been too painful.
Helen had believed Dad wanted her gone.
I looked at the ruined photograph. One lie. Eight years.
Then another thought hit me.
“The dates.”
Dad didn’t look up.
“You told every woman about Helen.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I showed them what your mother asked me to do.”
I frowned.
“Each woman got a letter from Maggie. What did they say?”
“That she had chosen them. That she hoped one might make me happy.”
Then I understood.
Mom had chosen every woman sitting across from him.
Dad hadn’t asked them out because he wanted them. He was working through her list.
And every one had eventually realized it. And every one of them asked the same question.
“Why are you still obeying her?”
“What did you tell them?”
Dad looked at me.
“That loving someone doesn’t stop when they die.”
“No,” I said. “But control should.”
His face crumpled.
Helen whispered, “Rachel.”
I turned on Dad. “You knew Mom didn’t want you near Helen. Fine. But after the first woman told you this was wrong, why keep going?”
“I thought I owed your mother.”
