“She's my mother. She'd never admit she needs help, but that doesn't mean she doesn't need it. If something happened on that drive and I wasn't there...” Maggie shook her head even though he couldn't see her. “I'd never forgive myself.”
Paolo was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “You are a good daughter, Maggie. Your mother is lucky to have you, even if she is too stubborn to say so.”
“She's stubborn. I'm stubborn. It runs in the family.”
“This I know very well.” He chuckled. “So, three days in an RV with your mother, your daughters, and Chelsea. This will be interesting.”
“That's one word for it.”
“Call me every night. I want to hear all the stories.”
“There will be plenty, I'm sure.”
“Drive safe. Take care of your mother. But come home to me.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Ti amo, Maggie.”
“I love you too, Paolo. Always.”
She ended the call and looked out at the backyard where her children had played, where she had tended gardens and hung laundry and lived a whole other life.
In a few days, she would be back on Captiva, back at the Key Lime Garden Inn, back in Paolo's arms. The thought filled her with a quiet joy that balanced the sadness of leaving this place behind.
She had come here to say goodbye to the past. But the future was waiting for her, warm and bright and full of love.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket and went inside to help with the movers.
The house slowly came to life around them. Sarah emerged from the room she was sharing with Lauren, adding her own boxes to the pile by the front door. Chelsea came downstairs with two framed paintings that had hung in the guest room.
“I always loved these,” Chelsea said. “Beth said I could have them.”
Beth had driven back to Boxford with Gabriel, Emily, and the twins after dinner the night before. The babies needed their own space, their own supplies, the comfort of the nursery that had been set up for them. Michael had headed home to Brea and the kids as well, promising to stop by later to say a final goodbye to everyone.
Maggie wandered through the house, watching the movers work. Two men carried the dining room table out the front door, the table where her family had shared thousands of meals, where homework had been done and arguments had been settled and birthday candles had been blown out year after year.
“Careful with that,” Grandma Sarah called after them. “That table has history.”
“Everything in this house has history,” Sarah said, coming to stand beside her grandmother.
“That's why we're being careful.”
In the living room, the sofa was the next to go. Maggie remembered buying it with Daniel, back when they were young and optimistic, back when she still believed their marriage would last forever. The kids had jumped on those cushions, had built forts with the pillows, had fallen asleep watching movies on weekend nights. She smiled, realizing it now looked old and would most likely be replaced by something new and stylish.
“You okay, Mom?” Lauren appeared at her elbow.
“Just remembering.”
“Good memories or bad memories?”
Maggie considered the question. “Both, I suppose. That's how it is with a house you've lived in this long. The good and the bad get all mixed together.”
“But mostly good?”
“Mostly good. The bad parts led me to where I am now, and where I am now is pretty wonderful.” She put her arm around Lauren's shoulders. “I have you kids. I have Paolo. I have a life I love. The bad parts were worth it in the end.”
“That's a very healthy perspective.”
