“We just have to be like the geese, right?” Mara asked.
“That’s what Ms. Oliver tells us, yes.”
I glanced out the window at the dry brown hillsides dotted with scrub brush and the occasional oak tree. It was a nice seventy-five degrees, without a cloud in the sky. The sun streaming in through the windows warmed my skin.
Forest Lawn’s wrought-iron gates appeared ahead, grand and perfectly maintained. We drove through, and the brown hills gave way to green lawns, manicured and watered, rolling across the hillsides despite the drought-dry landscape surrounding them. Palm trees and oaks cast shadows across rows of headstones.
Mara navigated the winding cemetery roads past sections with names like Garden of Honor and Courts of Remembrance, finally pulling off onto a smaller path and parking under an oak tree.
We walked across recently mowed grass past rows of headstones. Some were elaborate, towering monuments. Others were simple plaques flush with the ground. Finally, we came upon our mother’s granite headstone, placed on a slight rise, under the shade of a pepper tree, its lacy green branches fluttering in the breeze.
CAROLINE NASH HALE
Beloved Mother
1958-2007
Mara knelt and brushed some leaves off the stone. I placed the flowers in a metal cylinder built into the ground next to the headstone. We sat down on the grass, legs crossed, facing the headstone. The sun was warm on my back. Birds called from somewhere in the pepper tree. In the distance, I could hear a lawn mower.
“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Mara asked. “Peaceful.”
“Yeah. This was a good choice. Mom liked the shade.”
Mara smiled. “She was always concerned about getting too much sun on her skin. I think of it every time I put sunscreen on the kids.”
“Do you think she knew who he really was?”
“Dad?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I think about that sometimes. I can’t remember what they were like together. When I examine those years, it’s like a magician pulling one of those endless scarves from a sleeve. The silk goes on and on without any conclusion.”
“I remember finding her in her bathroom one night after we were supposed to be in bed,” Mara said, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. “She was curled up in this ball—on the floor—crying her eyes out. I was probably eight at the time. Dad was somewhere else.”
“I can’t remember him being home much at all,” I said. “Did you ask her why she was crying?” The image of our pretty mother on the floor made my chest ache.
“No. The minute she saw me, she jumped up, wiping her eyes, pretending like nothing was wrong.”
“She always kept whatever was really going on to herself. At least in front of us,” I said. “I do remember one thing, though. A few months before she died, she told me that who we choose to marry is the most important decision we’ll ever make.”
“That could be damning or the opposite.”
“Right. Did she see her marriage as a blessing or a curse?”
“If you take the inheritance, you can take care of Esme and the kids,” Mara said.
I flinched at the abrupt change of subject. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. Even if she doesn’t feel the same way I do, I could give her a house and money for the kids’ college funds.”
“And use some of it for your foundation.”
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that too,” I said.
We sat quietly for a few minutes. Mara pulled a blade of grass from the lawn, twisting it between her fingers.
“I went to see him in prison. A few months back,” Mara said.
I stared at her, stunned. “I had no idea you were still in contact with him.”
“That was the one and only time I went to see him. I just wanted to ask him some questions. He looked so different. All hollowed out and green tinged. Whatever power he’d once possessed had been sucked away, leaving just skin and bones.”
