The answer was quick and sure. “No, Mom. Really. I’m...” Suddenly that little voice was even smaller. “Is it okay if I’m happy I’m here at Gram’s?”
Gen pressed her fingers against aching eyes. “Of course it is, honey. You’ve been planning this trip for a year. I’m glad Gram got to fly back on the same plane as you.”
“You’re not sad?”
“I miss you. But I’m really happy that you’re having fun. Besides, you’re only gonna be gone another week. And you know the deal. I’ll call every day before ten. If you need me, call right away and I’ll be on the next plane. Okay?”
“Oh, Mom, you don’t have to...”
More definite now, brooking no argument. “Okay?”
And Gen heard the relief. “Yeah.”
It made her want to cry. “We’re gonna get through this, little girl. You and I. Together.”
“Always?”
“Always and forever. And that’s a promise.”
Gen heard the pause, wished Annie wouldn’t continue. Knew she needed to. “But Dad said the same thing.”
And Dad was gone. Gen felt her stomach cartwheel, felt the sudden urge to look over her shoulder. There in her comfortable, spare house, where generations of O’Shea women had watched the ocean, Gen battled the sudden devastation of abandonment. She talked to her daughter, knew her own mother was no more than a pause away, and yet she couldn’t get past the sudden, certain conviction that she was all alone. She felt like a six-year-old again, desperately searching the crowd in a busy shopping mall, knowing with sick certainty that she’d been left behind.
Outside, the wind began to whine. One of the big old live oaks that backed the house scratched on the wall in protest. The ocean grumbled. Gen squeezed her eyes shut, terrified. Shaken. Dreading the end of the call, when she would have to face her own failings again. When a strange dream would begin to whisper at the edge of the shadows.
“How many days, Annie?” she asked, because she couldn’t really answer her daughter any more than her mother had been able to answer her when her own father died.
It took Annie a second, but she answered. “Seven, Mom. And if you want me home, I’ll come right away.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Now let me talk to Gram.”
Her mother returned, sounding just as brisk and pragmatic as always. “Have you had any luck straightening out Michael’s affairs?”
Gen sighed. “No. That’s one reason I escaped. He left things in a real mess. I’ve been talking to everybody from his lawyer to the bank examiners, and they can’t straighten out his records.”
“Well, they’ll probably get everything tied up while you’re gone. You just rest and take care of yourself.”
“I will, Mom. Thanks.”
“I never wanted this to happen to you, honey. Never.”
Gen couldn’t think of anything to say. Her mother’s voice was suddenly so intense, so abrupt, as if there was so much more to say that she couldn’t manage. For a moment Gen wondered if her mother remembered all her old fears after all.
“I know that, Mom. And I love you.”
“Me, too, Genny. Take care.”
“I will. And Mom—?”
“Yes.”
“Did we have anybody in the family in the Civil War?”
Gen heard the surf and imagined it on the other end of the line. “Why ever would you ask a question like that?”
Gen lied. “Oh, I don’t know. I read something. About the Battle of the Wilderness, I think. Does it ring a bell?”
Another silence. “Don’t think so.”
