As Vivian describes the luncheon she’s due to attend with an old college friend, the errands that will follow, and a Zumba class she’s eager to try at the senior center, Diana remembers a moment, a few months after Tom’s funeral, when she overheard her mother and sister whispering in her kitchen. Diana stood in the shadows on her stairs, bare feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, as they discussed what to do about her unrelenting sadness.
“It’s gone too far,” Andrea said. “She needs inpatient treatment.”
“A hospital?” Vivian said, her voice breaking.
“It won’t be long, Mom. A few weeks at the most.”
Vivian began to weep. “We have to help her, but a hospital stay would be disruptive to the children. I ... I don’t know how to make this better for them.”
Her mother’s pain was a weight Diana hadn’t expected. It made her see, for the first time, what her descent into grief was doing to everyone around her. She decided then to hide her feelings, letting them emerge only when she was alone. She began right away, forcing herself to change out of the pajamas she’d worn for the past five days and shower. She cried as she blow-dried her hair and made her bed, but when she came downstairs to help make dinner, Diana was clear-eyed and somehow managed to stay upright. Her mother declared “she’d turned a corner,” and her family eagerly embraced this pretend Diana, a fantasy she’s kept going ever since.
So ingrained is she in this pretense that Diana doesn’t tell her mother about Tom’s letter, opting to keep this development to herself.
After her mother leaves, Diana spends the rest of the afternoon preparing next year’s budget, approving licenses for more young adult e-books, and answering overdue emails. Another time, she would have described the day as productive; today it feels more like procrastination. When the clock turns to 5:00 p.m., she reluctantly heads out, already wishing it were tomorrow.
After a drive she can’t remember making, Diana arrives home, parking in her driveway and listening as her car pings and hums as it shuts down. Like most nights, she hasn’t planned ahead for dinner, so she’ll most likely fall back on what she secretly refers to as “the widow’s special”: dumping a box of pasta into boiling water and waiting impatiently for it to cook, as a jar of tomato sauce burns across the stove.
Her phone beeps with a text from Evan:Hope Duncan’s feeling better. Too bad he had to miss the basketball clinic. Give a call if you need anything.
Feeling better? What’s wrong with Duncan?
Before she can act on Evan’s message, an alarm on her phone sounds, reminding her that she’s due to collect Phoebe from her after-school program. Diana walks across the street to the elementary school, where Phoebe is waiting at the side door with her bag packed and coat zipped. She is not the last child to be picked up, though she has been plenty of times before.
As Diana waves to the after-school coordinator, Phoebe barrels into her arms, nearly knocking the two of them over. “Mama, I’m happy to see you.”
“I’m happy to see you, too,” Diana says, rescuing Phoebe’s hair from where it’s stuck in her coat collar.
Phoebe’s face shines up at Diana, and for an instant, bathed in her daughter’s love, Diana forgets about Tom’s letter, work, her ongoing grief, and stress. She stares at her daughter, as if meeting her for the first time. The elements that make up Phoebe’s face come into clear focus: the swell of her cheeks, the beauty mark under her left eye, the curve of her upper lip.This is what matters,Diana thinks, kissing the top of Phoebe’s head.
“Let’s go home,” Phoebe says, impatiently tugging at Diana’s hand. “Bear Bear doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”
When they cross the street into their yard, Lakshmi comes out on her front porch. “Do you want to join us for dinner?” She gestures into her house. “I have enough.”
Diana does want to go inside, more than anything. She needs to tell someone about the letter, and Lakshmi may be the only person in her life who will be able to hold conflicting ideas of Tom in her mind, remembering the man independent of his secret.
But that will have to wait. Diana needs to track down Duncan.
“Mama.” Phoebe tugs at her arm.
“Not tonight, Lax. Let’s catch up tomorrow? After Phoebe goes to bed? I’ll bring the wine.”
“Of course. Ramesh will be in DC.” Lakshmi tightens her fleece against her body. “I could use the company.”
The house is dark when they enter, and as Phoebe chats about her day, Diana flips on light switches and hangs up their coats. “Duncan?” she calls out.
She’s met with silence, but she has a feeling he’s nearby and something is wrong.
“Pheebs, I’m going upstairs for a minute.”
“I have to get Bear Bear. I left him in my room.”
“I’ll bring him down for you, honey. You unpack your backpack in the kitchen.”
When Diana steps onto the upstairs landing, she hears a sniffle. Duncan’s room is empty, the bed still unmade from his morning rush to school, his laundry basket on its side in the corner, socks and boxers in a heap on the floor. It takes a moment—seconds, really—for Diana to realize where he is. She sprints down the hall, past Phoebe’s bedroom, the window seat her father built for them, the bathroom the kids share, and into her bedroom. That’s where she finds Duncan, crumpled on the floor, clutching Tom’s letter.
Chapter Five
When all this is over, Diana will reflect upon her hasty and ill-considered decision to stick Tom’s letter in her bedside table. What if she’d taken it with her to the library instead? Or locked it up, as she later did, in the fireproof box in the office, with their passports and birth certificates? Would Duncan have given up on his need to know what his father had written? Would he have accepted that Tom’s message wasn’t for him and moved on?
