Well Behaved Wives(82)

“Her father had died a long time before that. And maybe she was too ashamed or embarrassed to say anything to her mother.”

“Why didn’t she tell someone else?”

This question should have plagued Lillian, but she knew the answer. “She may have. We don’t know.” Lillian cringed at the thought that Anna probably did tell someone—just like Ruth had told Lillian. “It’s possible no one believed her. Back then, they didn’t treat injured women the way they should. That’s why it’s important to tell someone if you’re in trouble—to stand up for yourself. Make sure you’re heard.”

The family stepped outside to the sidewalk, and Lillian hurried back to the kitchen. She returned to the car with a Tupperware container. “I almost forgot my mother’s cookies,” she said.

Peter opened the car door for her but paused before he let her in. “I know I don’t say it, but you’re a good daughter.” He stepped aside for Lillian to enter. “And a good mother.”

As they piled into the Lincoln, Lillian flooded with gratitude.

Forty-five minutes later, the Diamonds arrived at Friends Hospital. Autumn leaves camouflaged the buildings, but Lillian saw through the gold and red and orange. Even gold sparkles couldn’t make this place what it wasn’t. It wasn’t a temporary healing place or a stopover for Anna; it was her home. It had been, for many years. Years in which Lillian now admitted she had been ashamed to admit her mother was hospitalized. Now she believed that dying was likely the best thing her father could have done for them. It hadn’t been her husband’s death but his cruelty that had caused Anna’s nervous breakdown and her commitment to that first asylum. Lillian was sure of it. Anna’s early senility was unrelated, the doctor had said. Lillian didn’t believe that one bit.

But if her father had lived, her mother would have lived in danger. Lillian might have been in danger as well.

As she had learned firsthand from Carrie, domestic violence was rarely an isolated instance.

Peter parked the car, and the girls eyed the building in front of them. Penny was the first to speak. “It looks kinda nice, like a school or something.”

As they left the car and walked toward the building, Lillian had to acknowledge that her mother was better off committed than married to her father. When Peter opened the door for them, she pushed aside thoughts of how her mother might have coped if she’d received kindness from Lillian’s grandparents.

Her grandparents—her grandmother in particular. Lillian had so far ignored the feelings—the anger—she had toward them. Gran had given her a home after her mother was taken away, but she should have done something to help long before. And yet, Lillian didn’t have all the facts. There was so much for her to learn about what really happened.

As the family neared Anna’s room, the reality of the hospital settled back around Lillian. Today was about her daughters’ grandmother, not Lillian’s mother, and she would focus on that. She would search out her cousins on her mother’s side when the dust settled. Rekindle those lost relationships. See what they knew.

Everything in due time. She’d ease into the knowledge, the pain, of what had been done to her mother, to her. She’d had enough shocks lately and needed to go easy on herself too.

Inside the double doors of the common room, Lillian draped her arms over her daughters’ shoulders in a reassuring hug. “She may not understand you’re my children, but don’t let that bother you.”

Lillian, Pammie, and Penny left Peter standing against the wall as if he was propping it up. They walked to a small table where Anna sat alone with a deck of cards. Slight and lonely, but pretty, with long gray hair and a yellow dress.

“Hi, Anna, do you remember me?”

Anna smiled at Lillian, which did not answer the question. “Are these your children?”

“They are.” Lillian nudged the girls forward. “This is Pammie—”

“And I’m Penny.” She reached out her hand and Anna clasped it.

Anna looked at Lillian. “Can they stay?”

Words tangled into a knot and lodged in Lillian’s throat. She nodded and the girls sat with Anna, who indicated the pack of cards. “Do you want to play go fish?”

“Okay,” Pammie said. “But I should warn you, I always win.”

Lillian opened her mouth to admonish her older daughter, but Anna hooted. The capricious laughter stung and hugged Lillian’s heart. It had been so long since she’d heard it.

“This one’s a firecracker,” Anna said. The word, once used to describe Lillian, made her feel happy and sad at the same time.

“We brought cookies,” Penny said. “We know you like them. Right, Mom?”

Lillian placed the container on the middle of the table and Penny peeled back the lid. “Don’t worry,” Lillian said. “No raisins.”

The visit ended when Anna nodded off at the table, in the middle of a game of war, chin to her chest. Lillian had been surprised at her own reaction to this encounter. Instead of feeling ashamed that her mother was a patient, Lillian was delighted that Anna and her girls had found a way to enjoy each other’s company. Penny and Pammie had engaged her mother—their grandmother—for almost an hour. The longer Lillian had watched the three of them, the more normal Anna seemed.