A Curve in the Road(70)

I suppose my understanding that life can end in the blink of an eye and should therefore be lived to the fullest trumps my fears.

When Zack flies home from Ontario, I drive to the airport to meet him, and the moment I see him coming down the escalator with his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking grown-up and happy, I feel a motherly pride that overtakes me. He smiles, and we come together for the best hug of my life. We embrace and rock back and forth with love for the longest time. There are still tears in my eyes as we leave the airport and get into the car.

He fills me in on residence life and his classes, and I’m thrilled to hear how much he’s enjoying his education at Western.

“You made the right choice,” I say, reaching across the console to squeeze his hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

When we arrive at my mother’s place, he gets another bear hug from her, and then the food comes out. Mom offers him a chicken sandwich and cookies and anything else his heart desires.

“It feels good to be home,” he says to me with a smile from across the kitchen table as he devours a coconut macaroon.

I reach for his hand again. “It’s good to have you here.”

Winston trots over to rest his chin on Zack’s lap, and Zack feeds him the last bite of his cookie.

Thanksgiving dinner is not quite as joyful as the first day of our reunion. It’s difficult with only the three of us—Zack, Mom, and me. The house feels quiet and somber compared to other years when Alan carved the turkey at the head of the table and made us laugh when the juices splattered all over the tablecloth.

Today, I find myself thinking about all our family traditions, the good times when Zack was small, and I miss the laughter. I know Zack is having similar thoughts as we eat dinner and struggle to talk about things that don’t remind us of what used to be.

After dinner, he seeks me out in the kitchen, where I’m loading the dishwasher. “Mom, do you think we could go to the cemetery today?”

My stomach clenches. I turn to face him, but I can’t seem to find words because I don’t want to go to the cemetery. Not today. I’ve had such a good week, finally feeling as if I’m moving on.

Besides that, I’m not sure how easy it will be to pay my respects at Alan’s grave, to show reverence when I haven’t yet been able to forgive him and I’m not sure I ever will. I’ve kept up the pretense all year, but I’m running out of energy in that area. I’m afraid I’m just not that good of an actress and one of these days I’ll accidentally let down my guard and Zack will see through me.

Zack frowns. “Come on, Mom. It’s Thanksgiving. I think we should lay some flowers or something.”

I turn away, close the dishwasher door, and press the start button. “That’s a wonderful idea,” I say, with my back to him. “We can snip some hydrangeas from the backyard.”

“I’ll get my jacket,” Zack replies.

As soon as he’s gone from the kitchen, I take a deep breath and hold it for a few seconds, steeling myself, because this has to happen. I need to go to the cemetery and grieve for my late husband. For my son’s sake, if not for mine.

Twenty minutes later, Zack and I are standing at Alan’s grave, looking down at the headstone in silence. Zack lays the white flowers on top and steps back.

“Mom,” he says without looking at me. “I know you’re mad at him.”

The lining of my stomach feels like it might catch fire.

He turns to me. “You’re trying to hide it from me, but I can see it, and I get it. It’s Dad’s fault you had the accident, and that’s why you have sleep issues now, and it’s why you had to give up being a surgeon. I’m mad at him too, but he never meant for any of that to happen. I mean . . . you have to give him a break, Mom. I agree that he was an idiot for getting behind the wheel that night, for sure, but he just found out he had cancer. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

I shake my head. “He was more than an idiot, Zack.” I’m half tempted to let it all come spilling out, but I bite my tongue and do what I always do—gloss over the real truth. “He drove drunk. He broke the law. There’s never any excuse for that. I’ll probably always be angry about what he did. Besides, even without that, it’s complicated.”

Stop, Abbie. Don’t say anything more.

“No, it’s not. You loved each other, but now it seems like you’re forgetting all the good times we had. You never want to talk about him.”

It’s true. I haven’t wanted to talk about Alan lately. Not with Zack.

He stares down at the gravestone. “Despite what happened, I’m glad that he was my dad, and I’ll never stop loving him, no matter what he did.”

I feel a bit sick because I’m not sure what to say. Part of me wants to grasp this opening, to confide in my son once and for all so that I won’t feel like a pressure cooker anymore. But that would be selfish, wouldn’t it? I don’t want to spoil all those happy memories that are such a comfort to Zack just to let off my own steam. He’s so sure of himself and his feelings right now. I don’t want to destroy that.

“You guys were the best parents ever,” he continues, “and I’m so lucky, because a lot of my friends never had what we had. Their parents hated each other, and they fought all the time, or they got divorced. At least we had a happy home.” Zack pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know he wasn’t perfect, Mom. He made a really bad mistake. But he loved us.”