A Curve in the Road(71)
I stare down at the gravestone and think of Alan in his coffin under the ground, and I have to admit to myself that Zack is right, in some ways. Alan may have been cheating on me, and he committed a terrible crime by driving under the influence, but he did love us. If he didn’t, he would have left me for Paula a long time ago, or he wouldn’t have tried to end it with her when he found out he was dying.
For the first time in almost a year, my anger over Alan’s infidelity isn’t at the top of my mind, maybe because Alan has already suffered the worst possible punishment. He’s dead now. He’s six feet under. He’ll never see his son graduate from university or get married, and he’ll never hold his future grandchildren. He’ll never again enjoy the fragrance of fresh spring rain or a full-bodied wine or the delicious aroma of coffee in the morning. He’ll never see another sunrise.
Alan knew he was dying. I wonder if he wished he could have just one more day to make everything right when they pulled him out of the wreck. Would he have confessed his affair to me after finally putting an end to it? Or was he traveling to Lunenburg that night to be with the woman he truly wanted? Was the guilt too much to bear?
I’ll never know, and that’s what has been ripping at my insides since the day I found out about his affair.
Suddenly I’m on my hands and knees, weeping over my husband’s grave and wishing he hadn’t been taken from us. Maybe there was a chance he and I could have worked everything out and grown stronger through the hard times. I don’t know.
All I know for sure is that I miss what Alan and I had—the laughter and love and constant support. That’s what I want to remember. I don’t want to spend the rest of my days drowning in venom when I think of him.
Zack kneels beside me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. He doesn’t say a word. He just sits and holds me.
I realize that I still want to shield my son from this sordidness. I don’t want him to suffer what I’ve had to suffer, to doubt his father’s love for him or for us. That’s the one thing he can still cling to.
I firmly decide that I won’t tell Zack. I’ll never tell him. I’ll continue to shoulder this burden alone. I’m certain now that it’s been the right decision all along. I’ll do whatever’s necessary to take Alan’s infidelity to my own grave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
On Monday morning, I drive Zack to the airport, and it’s harder than I imagined to say goodbye. I hug him outside the entrance to security, and I miss him as soon as I turn away.
When I return to Lunenburg, Mom has lunch prepared. We sit down at the kitchen table, but we don’t talk about Zack or sad things. We make light conversation and speculate about the weather over the next few days.
When we’ve almost finished lunch, she leans back in her chair. “You know . . . I’ve been thinking about our conversation the other night, after you came home from your date with Nathan.”
I reach for my water and take a sip. “Oh?”
“I’d still love to go to Venice. I’d love to travel more, maybe even go south for a few months in the winter, but you know what holds me back?”
“What?”
“This house.” She looks around. “All my money’s tied up in it, and it’s a big responsibility. There’s so much to maintain. Either the driveway needs to be shoveled, or the lawn needs to be mowed, and my garden needs tending. I don’t ever feel like I can leave it for more than a week or two. But I’ve been hanging on to it because it was my home with your father, and this is where all our memories were. Also because it’s your childhood home, and I always wanted you to feel that if something terrible happened in your life, you’d always have a place to come home to.”
I chuckle softly. “Was that a premonition, do you think?”
“Who knows.” She rises from her chair, collects our empty plates, and carries them to the counter. After she sets them down, she faces me. “But here’s the thing. My memories of your father aren’t in this house. They’re in here.” She taps her temple with her index finger. “And here.” She makes a fist over her heart. “So maybe it’s time I lived a little. If I downsized to a condo in a retirement village, I’d have more freedom financially, and I could meet some new people, make new friends who might turn out to be travel companions. Freedom from taking care of this big house would be nice, I think.”
I look at her and smile, because I love the idea of my mother embarking on a new adventure at her age.
I rise to my feet and cross the kitchen to pull her in for a hug. “I think that’s a great idea, Mom. And I would love to help you. As soon as you’re ready, we can get busy decluttering the house and figuring out what we need to do to get the best possible price for it, so you can live your dreams with that money.”
Her cheeks flush red, and her eyes twinkle. “Really? I was so afraid you’d be upset. Because this is your home too.”
My eyebrows fly up. “Of course I’m not upset! I want you to be happy. And I agree—this house is a heavy load. You shouldn’t be carrying it all on your own. You did your bit. It’s time for you to kick up your heels.”
She hugs me even tighter. “Okay. Let’s do it then.”
We tidy the kitchen together, but I feel tired afterward and retreat to my bedroom for a power nap, because if I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that sleep is a great rejuvenator. As are dreams. We always get a fresh start when we escape for a short time. Then we wake up, ready to move again—and clearly there’s going to be a lot to do around here, so I’m going to need all the energy I can get.