I spent most of Monday trying to convince Robert not to go.
By Tuesday, I had almost convinced myself.
By Wednesday, I realized the real reason I was afraid.
I didn’t want Wade humiliated.
After everything he had done to me, some stubborn piece of my heart still wanted to protect him.
That is the complicated thing about being a mother.
Your child can be thirty-six years old, stand in his expensive house and tell you that you are beneath the “caliber” of his dinner guests, and some part of you will still remember checking his forehead for fever at two in the morning.
Robert understood.
“I’m not going there to destroy your relationship with your son,” he said.
We were sitting on the back porch.
“Then why go?”
“Because pretending something didn’t happen isn’t the same as forgiving it.”
I stared into my tea.
“He wasn’t always like this.”
“I believe you.”
“He used to be sweet.”
“I believe that too.”
“Fallon changed him.”
Robert was quiet.
I immediately regretted saying it.
Because it wasn’t entirely true.
Fallon could be shallow, controlling and cruel.
But Wade was an adult.
Nobody had forced those words out of his mouth.
Robert seemed to know what I was thinking.
“People influence us,” he said. “But eventually we become responsible for the person we choose to be.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Thursday afternoon, Wade called.
For one foolish second, I thought he was apologizing.
“Mom?”
“Hi, honey.”
“Quick question. Did you happen to see my blue cuff links Sunday?”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“Anything else?”
“No. That’s it.”
Then Fallon’s voice came from the background.
“Ask her whether she moved the silver tray.”
Wade lowered the phone.
“Mom, did you move the silver tray?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Another pause.
“You doing all right?”
My heart lifted.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then he said, “Listen, Fallon thinks maybe we should take a break from Sunday visits for a while. Things have been hectic.”
My heart dropped again.
“I understand.”
“Don’t take it personally.”
There it was.
Again.
“Wade?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember when you were nine and wanted the red bicycle in Miller’s Sporting Goods?”
He laughed awkwardly.
“What?”
“You wanted it for Christmas.”
“I guess.”
“I couldn’t afford it.”
“Mom, what does this have to do with—”
“I worked every Saturday for two months.”
Silence.
“You cried when you saw it beside the Christmas tree.”
“Mom…”
“I remember everything.”
My voice trembled.
“Sometimes I wonder whether you remember any of it.”
He became defensive immediately.
“I appreciate what you did. But every parent makes sacrifices.”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.”
Because you made me clean your toilet.
Because you were ashamed of me.
Because I had spent thirty-six years believing that if I loved you enough, you would grow into a kind man.
But I couldn’t say those things.
Not yet.
“I just wanted to know whether you remembered.”
He sighed.
“I have a meeting.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll talk later.”
He hung up.
Robert found me sitting with the silent phone in my hand.
He didn’t ask what happened.
He sat beside me.
That evening, he finally told me the rest of his story.
Halcyon Medical Systems had started in 1988.
Robert and two friends had developed imaging components in a rented industrial building with a leaking roof.
For the first two years, they barely survived.
Then a hospital network took a chance on their equipment.
One contract became five.
Five became fifty.
Eventually Halcyon expanded internationally.
Robert never told me because he had spent the final years of his career surrounded by people who cared about what his name could do for them.
After his first wife died, the problem became worse.
“People researched me before dates,” he said.
I laughed softly.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
One woman had apparently brought a business proposal to their second dinner.
Another asked about his estate plan before dessert.
Then he met me.
I hadn’t recognized his name.
I hadn’t Googled him.
On our third date, I had made him carry folding chairs at a neighborhood fundraiser.
“You ordered me around all afternoon,” he said.
“I asked you to help.”
“You told me my chair-stacking technique lacked discipline.”
“It did.”
He laughed.
“That was when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you saw me.”
His expression softened.
“Not the company. Not the money. Me.”
I reached for his hand.
“How much money are we talking about?”
Robert raised an eyebrow.
“Enough.”
“That is not a number.”
“Enough that I can continue buying the generic cereal without financial hardship.”
I burst out laughing.
It was the first real laugh I’d had all week.
But the humor faded when Robert explained something else.
Charles Peterson wasn’t merely Wade’s boss.
Peterson was considering Wade for a vice president position.
Suddenly Sunday made sense.
The flowers.
The expensive dinner.
Fallon’s obsession with appearances.
And me being ordered out.
“They thought I could hurt his promotion,” I whispered.
Robert nodded.
“That appears to be the concern.”
I felt sick.
“Then you can’t go.”
“Why?”
“If Charles sees this mess—”
“Edna.”
“What if Wade loses the promotion because of me?”
Robert leaned forward.
“If Wade loses an opportunity because his employer discovers something relevant about his character, that would not be because of you.”
I knew he was right.
But knowing and feeling are different things.
Friday evening, a courier delivered an envelope.
It was addressed to Robert.
Inside was a formal invitation from Charles Peterson.
Dinner.
Sunday.
Seven o’clock.
At Wade and Fallon’s house.
Robert placed it on the kitchen table.
“You’re invited too.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No.”
“Charles specifically asked.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Fallon told me not to come.”
Robert looked at me for a long moment.
“Whose permission do you believe you need to attend a dinner to which the guest of honor has personally invited you?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Sunday arrived.
At six thirty, I stood in front of the bedroom mirror.
I didn’t wear anything extravagant.
A navy dress Robert loved.
Pearl earrings.
Low heels.
My hands shook as I fastened the clasp of my necklace.
Robert appeared behind me wearing a dark charcoal suit.
I had seen him in suits before.
But not like this.
His shoulders seemed straighter.
His entire presence changed.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Neither am I.”
“You don’t look nervous.”
“I spent thirty-eight years pretending not to be nervous.”
He offered his arm.
I took it.
At 6:58, we pulled onto Wade’s street.
Cars lined the driveway.
Through the windows, I could see Fallon moving around the dining room.
I almost told Robert to turn around.
Then I remembered kneeling on the bathroom tile.
Robert parked.
We walked to the door.
Before we reached it, a black sedan stopped behind us.
A man in his late fifties stepped out.
Charles Peterson.
He saw Robert.
His entire face changed.
“Robert Mercer!”
He crossed the driveway immediately.
Robert smiled.
“Charles.”
They shook hands warmly.
Then Charles turned to me.
“And you must be Edna.”
I smiled nervously.
“Yes.”
“I’ve been trying to get this man to dinner for months.”
He laughed.
“I should have invited you first.”
The front door opened.
Wade appeared.
“Mr. Peterson! Welcome—”
Then he saw me.
His smile disappeared.
Then he saw Robert.
Confusion crossed his face.
Then he noticed Charles Peterson shaking Robert’s hand.
“Wade,” Charles said cheerfully, “you didn’t tell me Robert Mercer was your stepfather.”
Wade stared at him.
“My… what?”
Fallon appeared behind him.
She looked at me first.
Her face tightened.
Then she looked at Robert.
Then Charles.
“I’m sorry,” Wade said. “You know Robert?”
Charles laughed.
“Know him?”
He slapped Robert affectionately on the shoulder.
“This man gave me my first executive job.”
The color began draining from Wade’s face.
Charles continued.
“Half the leadership philosophy at Northstar came from what I learned working for him.”
Fallon’s lips parted.
Robert said nothing.
He simply stood beside me.
Wade looked from Robert to Charles.
“I thought Robert was retired.”
“He is,” Charles said.
“From what?”
Charles looked genuinely confused.
“Halcyon.”
Silence.
Wade swallowed.
“Halcyon Medical Systems?”
Robert finally spoke.
“Yes.”
Wade’s face went pale.
“You worked there?”
Charles laughed again.
“He founded it.”
Fallon grabbed the edge of the doorframe.
For the first time since I had known her, she had absolutely nothing to say.
Then Charles looked at me.
“Shall we?”
Robert offered me his arm.
I took it.
And as we stepped into the house, I noticed something beside the living-room wall.
The coffee table.
The same coffee table Fallon had mocked me for failing to dust.
My reflection appeared faintly in its polished surface.
This time, I didn’t feel small.
Then Fallon hurried forward.
“Edna!”
Her voice had completely changed.
Suddenly it was warm.
Sweet.
Almost desperate.
“We didn’t know you were coming.”
I looked directly at her.
“I know.”
And for the first time in years, I didn’t rush to make somebody else comfortable.
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