“So.”
“So.”
“Are you terrified?”
“Yes.”
“Regret it?”
I considered the question.
“No.”
Linda nodded.
“Good. Then eat your sandwich.”
That afternoon we unpacked dishes while I told her the full story.
I told her about Hawaii.
I told her about the note.
And finally, I told her what I had heard Rebecca say six months earlier.
It’s not really her we need. It’s her money.
Linda stopped unwrapping a glass.
“You never told me that.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because I had spent three years telling everyone how wonderful it was living with family.”
“It can have been wonderful and still become something else.”
I sat down.
That sentence settled somewhere deep inside me.
For months I had been rewriting my own memories.
If Rebecca was ungrateful now, perhaps she had always been ungrateful.
