“Well, of course it was,” Winifred replied dismissively. She released Dora’s hand with a pat. “A mild one, I’m sure . . .” she added to Dora in a consoling tone.

Cal stepped closer to the other side of her bed. Dora shifted her head on the pillow to focus on his face. Deep circles darkened his eyes and his usually neatly combed hair was disheveled. His expression was worry filled, even penitent.

“Dora,” he said in a low, broken voice. “I never meant for anything like this to happen. When I saw you hit the floor . . .” He shook his head in misery.

Winifred clucked her tongue in sympathy.

“I . . . I was thinking . . .” He hesitated. “Maybe we should talk about this whole divorce thing a little more. Maybe we’re moving too quickly.”

Dora heard her mother suck in her breath.

Mamaw suddenly appeared at his right. “Cal, you look exhausted. You went through a scare and haven’t left Dora’s side. The doctor isn’t going to be in for a while. Why don’t you take a minute to go down to the cafeteria for some coffee. Winnie and I are both here. We’ll call you if the doctor comes.”

Cal looked at Dora and she nodded in agreement.

“Okay,” he said. “I could use a minute. I’ll be back soon.”

No sooner had the door closed behind him than Winifred clasped Dora’s hand again and squeezed it with enthusiasm.

“Did you hear that, honey?” she said with a gush. Her eyes gleamed. “Cal doesn’t want a divorce!”

Dora looked back with apathy. She didn’t feel the same giddy rush her mother did. She didn’t feel much at all. It was as though all the pent-up emotion that had roiled inside of her had expelled itself through whatever had happened to her in the house.

“He didn’t say that, Mama,” she said impassively. “At least not exactly.”

Winifred waved her hand. “He’s opened the door and you should rush back in. It’s time to mend those fences.”

Dora’s head was swimming in her mother’s overuse of mixed metaphors. Winifred loved pat sayings and used them excessively.

When Dora didn’t reply, Winifred said with shock, “You don’t want a divorce, do you?”

“And why not?” Mamaw asked her in an imperious tone.

Winifred turned to face Mamaw with a pinched expression. No love was lost between the two women, and the last thing Dora needed now was a showdown. She’d always felt that her mother unfairly blamed Mamaw for Parker’s faults. Mamaw had done all she could to support Winifred during her marriage to Parker and throughout the divorce. After all, Mamaw had introduced the couple, and they’d been so young when they’d married. With Parker having just graduated from college and Winifred a sophomore-year dropout, never to receive a degree, Mamaw had purchased a lovely house for the young couple in the fashionable Colonial Lake area of Charleston. Edward got Parker a job in his bank. Dora had always thought no parents could have been more generous. Two years later, after it was discovered that Parker was having an affair with Dora’s nanny, Mamaw had rallied in support of Winifred, threatening to cut Parker off if he didn’t end the affair with eighteen-year-old Sophie. The whole mess was a big disgrace that took Winifred years to get past. Memories were long in Charleston. But it certainly wasn’t Mamaw’s doing.

“Divorce is painful to bear,” Winifred said pointedly. “I should know. Not to mention the scandal of it all. If Cal is willing to reconsider, Dora should do whatever she can to save her marriage.”

Dora felt a twinge at her heart.

“Winnie,” Mamaw said, stepping closer. Her tone had shifted to conciliatory. “I realize your divorce from Parker was difficult. It broke my heart. You were both so young and you with a baby.” She shook her head remorsefully. “It was all very sad. But Parker never changed, did he? He would have broken your heart over and over again if you had stayed together. You were set free by the divorce. If you’d stayed in that marriage, you never would have met Henry. And you’ve been happy with him, haven’t you?”

“True,” Winifred said, mollified. “But Cal isn’t Parker. He’s much more stable, reliable. He’s not an alcoholic,” she finished, her tone slightly smug, as though she knew the sting of those words would cut Mamaw deep.

Mamaw let the dig slide. “But does he love our Dora? That is the only criterion she should consider. Dora deserves more than a life filled with resentment and regrets. Both of us know too many women who are desperately unhappy because they stayed in a loveless marriage.”

“Marriage is not just about love,” Winifred countered, raising her voice sharply. “Love is merely passion and infatuation. Marriage is duty. Obligation. Commitment. It’s hard work.”

Mamaw scoffed. “You make it sound like a prison term. And I daresay, if those are the only reasons one chooses to live with a man, it will be.”

Dora felt this battle of wills stir her heart. She cringed, her body reacting to what she was hearing, like nails scraping a blackboard. Her mother’s position was clear. Dora should not get a divorce. Dora looked at her mother standing as erect as a soldier, glaring at Mamaw, ready to do battle with a formidable foe. Her mother used the word should a lot, she realized. She didn’t care if the marriage was happy or even content. Winnie had never invested in relationships. It had always been about maintaining the social conventions, about doing what one should.

Dora was about to remind them that she was in the room when the door opened and the subject of their conversation entered carrying a cup of coffee. Immediately the two women stopped talking and tight smiles appeared on their faces as they welcomed him back. Dora said nothing, but realized that it hadn’t occurred to Cal to ask the older women if they’d wanted coffee, tea, or even a donut. They’d been pulling equally long hours at the hospital. But he’d never been thoughtful in that way. Dora tried to brush off the thought. After all, Cal was here and he was trying. That had to be enough.

Dora’s mind froze. That had to be enough.

Wasn’t that her pat answer whenever Cal disappointed her? When he refused to babysit Nate, or pick up dinner when she was tired. When he’d said they couldn’t afford a dishwasher, or forgot their anniversary. Or when he’d recoiled from her touch. But he loved her, she’d kept telling herself. He was a good man. A good provider. He didn’t drink and have affairs, as her father had done. He was her husband. That had to be enough.