But there was no feeling I had about my mom that wasn’t mixed with other feelings—often opposite ones. Everything was always tinged with something else.

Plus, I couldn’t get over the eye patch. It gave her a strange, incongruous vibe—as if Laura Ingalls Wilder had turned pirate.

Assessing her gave me a flutter of fear through my chest, and in response to fear, I always got all-business. “Let me take a look at that eye,” I said, stepping toward her and reaching toward the patch, relieved for something to do.

She lifted a hand to block me. “Not sure that’s a great idea.”

“You do know what I do for a living, right? I see this stuff all the time. You can’t shock me.”

“I know,” she said. “This is different.”

“I might be able to help you,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Just let me take a look.”

She wasn’t going for it. “I’ve got a whole team of doctors. Don’t concern yourself with it.”

“Isn’t that the reason I’m here?” I asked. “To concern myself with it?”

She shook her head. “You’re just here to help me up and down the stairs. And do the driving. And buy the groceries.”

“That’s really all you want?” I asked. Seemed like just about anybody could do that.

“That’s what I need,” she said. Then she took my hand and squeezed it. “What I actually want, after all these years, is to spend a little time with my long-lost daughter.”

Seven

DINNER WAS HOMEMADE lobster bisque and a salad with greens from her garden—and I felt both grateful for and annoyed by how delicious it was. I’d been thinking I’d just take a sandwich up to my room, but she’d cooked everything already and set the table. With her own charming dishes.

Plan B: Eat quickly and say good night.

Having dinner together was worse than I would have expected. Apparently, we’d forgotten how to talk to each other. Attempts at chatting just flared and died. “This town is too cute to be real,” I’d say. And she’d say, “I agree.” And then we’d listen to the wind creak the house until somebody came up with another idea.

All of it made worse, in my opinion, by the fact that it never used to be like this back when she was my mother.

We’d been close, before. We’d watched every movie Jimmy Stewart ever made, side by side on the sofa. She hadn’t been like the other moms, all rules and criticism. She’d been more like a friend than a parent. No minivan, for example: She drove an emerald-green, highly impractical vintage Volvo that she’d named Barbara. It was in the shop half the time, so we had to take the bus, and when I begged her to get a better car, she responded that she’d had Barbara longer than she’d had me. Case closed.

“Do you still have Barbara?” I asked her then.

“Yes,” she said, “but she’s in the shop.”

“As usual,” I said, and it was nice to share the memory.

My mom had married my dad, she’d once told me, because he’d told her she was fascinating.

“Who doesn’t want to be fascinating?” she’d said.

But they weren’t much alike. She was a dreamer who had trouble keeping straight what day of the week it was, and he was a high school math teacher with a buzz cut—all practicality—who coached basketball. Still, he was kind, and fair, and loyal.

I had not seen it coming when she left. Neither had he. We had thought we were happy.

It was on my list of things I would definitely never ask her about.

Across the table, Diana made another attempt. “I know it’s a big change, coming here. I’m glad to introduce you around town.”

I waved her off. “No thanks. I’m good.”

She frowned. “Just a little jump-start on making friends.”

I shook my head. “I’m not here to make friends.”

I sounded like a contestant on a reality show. She held on to that frown. “What are you here for?”

“I’m here to”—I paused a second. “I’m here to do my duty.”

“Your duty?”

“Yeah,” I said, not appreciating her mocking tone. “You’re old, you’re half blind, you’re broke, and it’s my duty to come here and help you.” Okay, I’d also come to avoid getting fired. But the truth—the real truth—is that I would have come anyway. I would not have held to that no. Eventually, guilt would have prodded me into doing the right thing, even if the threat of being terminated had sped things up a bit. “I’m here to help you, as requested,” I said. “For one year.”

She looked disappointed.

What more did she want? I’d shown up, hadn’t I? Did she really have to guilt-trip me for not being happy enough about it? “What?” I demanded.

“It just doesn’t sound very fun.”

“I’m not here to have fun.”

Her shoulders went up in a little shrug. “Is fun out of the question?”

“Yes,” I said, with a decisive nod. “Fun is out of the question. I have too much to do. I have to take care of you. I have to get in better shape. I have to prove myself at a firehouse that already hates me. I have to rebuild my life.”

“Without fun.”

She was like a terrier with this “fun” thing.

I stood up, pushing my chair back with a scrape. “Time for bed,” I said.

She looked at the clock on the wall, then raised her eyebrows. “It’s seven thirty.”

I wasn’t letting her win. “I’m an early riser.”

She nodded, then, after a second, said, “I just wanted to invite you to come to crochet club.”

Crochet club? I gave it a beat.

“It’s right next door,” she said, gesturing. “At my friend Josie’s house.”

“I don’t crochet.”

“You don’t have to crochet. You could knit. Or wind yarn balls.”

“You want me to wind yarn balls?”

“It’s very soothing. Or sew something. Maybe a little potholder?”

“I don’t sew potholders either.”

“The point is, it’s more about hanging out and visiting.”

“I’m just not really a joiner. Of clubs.” That was true. Human connection had its upsides, but it sure was a lot of work. The risk-reward ratio was low, at best.

“You joined the fire service,” she pointed out, as if she might win this conversation.

“That’s not a club. That’s a job.”

“Pretty clubby for a job, though.”

She wasn’t wrong. “I avoid the clubby parts.”

“Just come for ten minutes. You’ll love it.”

Did she really think she could tempt me with the phrase sew a potholder?

“And it’s not just crochet,” she went on. “We usually put on a rom-com, too.”

She was not helping her case. I shook my head. “I have one day left to finish memorizing all the streets and fire hydrant locations in Lillian.”

“Good grief,” she said.