“We have a lot to work through.”
I looked toward the family photographs on my desk.
Ethan as a little boy.
Ethan graduating from college.
Ethan standing beside his father on the dock at Willow Point.
“Sweetheart, don’t remain in a marriage because you think I expect you to. And don’t leave one because you think that’s what I want either.”
“I understand.”
“Make your decisions with your eyes open.”
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he asked, “Would you come to Willow Point with me next weekend?”
I smiled.
“I’d like that.”
The house was exactly as I remembered.
White clapboard siding.
A broad veranda overlooking the lake.
Old maple trees shading the driveway.
Ethan arrived carrying coffee and a paper bag of pastries from the bakery near his apartment.
He’d come alone.
We walked through the ground floor while the caretaker finished checking the heating system.
The living room still held the blue sofa my husband, Thomas, had insisted on buying despite my belief that it was far too large.
Ethan ran his hand across the back.
“Dad loved this ridiculous thing.”
“He did.”
“Are you keeping the furniture?”
“That’s for you and the trustee to discuss, within the property’s arrangements. I kept the house furnished until you decided whether you wanted to use it.”
He nodded.
We went onto the veranda.
The lake was quiet, with small waves pushing against the stones below.
Ethan placed the coffee on a weathered wooden table.
“I talked to the trustee,” he said.
