“And how did you get from the station to the wedding?”
“I walked.”
Noah stared at her.
“Mom, that’s nearly two miles.”
Margaret shrugged.
“The weather was nice when I started.”
He could not speak.
She had crossed hundreds of miles to see him.
He had spent seventeen years finding reasons not to cross the same distance.
Noah insisted on finding her a comfortable room for the night.
Margaret accepted only after he promised it would not become another way of avoiding a conversation.
The next morning, they had breakfast together.
For three hours, they talked.
Not about business.
Not about property values or investments.
They talked about Samuel.
About the old neighborhood.
About the stray orange cat Margaret used to feed behind the hospital.
About the apple tree Noah had planted when he was nine.
He learned that Margaret had retired two years earlier after arthritis made hospital work too difficult.
She lived on a small pension and the savings she had carefully preserved.
She had friends.
She had a garden.
She volunteered twice a week at the local community center.
Her life was simple, but it was her own.
Then Noah asked the question he had been avoiding.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?”
Margaret set down her fork.
“Because every time I called, you were busy.”
He lowered his eyes.
