Emma said no.
Grace accused her of being controlling.
Sarah asked:
“Why did you say no?”
“No adult supervision.”
“Alcohol likely.”
“Two-hour drive.”
“Then your answer may simply be parenting.”
Emma sighed.
“But what if I use safety the way Grandma used family?”
“Good question.”
Emma waited.
Sarah continued:
“Ask yourself whether Grace can disagree without punishment.”
“Yes.”
“Can she tell you you're wrong?”
“Obviously.”
“Can she appeal to Aaron?”
Emma laughed weakly.
“She does.”
“Do rules change based on your mood?”
“I try not to.”
“Do you require her to manage your feelings?”
Emma paused.
“No.”
“Then you're not Linda because a teenager called you controlling.”
Emma began laughing through tears.
“That sounds obvious.”
“It rarely feels obvious when our children find our weakest fear.”
Emma became quiet.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“I think every generation gets haunted by different ghosts.”
Sarah smiled.
“Yes.”
“What was yours?”
“Becoming invisible inside marriage.”
“What’s mine?”
“You tell me.”
Emma thought.
“Becoming controlling because I’m afraid of instability.”
“Probably.”
“And Grace?”
Sarah smiled.
“She’ll invent her own.”
“Great.”
“Family tradition.”
Sarah lived long enough to see Grace go to college.
Long enough to watch Emma become a grandmother herself when Grace had a son in her late twenties.
By then Sarah was eighty-six.
David had died two years earlier after a stroke.
That grief was different from divorce.
Cleaner in one way.
Crueler in another.
There was no anger to organize.
No betrayal.
No decision.
Just absence.
Sarah moved into a smaller apartment near Emma.
She kept very little.
Books.
Photographs.
A box of letters.
The old wedding ring.
The pie recipe.
One Christmas afternoon, Grace visited with her little boy.
His name was Michael.
After Sarah’s father.
He was three and believed every object belonged in his mouth.
Grace chased him around living room while Sarah watched.
Emma arrived with groceries.
Daniel came later.
He was eighty-seven.
Slow now.
Nora had died the previous year.
Daniel used a cane.
He sat beside Sarah on the couch.
“Look at us.”
he said.
Sarah glanced.
“What?”
“Ancient.”
“You first.”
He laughed.
They watched family move around room.
Emma arranging plates.
Grace feeding Michael crackers.
Aaron arguing with oven.
Sarah asked:
“Do you ever think about Christmas?”
Daniel knew exactly which one.
“Less now.”
“Me too.”
He looked at her.
“Do you remember what you said?”
“Which part?”