Chapter 26 - THE RED CANE
Mother turned eighty-seven.
Small lunch at Villa Sereno.
Red cane beside her chair.
Veronica came.
Audrey sent flowers.
I brought cake.
Mother complained the frosting was too sweet and then ate it.
Then her cane slipped to the floor.
Veronica bent automatically.
Stopped halfway.
Looked at Mother.
“Want it?”
Mother smiled.
“Yes.”
Veronica picked it up and handed it to her.
That tiny question mattered.
Years earlier Veronica had taken the cane because she wanted movement to stop.
Now she asked before touching it.
Mother noticed too.
“Better.”
Veronica nodded.
No speech.
Then Mother asked for coffee.
I said:
“You already had two.”
She glared.
I corrected.
“Would you like another?”
“Yes.”
The nurse brought decaf.
Mother complained.
Normal.
Later Veronica stood to leave.
Mother reached for her hand.
“I forgive you.”
Veronica cried.
Mother added:
“I still think your taste in wallpaper is terrible.”
Good.
No sainthood.
No restored marriage.
Just forgiveness belonging to the person who gave it.
Then Veronica hugged me briefly at the door.
Not romantic.
Two people who had once built a life.
Then left it.
May you like
I watched her go without wanting her back.
That was closure too.
