She’d revealed that she was finishing her business degree and hoped to someday travel the world. They’d talked until the owner came over and told them he was closing; then they’d moved to a college bar across the street and ordered drinks and a plate of calamari. By the end of the evening, Isak—who’d never fallen for any guy—was falling for a medical student named Matt Taylor.
They’d married while he was still in residency and then moved to California, where he quickly became a well-respected heart surgeon, and where she climbed the corporate ladder of an up-and-coming software company. She was twenty-nine when Tommy was born; Meghan had come along twenty-two months later. Their lives had been busy and full; the kids’ activities filled their days with soccer, basketball, and baseball, dance and swim lessons, PTO meetings, dinners on the run—and little time for each other. But then the kids had suddenly graduated from high school and left for college—embarking on lives of their own—leaving their parents alone with too much free time. Isak missed the busyness of having the kids around; she missed looking in on them as they slept—and, most of all, she missed being needed. She tried to fill her time with work and travel, but the empty void the kids had left was almost too much to bear—she’d never felt so irrelevant and lonely.
Isak looked out the window at the floor of puffy clouds and the bright blue sky above it as tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d give anything to talk to her mom once more. There was still so much she wanted to say to her, so much she wanted to ask: Had she ever felt this way? How in the world had she managed after their father died? How had she filled the aching emptiness? “Oh, Mum, I have so much to be thankful for—why do I feel this way?” she whispered. She closed her eyes and realized that she hadn’t thought twice about moving far from home . . . and she’d never looked back or considered how her mom had felt about it—and now it was too late. She’d never again get to tell her how much she loved her . . . or say how sorry she was for not making it home more often.
6
F lan was lying on her bed with her legs up in the air, snoring loudly, when Beryl came into the kitchen to make coffee. She knelt down and scratched the exposed, round belly. “Position is everything in life, isn’t it, you silly ole girl?” Flan opened one eye, stretched her short legs straight out, and smacked her tongue contentedly. Gravity pulled her jowls back, exposing her teeth and making it look as if she was smiling. “You’re so ladylike,” Beryl teased. “Do you need to go out?” Flan rolled over, scrambled to her feet, shook, yawned, and looked up expectantly. “Come on, then,” she said, pushing open the screen. Flan waddled down the two steps and promptly squatted in the leaves with her head up, sniffing the early-morning air. Then she started to snort her way across the yard, but Beryl reminded her it was time for breakfast and she turned around and trotted back up the steps, licking her lips.
As Flan wolfed down her breakfast, Beryl reached for the coffee and gazed out the window. It had been after midnight when they’d finally gotten home and the stars had sparkled brightly, but clouds had drifted in overnight and the muted sun hung weakly in the milky white sky. She hadn’t seen a forecast in days, and as she filled the perk pot and copper kettle with cold water and measured coffee, she wondered if it was going to rain. While the coffeepot sputtered to life, she put the kettle on, lit a match under it, and adjusted the ring of blue flame that sprang up, making the kettle shudder and click. For a moment, the queasy scent of gas reminded her of the event that had triggered the whirlwind of decisions she and her sisters had made. She opened the fridge to see what they could have for breakfast and then remembered the oatmeal. It was a perfect day for warm oatmeal with
They’d married while he was still in residency and then moved to California, where he quickly became a well-respected heart surgeon, and where she climbed the corporate ladder of an up-and-coming software company. She was twenty-nine when Tommy was born; Meghan had come along twenty-two months later. Their lives had been busy and full; the kids’ activities filled their days with soccer, basketball, and baseball, dance and swim lessons, PTO meetings, dinners on the run—and little time for each other. But then the kids had suddenly graduated from high school and left for college—embarking on lives of their own—leaving their parents alone with too much free time. Isak missed the busyness of having the kids around; she missed looking in on them as they slept—and, most of all, she missed being needed. She tried to fill her time with work and travel, but the empty void the kids had left was almost too much to bear—she’d never felt so irrelevant and lonely.
Isak looked out the window at the floor of puffy clouds and the bright blue sky above it as tears spilled down her cheeks. She’d give anything to talk to her mom once more. There was still so much she wanted to say to her, so much she wanted to ask: Had she ever felt this way? How in the world had she managed after their father died? How had she filled the aching emptiness? “Oh, Mum, I have so much to be thankful for—why do I feel this way?” she whispered. She closed her eyes and realized that she hadn’t thought twice about moving far from home . . . and she’d never looked back or considered how her mom had felt about it—and now it was too late. She’d never again get to tell her how much she loved her . . . or say how sorry she was for not making it home more often.
6
F lan was lying on her bed with her legs up in the air, snoring loudly, when Beryl came into the kitchen to make coffee. She knelt down and scratched the exposed, round belly. “Position is everything in life, isn’t it, you silly ole girl?” Flan opened one eye, stretched her short legs straight out, and smacked her tongue contentedly. Gravity pulled her jowls back, exposing her teeth and making it look as if she was smiling. “You’re so ladylike,” Beryl teased. “Do you need to go out?” Flan rolled over, scrambled to her feet, shook, yawned, and looked up expectantly. “Come on, then,” she said, pushing open the screen. Flan waddled down the two steps and promptly squatted in the leaves with her head up, sniffing the early-morning air. Then she started to snort her way across the yard, but Beryl reminded her it was time for breakfast and she turned around and trotted back up the steps, licking her lips.
As Flan wolfed down her breakfast, Beryl reached for the coffee and gazed out the window. It had been after midnight when they’d finally gotten home and the stars had sparkled brightly, but clouds had drifted in overnight and the muted sun hung weakly in the milky white sky. She hadn’t seen a forecast in days, and as she filled the perk pot and copper kettle with cold water and measured coffee, she wondered if it was going to rain. While the coffeepot sputtered to life, she put the kettle on, lit a match under it, and adjusted the ring of blue flame that sprang up, making the kettle shudder and click. For a moment, the queasy scent of gas reminded her of the event that had triggered the whirlwind of decisions she and her sisters had made. She opened the fridge to see what they could have for breakfast and then remembered the oatmeal. It was a perfect day for warm oatmeal with
Similar Books
