Woman in Black by Eileen Goudge

charmed life that had eluded her parents.
    Now, alone amid the flotsam and jetsam of that life, she was engulfed by a flood of sorrow. Love wasn’t something you could turn off like a faucet, and in spite of all that had happened, she still loved Gordon. He might be a thief, and he was most certainly a convicted felon, but he was still her husband and Neal’s father. Guilty or not, there was a part of her that would always see him as the idealistic man she’d fallen for that long-ago day in the cafeteria. She knew that her friends, as well as the vast majority of the public, judging from the mail she’d received, thought she’d be better off divorcing him, but Lila couldn’t do that. A long time ago she’d turned her back on people she’d loved in their time of need, and she’d never forgiven herself for it. She wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.
    Swept up in the tide of memories, Lila rocked back and forth on her haunches, moaning softly to herself as tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. With Gordon and Neal she kept up a brave front, and she would have died rather than shed a tear in public. It was only in private moments like these that she allowed herself to fall apart.
    When she felt she could move again without crumbling, she resumed packing. She was sorting through a box of loose photos when she came across a recent snapshot of Gordon, taken at Neal’s high school graduation. No one could have mistaken them for anything other than father and son, they looked so alike, both tall and lanky, with the same dark curls and seawater eyes. They shared other traits as well. They had the same quirky sense of humor and intense drive. They were harder on themselves than on anyone else—like his dad before him, Neal sweated over his grades as if his very life depended on it. But what struck her most now, looking at the photo, was the proud expression on Gordon’s face. All the love that would have been spread among other children, had they been so blessed, was channeled into his only son. She knew it had to be tearing him up inside, knowing that the next time he laid eyes on Neal, it would be under the watchful eyes of guards, where he would be allowed only limited physical contact.
    As if on cue, Lila’s cell phone trilled. It was Neal.
    â€œHey, Mom. You’ll never guess where I am.”
    At the sound of her son’s voice, Lila felt her heart break all over again. “I don’t know. Where are you, sweetie?” she replied in what she hoped was a normal tone.
    â€œHere, in the lobby.” He broke away briefly to give a muffled greeting to Carlos, the doorman. “I decided to come in a day early. PJ was driving into the city, so I hitched a ride with him.” Neal’s roommate at Wesleyan, a Pakistani boy named Prakash Johar, lived nearby with his parents, on Lexington and East 72nd, and the two boys had often exchanged rides. That is, until Neal had had to give up the brand-new Jetta she and Gordon had leased for him. Now PJ did all the driving.
    Lila felt herself tense up. The one thing Gordon had been adamant about was that Neal be spared tomorrow’s emotional farewell. He wouldn’t be happy that Neal was here. “Don’t you have school?” she asked.
    â€œRelax, Mom. I can afford to cut a few classes. You didn’t really think I was going to miss seeing Dad off?” He struck a breezy tone, but Lila wasn’t fooled. Neal never cut classes if he could help it. Growing up, he’d been the opposite of the stereotypical kid, insisting he wasn’t sick even when running a temperature so as not to miss a day of school. “Where are you? I tried the apartment, but all I got was the machine.”
    â€œI’m in the basement, cleaning out the storage room.” Lila wondered briefly why Gordon hadn’t picked up. Probably because he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, even Neal.