Winter Garden

“He . . . agrees with me that the nursing home isn’t the right place for Mom. ”

“Uh. Duh,” Nina said.

Meredith refused to rise to the bait. She kept her gaze on Mom. “But we both think this house is too much for you to handle alone. Jim found a nice place in Wenatchee. A senior condominium-like complex. He says you could have a lovely little one-bedroom unit that would have its own kitchen. But if you didn’t feel like cooking, there’s a dining room, too. It’s right downtown. You could walk to the stores and the knitting shop. ”

“What about my winter garden?” Mom asked.

“There’s a backyard with the unit. You could build a winter garden there. The bench, the fencing, the columns; everything. ”

“She doesn’t need to move,” Nina said. “This is her home and I’m here to help out. ”

Meredith finally snapped. “Really, Nina? How long can we count on you? Or will this be like my wedding?”

“There was an assassination that week,” Nina said, looking uncomfortable suddenly.

“Or like Dad’s seventieth birthday? What happened that time? A flood, wasn’t it? Or was that the earthquake?”

“I’m not going to apologize for my work. ”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m just saying that you might have the best intentions in the world, but if something terrible happened in India tomorrow, all we’d see of you is your ass as you walked out of the door. I can’t be with Mom every second and she can’t be alone all the time. ”

“And this would make it easier on you,” Mom said.

Meredith searched her mother’s face for sarcasm or judgment, or even confusion, but all she saw was resignation. It had been a question, not an indictment. “Yes,” she said, wondering why the affirmation made her feel as if she’d failed her father.

“Then I will go. I do not care where I live anymore,” Mom said.

“I’ll pack up everything you need,” Meredith said. “So you’re ready to go next month. You won’t have to do a thing. ”

Mom stood up. She looked at Meredith, her blue eyes soft with emotion. It was a look that lasted a heartbeat—and then was gone. Turning on her heel, she went upstairs. The bedroom door slammed shut behind her.

“She doesn’t belong in some glorified nursing home,” Nina said. Meredith honestly hated her sister for that. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to pay for a live-in companion, someone who can do all the shopping and cleaning and bill-paying? Or maybe you’re going to promise to stick around for years? Oh, wait. Your promises don’t mean shit. ”

Nina slowly stood, faced Meredith. “I’m not the only one who breaks promises in this family. You promised him you’d take care of Mom. ”

“And that’s what I’m doing. ”

“Oh, really? What if he were here right now, listening to you talk about moving the winter garden and packing up her things and moving her into town? Would he be proud of you, Meredith? Would he say, Well done. Thanks for keeping your word? I don’t think so. ”

“He’d understand,” Meredith said, wishing her voice were stronger.

“No. He wouldn’t, and you know it. ”

“Fuck you,” Meredith said. “You have no idea how hard I tried . . . how much I wanted to . . . ” Her voice broke and tears gathered in her throat. “Fuck you,” she said again, whispering it this time. She spun around and practically ran for the front door, noticing that the goulash was burning as she yanked the door open and went outside.

In her car, she slammed the door shut and clutched the steering wheel. “It’s easy to be self-righteous when you’re gone,” she muttered, starting up the car.

The drive home took less than two minutes.

The dogs greeted her exuberantly and she knelt down to pet them both, letting their enthusiasm at her return be a balm on her rattled nerves.

“Jeff?” she called out. Getting no answer, she took off her coat and poured herself a glass of wine. In the living room, she turned on the gas fireplace and sat on the marble hearth, letting the real heat from a fake fire warm her back.

For years she’d tried to love her mother in the same unconditional way she had loved her father. That desire to love—and be loved—was the cornerstone of her youth, and its first true failure.