Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPHS FROM PARIS
The hospice nurse told us on a Thursday that Margaret might have only days left.
Her breathing had changed. She slept more often. Food no longer interested her, and even conversation required effort.
Daniel knew.
I called him from the hallway.
“You need to come home.”
There was a pause.
“We leave for Europe tomorrow.”
“Cancel it.”
“Dad, the reservations are nonrefundable.”
“Your mother is dying.”
“You’ve said that before.”
The words stunned me.
“She has days, Daniel.”
“We’ve planned this trip for a year. Vanessa’s parents are meeting us in Paris.”
“Then Vanessa’s parents can meet you at a funeral.”
He lowered his voice.
“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“I am not making it harder. Cancer is making it harder. Death is making it harder. You are choosing not to face it.”
Daniel said the flights were expensive and promised to call Margaret from Europe.
I nearly threw the phone against the wall.
When I returned to the bedroom, Margaret was awake.
“Was that Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He’s still going?”
I did not answer.
She understood.
“Help me call him.”
I held the phone while she waited.
Daniel answered on the fifth ring.
“Hi, Mom.”
Margaret smiled at the sound of his voice.
“I was hoping you might come by before your flight.”
“We’re packing right now.”
“I would like to see you.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
Her fingers tightened around the blanket.
“The nurse thinks I may not have much time.”
Daniel sighed.
“Mom, don’t talk like that.”
“I am not trying to upset you.”
“We’ll video call from Paris. Vanessa has dinner reservations tonight, and we still have errands.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“All right.”
“I love you,” he said.
She opened her eyes again.
“I love you too.”
After the call, she turned toward the window.
I wanted to telephone him again.
She stopped me.
“A mother should not have to beg her child twice.”
The next day, Vanessa posted photographs online.
She and Daniel stood beneath the Eiffel Tower holding glasses of champagne. In another picture, Vanessa posed inside a luxury boutique with three shopping bags.
A caption beneath the photographs read, Finally living the life we deserve.
Margaret saw them.
She studied the screen for several seconds, then turned the phone facedown.
“At least he looks happy,” she whispered.
I sat beside her bed and held her hand.
That night, she asked me to bring the cedar box from the closet.
She opened Daniel’s college letter and read it slowly.
When she finished, she folded it along the old creases.
“I kept waiting for this boy to come back,” she said.
“What do you want to do?”
She looked toward the dark window.
May you like
“What I should have done years ago.”
The following morning, she asked me to call Helen Price.
