James had been the steady one in our marriage. Kind, but not soft in the wrong places. He used to say there was a difference between helping people and teaching them to lean so hard on you that they forgot how to stand. I had always hated that sentence when it came to Garrett. It felt too harsh, too suspicious, too much like a prediction I didn’t want to hear.
Fifteen years after James died, I still had conversations with him in my head. Widowhood does that. You go on having a marriage in silence.
My phone buzzed on the side table.
I smiled without meaning to and reached for my reading glasses. Garrett, probably clarifying directions to the new house. Or maybe telling me to come a little earlier because Rebecca wanted help setting the table. He had sounded almost boyish on the phone the day before.
“Mom, you have to be there,” he had said. “It’s important. We’ve got a special announcement.”
I tapped the message open.
Mom, plans changed. Marissa is having some coworkers over. We’ll do family dinner another night.
I read it twice. Then a third time.
My smile disappeared.