Around that time, Rebecca came over one evening and helped me make dinner. We cooked lemon chicken and green beans and ate on the screened porch while the cicadas started up in the trees.
“How are things at home?” I asked.
She gave a humorless little smile.
“Loud.”
I waited.
“Mom blames Dad for folding too easily. Dad blames Mom for pushing too far. Toby is mad at everybody but mostly because he can’t keep living the way he was living.”
“And you?”
She set down her fork.
“I’m relieved,” she said.
That surprised me even though it shouldn’t have.
“Relieved?”
She nodded.
“Grandma, our family has been orbiting your checkbook for years. Nobody said it because saying it would make it real. But it’s true. The minute you stepped back, everybody had to show who they were.”
I looked out through the screen at the darkening yard.
“That’s a hard thing for a granddaughter to say.”
“It’s a hard thing to watch too,” she said.
After a moment she added, more quietly, “I want you to know something. I support your decision.”
I turned toward her.
“You do?”
“Yes. I love my parents. I do. But loving them doesn’t mean pretending they’ve been fair to you.”