There were also ordinary, pleasant hours.
She still enjoyed old radio programs. She laughed at Daniel’s terrible jokes. She could no longer remember the name of Eleanor’s architectural firm, but she admired the drawings Eleanor spread across the dining table.
“You’ve always been good with your hands,” she said.
“That’s Dad, Grandma.”
“Well, perhaps you got it from him.”
On Christmas Eve, snow began falling shortly after four.
Daniel was preparing supper when Margaret appeared in the kitchen wearing her blue coat.
“Where are you going, Mum?”
“To the station.”
“What station?”
“Arthur’s coming home.”
Daniel looked at Eleanor.
Margaret had not mentioned Arthur for several days.
“He’s been gone too long,” she continued. “He’ll be cold.”
Eleanor approached her.
“Grandma, it’s snowing outside.”
“I know, darling. That’s why I need my coat.”
She reached for the door.
Daniel gently placed his hand over hers.
“Mum, Dad isn’t at the station.”
Margaret frowned.
“Of course he is. He promised.”
Her voice grew sharp.
“Why does everyone keep telling me things I know aren’t true?”
Daniel stepped back.
Eleanor could see the exhaustion on his face, the struggle between correcting his mother and protecting her from a loss she might experience as though it had happened for the first time.
Then he reached for his own coat.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go and look.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Dad, it’s freezing.”
“We won’t be long.”
He helped Margaret button her coat, tied her scarf beneath her chin, and walked with her onto the porch.
Eleanor followed.
They stood together beneath the yellow porch light while snow collected along the railing.
Margaret looked down the empty street.
“He’s late,” she said.
“He always was,” Daniel replied.
She laughed.
“Your father could never leave a conversation. He’d go to buy a loaf of bread and come home two hours later.”
Daniel smiled.
“Usually without the bread.”
Margaret laughed again.
For a few minutes, she seemed entirely herself.
Then she reached for Daniel’s hand.
“Do you think he knows I waited?”
Daniel looked at his mother.
“Yes,” he said. “I think he knew.”
She nodded, apparently comforted.
After a while, she grew cold, and they returned inside.
Eleanor made hot chocolate while Daniel helped Margaret remove her boots.
At supper, Margaret insisted on setting five places.
Nobody objected.
Chapter Five – The Last Seat
Margaret died the following October, three weeks before her eighty-first birthday.
Her decline had been gradual, though the final illness was brief. By then, she rarely recognized Eleanor and sometimes called Daniel by his father’s name.
During her last week, Eleanor sat beside her bed each evening, reading from the battered collection of children’s stories Margaret had once read aloud to her.
