A minute later, she called again.
He answered.
“What?”
There was a pause.
“Daniel. I’m sorry to bother you.”
He tightened a screw with more force than necessary.
“Then don’t.”
“I know you’re angry about the school. I wanted to apologize.”
“You already sent a letter.”
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
He heard a faint noise in the background, perhaps a television.
“I won’t do that again,” she said. “I promise.”
“Good.”
Another pause followed.
Then she asked, “How is Lily?”
“She’s fine.”
“And Rebecca?”
“Mom, what do you want?”
The word escaped before he could stop it.
His mother went quiet.
He heard her breathing.
“Nothing, darling.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Don’t call me darling.”
“I’m sorry.”
She waited, perhaps hoping he might ask about her.
He didn’t.
Finally, she said, “I’ve been seeing a doctor.”
Daniel stared at the shelf.
“Okay.”
“They found something.”
He exhaled.
“Is this supposed to make me feel guilty?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Because every time you contact me, there’s something. A birthday, Christmas, an apology, a reason I should come back.”
“I know.”
“You had your chance.”
“Yes.”
“You had plenty of chances.”
“I know, Daniel.”
He was growing angrier because she refused to defend herself. It had always been like this. Even when he was twenty-one and screaming at her in the kitchen, she had stood there accepting every accusation.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he said.
“Then I won’t call again.”
Something in her voice made him hesitate.
She sounded tired.
Not tearful, not frightened. Simply exhausted, like someone who had spent the afternoon carrying groceries up too many stairs.
“Goodbye, Daniel.”
He ended the call.
For several minutes, he remained in the garage.
Then he returned to the shelf.
Two days later, his mother died.
The hospital contacted him on Sunday morning.
Rebecca answered the telephone because Daniel was outside mowing the lawn.
When he came inside, she was standing beside the kitchen counter with the phone still in her hand.
“Daniel, you need to sit down.”
He frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s your mother.”
He looked at her without speaking.
Rebecca placed the phone on the counter.
“She passed away yesterday morning.”
Daniel glanced toward the window.
The lawn mower was still sitting in the middle of the yard.
“What happened?”
“Complications from cancer. The hospital said she’d been receiving treatment for several months.”
He remembered the telephone call.
They found something.
He pulled out a chair.
Rebecca sat beside him.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel nodded.
He had imagined this moment before. Sometimes, when another Christmas card arrived or when his mother left a message on his birthday, he had wondered how he would feel when she was finally gone.
