“I’ve been making excuses for you my whole life,” Josh said, and his voice finally shook. “Dad left, and you were hurting, and I understood that. But Leon has never done one unkind thing to you. Not one. He comes to our reunions because I invite him. He brings pie. He stands in the back. And you treated him like he was nothing.”
“I didn’t…”
“You did, Mom. And you didn’t even call to see if he was okay. Not once. All week. You called me to ask about the cruise.”
Cindy opened her mouth again. This time, nothing came out.
“I’m not cutting you off,” Josh said. “You’re still my mother. You’re still coming to Thanksgiving. But there’s no cruise. And I want you to think about what you did.”
He turned and walked back to the truck.
I stood in the gravel a moment longer, looking at my mother-in-law. She looked small all of a sudden, standing in front of her THIS IS MY HAPPY PLACE sign in a sundress she couldn’t afford.
“He can hear the birds again,” I said quietly. “My dad. On Thursday, in the parking lot, he heard a mockingbird. He just stood there and listened to it.”
Cindy looked at me. Something flickered across her face. I couldn’t tell what.
Then I got in the truck, and Josh drove us home.
Neither of us said anything for the first five miles. Then, at the stop sign on Highway 125, Josh pulled over onto the shoulder, put the truck in park, and put his forehead against the steering wheel.
He was shaking.
“I did it,” he said into the steering wheel. “I actually did it.”
“You did it.”
“I’ve never talked to her like that in my life.”
“I know.”
He lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were red. “Did I go too far?”
I thought about my father in the pond, waist-deep in the brown water, patting his ears.
“No, baby,” I said. “You went exactly far enough.”
