Chapter 14 - THE FIRST THANKSGIVING WITHOUT HIM
A year after Bay 6, Mom hosted Thanksgiving at her townhouse in Richmond.
Twelve people.
Too much food.
No Marcus.
No Danielle.
I arrived wearing both shoes.
Mom noticed.
Said nothing.
My aunt brought sweet potatoes.
My cousin burned rolls.
Normal.
At dinner, somebody asked whether I missed the Arlington house.
I thought about it.
“Sometimes.”
Mom looked at me.
“What do you miss?”
“The backyard.”
Everyone waited.
“And the blue bedroom.”
That had been my office.
Morning sun.
Quiet.
I missed a room.
Not the marriage.
That distinction felt like recovery.
After dinner, Mom handed me a small envelope.
Inside was the house key Marcus threw at Bay 6.
I stared.
“You kept it?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Evidence initially.”
“And now?”
She shrugged.
“You decide.”
I held it.
The house belonged to another family now.
Locks probably changed.
The key opened nothing.
I could throw it away.
Keep it.
Make jewelry.
Burn it.
None mattered.
Then my cousin shouted from the kitchen:
“Who wants pie?”
I placed the key in my pocket.
Not ready.
That was allowed.
Later, Mom asked:
“You hear from Marcus?”
“Birthday email.”
“What did he say?”
“Hope you're well.”
“Did you answer?”
“No.”
“Want to?”
“I don't know.”
She nodded.
No advice.
May you like
Eleanor had learned too.
Protecting me did not mean answering for me.
