That’s when an old memory surfaced.
Four years earlier, three days after my son’s funeral, Lisa cornered me. “I need Walter to live with me.”
“You needed money last week.”
The accident proved you couldn’t take care of me.
“This isn’t about money.”
“Then what is it about?”
“He’s my brother’s son.”
“And I’m his grandmother.”
“You’re not exactly young, Mom.”
I need Walter to live with me.
“And you are. You go out, chase your business, worry about money. Since when do you want to raise a nine year old?”
“Maybe I’m ready for something more than that.”
“You barely call him, Lisa.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“You didn’t care enough to show up. So why do you suddenly want him living with you?”
I’m ready for something more than that.
Lisa’s face hardened. “I’m going to fight for my nephew.”
“Lisa…”
“I’ll see you in court.”
She snatched her purse and walked out.
In the end, the guardianship went to me.
You didn’t care enough to show up.
The memory faded, and I looked back at Walter.
“Why did she want me back then?” Walter asked.
“I thought she was grieving.”
“And now?”
I looked toward the door. “Now I’m not so sure.”
The guardianship went to me.
Maybe because the alternative was admitting there were things about my own daughter I didn’t want to see.
Now, lying in that hospital bed, I wondered if I’d completely misread that argument.
“Walter,” I whispered, “did Aunt Lisa say anything else?”
He hesitated.
“What?”
There were things I didn’t want to see.
“There was something weird.”
My stomach tightened. “Tell me.”
“She asked me about your glasses.”
“My glasses?”
“Before the accident.”
There was something weird.
“When?”
“The morning when it happened.”
And just like that, another memory came flooding back.
I remembered Lisa standing in my kitchen. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“I’m late, and I can’t find my driving glasses.”
