sure?”
I smiled.
“Forty-two years is a long time to throw away without at least trying to understand each other.”
Susan stepped beside me.
I lifted the phone.
“Ready?”
She
laughed through her tears.
“Wait. My hair looks terrible.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Some things never change.”
Then I took the picture.
Six months later, Susan invited me to Emily’s house for Thanksgiving.
I almost declined.
Holidays without Robert were still difficult.
But when Emily called personally, I agreed.
Her home was warm and noisy.
Children ran through the hallway.
Something smelled wonderful in the kitchen.
Susan was helping prepare dinner.
And when she saw me, she smiled.
“Claire!”
I hugged her.
Then Emily introduced me to her children.
“This
is Grandma Susan’s best friend.”
Her daughter tilted her head.
“Are you family?”
I looked at Susan.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I smiled.
“Yes, sweetheart. I
think I am.”
The little girl took my hand and led me toward the dining room.
“Good. Because we need someone to help with the place cards.”
I laughed.
And just like that, I found myself sitting at a table covered with colored pencils, paper turkeys, and children’s drawings.
Later, as everyone gathered for dinner, Emily’s son asked whether we
could take a family photograph.
Susan looked at me.
I knew what she was thinking.
I reached for her hand.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s not miss this one.”
That photograph now sits on my mantelpiece beside a picture of Robert.
In it, Susan is standing beside Emily.
Emily’s children are laughing.
And I’m standing at the edge of the group, holding a little girl’s hand.
Sometimes I look at those photographs and think about how much life can change in a single year.
I lost my husband.
I discovered
