“I wish I remembered those visits.”
I reached for her hand.
“You were exhausted.”
“Would you like to make another one?”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s arrange it.”
Rachel wanted Bianca at Ben’s birthday dinner.
“Yes.”
Ben agreed immediately.
“Does she know what cake I like?”
“Apparently, she’s heard all about you,” I said.
“Then she’d better not bring tomatoes.”
Sam wanted Bianca to tell him stories about Rachel as a child.
Ben agreed immediately.
Grace wasn’t convinced.
“Mom was angry with her for years,” she told me privately.
“She was.”
“What if Bianca upsets her again?”
“Then we’ll help Mom handle it.”
“She was.”
Grace crossed her arms.
“You didn’t want Mom to see Bianca either.”
“No. And I was wrong to make her sound like someone we couldn’t trust.”
Grace looked at me.
“Are you sure about her now?”
Grace looked at me.
“I’m sure your mother deserves to decide for herself. And so do you.”
“Then I’ll meet her. But I’m making up my own mind.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
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Later that evening, I asked Rachel if she wanted to invite Bianca herself.
She took the phone, then looked at me.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“What if she thinks it’s strange hearing from me?”
“She’ll probably be happy.”
Rachel dialed.
“Bianca? It’s Rachel. I wondered if you’d like to come for dinner on Saturday.”
“She’ll probably be happy.”
I heard Bianca’s surprised laugh through the phone.
Rachel smiled.
“Yes, it’s really me asking.”
On Ben’s birthday, Rachel helped me prepare dinner.
Rachel smiled.
She watched me struggle with a stubborn jar.
“Need help?”
“I’ve been opening jars for this family for 16 years.”
“And it seems like you’ve reached retirement age.”
“Need help?”
I handed it over.
She opened it immediately.
“Show-off,” I muttered.
Rachel laughed, then set the jar down.
“Michael, are you still hurt that I didn’t tell you about Bianca?”
“Show-off.”
“A little. But I’m glad you went.”
Rachel squeezed my hand.
“Thank you for helping me find her.”
I shook my head.
“You found her, Rachel. I just drove.”
“But I’m glad you went.”
The doorbell rang.
Bianca stood outside holding a wrapped present and a covered dish.
“I brought cheesy bread. Rachel used to love it.”
I stepped aside.
The doorbell rang.
“Come in. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
At dinner, Bianca told the children about Rachel as a little girl.
“She used to tell me how to make my own bed.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow.
“Was I right?”
“Come in.”
“Usually, unfortunately.”
Grace laughed.
Ben offered Bianca another slice of cake.
Sam asked whether Rachel had always been good at singing.
“Absolutely not,” Bianca replied.
“Usually, unfortunately.”
Rachel stared at her.
“Excuse me?”
“You once practiced the same song for three weeks. I had to beg Mom to hide the radio.”
Sam burst out laughing.
“Excuse me?”
“Mom still sang the same song to me!”
Rachel looked at him.
“Did I?”
“Three times every night,” he said proudly.
Rachel looked at him.
I knew the rest of that story.
But Rachel turned toward Sam.
“What was your favorite part?”
I kept quiet.
I knew the rest.
Sam leaned closer and began telling her.
After dinner, Bianca brought out a childhood photograph.
Two little girls stood together in matching sweaters.
Rachel studied their faces.
“That’s us?”
Sam leaned closer.
Bianca nodded.
“You insisted we dress alike.”
“I must’ve been difficult.”
“You certainly kept me busy.”
Rachel laughed.
Bianca nodded.
Then she reached across the table and took Bianca’s hand.
“I’d like to hear more about us.”
Bianca smiled.
“I’d like that too.”
I pulled up another chair.
And this time, I listened with her.
