“Because this is where your parents met.”
“I know that.”
“It is also where your mother made the list.”
Helen finally lifted her hand from the letter.
“She made me help her.”
I snatched it. The first page wasn’t romantic. It was instructions.
Names.
Numbers.
Small descriptions beside each one.
“Anna likes old movies.”
“Beth hates seafood.”
“Lydia talks when she’s nervous, so give her time.”
Six names had check marks.
The seventh line had been violently crossed out.
Helen.
My eyes lifted.
“You were on it.”
“At first.”
“Why?”
Helen looked toward the empty chair where Dad always sat. “Because Maggie thought I understood him.”
I hadn’t heard anyone outside our family call Mom Maggie in years.
It made my skin prickle.
“And then she changed her mind.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Helen didn’t answer.
I stood.
“I’m calling Dad.”
“Rachel.”
I was already dialing. He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“I’m at the restaurant.”
Silence.
I looked at Helen.
Dad said, “Is she there?”
That hurt more than I expected.
