Garrett called daily at first. Then every other day. Then only when some new practical crisis surfaced. Marissa switched tactics and sent long messages about family, misunderstanding, healing, legacy, and what James would have wanted. She underestimated how well I knew my own dead husband. James would have wanted civility, yes. He also would have told them to sell the SUV.
Toby called once from a parking garage because his card had been declined at a gas pump and he didn’t know what to do. I told him to go inside and use his debit card like everybody else. He hung up on me.
Rebecca kept texting.
Not intrusive. Not manipulative. Just small, human things.
Did you eat lunch?
Can I bring soup after work?
The azaleas near my building are finally blooming.
I found that pie server Grandpa used to sharpen with a butter knife.
She reminded me that not every thread in a family has to be cut just because some of them are rotten.
Two weeks in, Lorine came over with a travel catalog and a grin.
“We’re still doing the Blue Ridge trip next month,” she said. “And before you tell me no, remember you are suddenly no longer financing a small republic.”
I laughed.