I laughed without humor.
Ruth shook her head.
“Your father has always confused disagreement with manipulation.”
Then she told me something I had not known.
At the funeral, Dad had called her.
Not to ask how I was.
To complain that she made him look bad by attending.
I stared at her.
“He said you were encouraging drama.”
Ruth had replied:
“Your daughter’s burying three people. Drama has already arrived.”
For six months, I had wondered whether I had exaggerated the cruelty of
that day because grief distorted memory.
Ruth’s story removed the last doubt.
My parents had understood how their absence looked.
They chose it anyway.
PART 14 — THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY
The first anniversary of the crash arrived with freezing rain.
I woke at 4:12 a.m.
That was the time the hospital had called me.
I made coffee in Ethan’s mug.
It was the first time I had used it.
