Chapter 8 - Patricia’s Last VisitPatricia wrote instead of calling.
Maybe she knew I would not answer.
The letter arrived three months before my wedding.
No return address.
Just my name in handwriting I recognized immediately.
I almost threw it away.
Instead, I opened it.
Lauren,
I have spent a great deal of time thinking about what happened. There are things I would like to say to you before you remarry. Not excuses. I understand you may never forgive me. I am asking for twenty minutes.
At the bottom was a phone number.
I sat with the letter for three days.
Andrew never told me what to do.
“I’ll support either choice.”
“What would you do?”
“I’m not the one she hurt.”
Another reason I loved him.
Eventually, I called.
Patricia was living in North Carolina with her sister.
Her criminal case had ended in a plea agreement involving probation, restitution and community service. I knew only because Jessica had told me once.
Patricia came to New York.
We met in a hotel café.
Public.
Neutral.
She looked older.
Not ruined.
Not broken.
Just older.
The pearls were gone.
The immaculate armor had softened.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You have twenty minutes.”
She nodded.
“I deserved that.”
I waited.
“I lied about many things,” she began.
“Yes.”
“I told myself I was protecting my family.”
“You were protecting an image.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
That answer surprised me.
“For most of my marriage, I was terrified of looking poor.”
I said nothing.
“My father lost everything when I was sixteen. House. Business. Friends disappeared. My mother was humiliated. I decided that would never happen to me.”
“So you spent money you didn’t have.”
“Ironic.”
“Destructive.”
“Yes.”
No argument.
She continued.
“When Robert’s income became unstable, I hid it. When bills came, I borrowed. When borrowing became impossible, I lied.”
“And when Jason married someone financially stable?”
“I saw relief.”
There it was.
“You saw my money.”
“Yes.”
I appreciated the honesty more than I wanted to.
“You treated me like a bank.”
“I did.”
“And Jason like an employee.”
Her eyes filled.
“I did that too.”
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because Jessica has a daughter.”
I knew.
Baby Caroline, seven months old.
“And?”
“She doesn’t trust me alone with her.”
That apparently hurt more than criminal charges.
“I don’t blame her.”
“Neither do I.”
Patricia twisted her hands.
“I spent my life demanding loyalty from my children and calling it love.”
The sentence stayed between us.
Finally, I asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
I almost smiled.
“That would be a first.”
She accepted it.
“I wanted to apologize without asking you to make me feel better.”
So she did.
No explanation attached.
No request for forgiveness.
No appeal to family.
She apologized for helping deceive me.
For encouraging Jason to take the money.
For excluding me.
For contacting my parents.
For blaming me when Robert left.
When she finished, fifteen minutes had passed.
“You have five minutes left,” I said.
A tiny smile.
“Always efficient.”
“Something like that.”
She reached into her handbag.
My body tensed automatically.
She removed a small velvet box.
“I want you to have this.”
“No.”
“Please look first.”
Inside was a brooch.
Small.
Gold.
An enamel violet.
I recognized it.
Jason’s grandmother used to wear it.
“She left this to Jason’s wife.”
“I’m not Jason’s wife.”
“She left it to you by name. The paperwork was found after she died. I kept it.”
I stared at Patricia.
“Why?”
“Because I was angry after the divorce.”
“At me.”
“Yes.”
She closed the box.
“It belongs to you.”
I did not want it.
Then I thought about the woman who had apparently chosen it for me.
I took the box.
“Thank you.”
Patricia stood when the twenty minutes ended.
At the door, she turned.
“I heard you’re marrying an architect.”
“Yes.”
“I hope he deserves you.”
I almost responded sharply.
Then saw no manipulation in her face.
Just regret.
“He’s a good man.”
“I’m glad.”
She left.
I never saw her again.
But something changed after that meeting.
Not forgiveness exactly.
Forgiveness is a word people use as though pain is a debt that must eventually be canceled.
I did not cancel anything.
I simply stopped carrying it.
My wedding to Andrew took place in October.
Forty-two people.
A garden outside Hudson.
No champagne tower.
No designer favors.
No twenty-thousand-dollar flowers.
My parents were there.
Daniel gave a speech so embarrassing I threatened to disown him.
Jessica came with Connor and Caroline.
That surprised some people.
Not me.
Jessica and I had rebuilt something.
Not sisterhood.
Friendship, maybe.
Cautious and honest.
Jason did not attend.
We both knew that would be strange.
But he sent flowers.
Sunflowers.
The card contained only:
Wishing you the life you deserved all along. — J
Andrew read it.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
And I was.
Completely.
During dinner, Jessica approached.
“There’s something you should know.”
I groaned.
“Please don’t tell me someone charged seventy-five thousand dollars to my account.”
She laughed.
“No.”
“Then I can handle it.”
“Jason’s engaged.”
I paused.
Then smiled.
“To someone nice?”
“I think so.”
“Good.”
“You mean that?”
“Yes.”
And I did.
That was how I knew I was finished with the past.
Not when the divorce became final.
Not when Patricia apologized.
Not when I married Andrew.
When I heard Jason had found happiness and felt no urge to lose mine because of it.
Jessica squeezed my hand.
Then returned to her table.
Andrew found me a minute later.
“Dance?”
“I’m terrible.”
“I know.”
“That’s rude.”
“I married you anyway.”
So I danced.
Badly.
Joyfully.
And for once, nobody at the wedding was pretending to be richer, happier or more important than they actually were.
It was just people we loved in a room we could afford.
May you like
Turns out that was enough.
More than enough.
