Chapter 7 - Cassandra Came to My Door
Four years after Margaret died, Cassandra arrived at my home without warning. I had sold the marital house and bought a smaller place near the Hudson River. She stood on the porch holding Margaret Rose, now three, by the hand.
My first instinct was irritation.
Then the little girl looked up.
Margaret’s eyes.
Not mystical.
Genetics through Mark.
Still, it hit.
“Why are you here?”
Cassandra looked embarrassed.
“Maggie wants to know about her grandmother.”
I stared.
“Mark has pictures.”
“He has stories about childhood. I want stories from the end.”
That mattered.
I invited them in.
Maggie wandered toward the bookshelf while Cassandra sat stiffly.
“Does Mark know?”
“Yes.”
“Did he send you?”
“No.”
Good.
We looked through photographs.
Margaret in hospital gowns making faces.
Margaret wearing a ridiculous Christmas sweater.
Margaret asleep beside me during chemotherapy.
Maggie pointed.
“Daddy says Grandma was scary.”
I laughed.
“She was.”
“Was she nice?”
“Sometimes.”
Cassandra smiled.
Children deserve whole people, not myths.
I told Maggie how Margaret loved lemon cookies and hated cold coffee. How she cheated at cards. How she called every smartphone “the machine.”
Then Maggie asked, “Did Grandma like Mommy?”
Silence.
Cassandra looked horrified.
I thought carefully.
“She did not know your mommy very well.”
True.
“Did she like Daddy?”
I smiled sadly.
“She loved your daddy very much.”
Also true.
No need to make a child inherit adult resentment.
After Maggie went to the bathroom, Cassandra whispered, “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Not telling her Margaret hated me.”
“I don’t know that she hated you.”
“She left that video.”
“She distrusted what you and Mark were doing.”
Cassandra looked down.
“Fair.”
Then she said, “I used to think you were pathetic.”
I laughed.
“Strong transition.”
“I’m serious. Mark described you as someone who lived for his mother because you had nothing else.”
“That was flattering.”
“I believed him because I needed you to be small.”
I understood.
“If you were a full person, I was hurting a full person.”
“Yes.”
She cried.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“Do you forgive me?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“That easy?”
“It took four years.”
We laughed.
Forgiveness did not mean friendship.
But after that, Cassandra occasionally brought Maggie to foundation events.
May you like
Life became less theatrical.
More human.
