nodded.
Elaine crossed the porch and said, “Margaret, I don’t expect—”
“I know,” I said.
She looked down.
“I should have spoken sooner.”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
I studied her face. There was no performance in it. Just age, regret, and the tired knowledge that loving someone does not absolve you from naming what they do.
“Thank you,” I said.
Not forgiveness. Not continue reading …
