Robert came out behind us.
“Tell them what you said in the kitchen,” I demanded.
“He’s dying, Mom.”
He lowered his eyes and walked past me.
Hanna opened the car door for him.
“Claire’s taking care of Dad now.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“They’re getting married,” she added.
I looked at Robert.
“What does that mean?”
He still wouldn’t face me.
“In three weeks,” Hanna added. “She’s willing to stay.”
“I was willing to stay.”
Hanna’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed hard.
“Then you should’ve acted like it.”
They drove away with Robert in the back seat.
“She’s willing to stay.”
***
Three weeks later, an old friend showed me a picture of the wedding while I was buying milk.
Claire wore a simple cream dress.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“At least he found some happiness, Greta,” the woman said. “Especially when he had so little time left.”
I handed back the phone.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“I stood beside him for 39 years. People forget the years that happen before the gossip.”
Then I picked up my milk and left.
***
For four months, I cried, paid the bills, and fixed whatever broke.
Hanna ignored my calls. Steven answered twice, speaking to me like a distant acquaintance. Neither told me when Robert became worse.
I learned he’d died from a message Hanna sent after midnight.
Hanna ignored my calls.
“Dad is gone.”
***
The next afternoon, she called.
“You can’t come to the funeral.”
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“He was my husband.”
“He stopped being your husband.”
“He was still part of my life for 39 years.”
“Dad is gone.”
“Steven and I agreed that you being there would upset everyone.”
“I didn’t leave your father, Hanna.”
“I’m not having this argument again.”
The line went dead.
***
I spent the day of Robert’s funeral alone.
I cleaned until three in the afternoon, when I took Robert’s mug from the cupboard.
“I didn’t leave your father, Hanna.”
I almost threw it away.
Instead, I washed it and set it on the drying rack.
