Noah thought about that.
“Yeah.”
“You did something thoughtful by helping her find the sewing machine. But keeping her activities secret was a mistake.”
“I know, Mom.”
We drove another few blocks.
Then he spoke again.
“I just wanted her to have something that was hers.”
I glanced at him.
“What do you mean?”
He stared through the windshield.
“Everyone always asks Grace how she’s feeling.”
I waited.
“They ask whether she’s tired, whether she ate enough, whether she needs to rest, and when her next appointment is.”
He paused.
“But almost nobody asks what she actually wants to do.”
My chest tightened.
“She wanted to make something,” he continued. “Not just sit around thinking about being sick.”
I nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
He leaned against the window.
Then, after a long silence, he said something that nearly broke my heart.
“I wish Dad had taught me more things before he died.”
