But that sounds like Miranda was not the statement of a mother who did not know.
It was the statement of a mother who knew and who had not found, across thirty-one years, the way to show up for what she knew.
That was a different thing from what I had believed.
Not better. Not a resolution. Not an absolution of the birthday dinner and the graduation and the award and the Christmas three days after I had driven forty minutes to find marmalade.
But different.
Megan found me in the hallway.
She looked at my face.
She said: what happened.
I told her about Carolyn Marsh.
I told her about my mother asking to have the house described to her.
I told her: that sounds like Miranda.
Megan listened without interrupting.
When I was done she said: she knows you.
I said: yes.
She said: she’s always known you.
