Chapter 5: What My Mother Knew
"Mom, what's going on?"
"Is Ben there with you?" she repeated.
Same careful tone.
The tone she used when she was managing information — measuring how much to give and in what order.
"I'm at the hospital.
I'm with him right now.
Mom, what—"
"Good." A pause.
"Then you're already together.
That's good."
"You're frightening me."
Ben's hand tightened around mine.
He was watching my face.
"Your aunt Carol called me this morning," my mother said.
"She was at her book club last night.
Patricia Hendricks was there."
Patricia Hendricks.
Ben's mother's closest friend.
The woman who had given a reading at our wedding.
"Mom—"
"Patricia said that Margaret has been telling people, Sarah.
For weeks, apparently.
She's been telling people that Ben is — that the prognosis is — that it's a matter of months." Her voice caught.
"She's been telling people to expect the worst.
She told Patricia that you have no idea."
The room went very still.
"What people?" I asked carefully.
"Their church group.
The garden club.
I don't know who else.
Patricia said she assumed you knew and was calling to check on you and I had to tell her that this was the first I'd—" My mother stopped.
I could hear her breathing.
"Sarah.
Ben's mother has known for eight months and she has been planning his — she's been talking about his estate.
About the house.
Patricia said Margaret mentioned something about the house."
My hand went cold under Ben's.
I looked at him.
His face had changed completely.
The careful composure, the steady eyes — gone.
What I saw instead was something I hadn't seen before.
Not grief.
Not fear.
Something that looked very much like dread.
"I'll call you back," I said to my mother.
I lowered the phone.
"Your mother?" Ben asked.
"Your mother knows," I said.
He closed his eyes.
"Ben.
Your mother has known for eight months."
"Yes."
"I'm your wife.
Lily is your daughter.
And your mother has known—" I stopped.
Started again.
"She knew at Thanksgiving.
She knew at our anniversary.
She was sitting at that table knowing what was happening to you while I was sitting across from her not knowing anything." I set the phone down.
I kept my voice level.
"Did you tell her not to say anything?"
"I asked her to let me handle it in my own time," he said.
"I didn't — I should have been clearer about what that meant."
"What has she been saying?
About the house?"
Ben opened his eyes.
He looked at me for a long moment in a way I didn't entirely understand.
"She thinks — she has opinions about how things should be handled," he said carefully.
"If the worst happened.
She brought it up early on.
I told her it wasn't a conversation I was ready to have and I asked her to wait."
"But she didn't wait."
"No."
"She's been having that conversation without you." I stood up.
"With Patricia Hendricks.
With the garden club."
"Sarah—"
"While I was taking care of your daughter and putting your dinner in the fridge and writing you notes about how I just wanted to have a turn taking care of you." My voice finally cracked on that last word.
Just slightly.
I pressed it back down.
"She sat across from me at Thanksgiving and said nothing."
Ben reached for my hand.
I let him take it.
"I'm going to need you to call her," I said.
"Today.
From this room.
And I'm going to need to hear that conversation."
He didn't hesitate.
"All right."
"And whatever she's been saying to people about this house, about Lily, about any of it — that stops today."
"Yes," he said.
"It does."
He reached for his phone on the bedside table with his free hand.
He found his mother's name.
He paused with his thumb over the call button.
Then he pressed it and put the phone on speaker between us.
It rang twice.
"Benjamin." Margaret Mitchell's voice was warm and controlled and completely unsuspecting.
May you like
"I was wondering when you'd call.
How did the morning go?"
