Chapter 5: What Diane Was Really Afraid Of
Mom answered on the second ring.
I was in the kitchen refilling my coffee and I heard her say "Diane" in a voice that was careful and open at the same time, the way she used to answer the phone when she was bracing for news she wasn't sure she wanted.
I stayed where I was.
"I know Richard told you," Diane said.
I could hear her clearly — Mom had the volume up the way she always did.
"I'm not calling to go over all of it again.
I'm calling because there's something he doesn't know.
Something I should have told him a long time ago, and I didn't, and now I'm afraid of what happens when it comes out."
Mom sat down at the kitchen table.
"What is it, Diane?"
A pause.
Long enough that I set my coffee cup down without drinking from it.
"Thomas's condition — the metabolic disorder — it's genetic.
The doctors flagged it eight months ago.
They said it can come from either parent's line, but given Danny's heart condition, they wanted to look at both sides more carefully."
"All right," Mom said.
"They found something in the family history.
On Danny's side.
A pattern." Another pause.
"Richard doesn't know yet because I haven't told him.
I kept thinking I'd find the right moment, and then the moment kept not being right, and now it's been eight months and Thomas is getting the medication he needs and I told myself it didn't change anything practical so maybe I didn't have to say it at all."
Mom's voice was very quiet.
"But it does change something."
"It changes what Richard might be walking into long-term.
The doctors said Thomas's condition could progress.
It might not.
But it could.
And if Richard is going to be part of Thomas's life — really part of it — he deserves to know that before he goes any deeper."
I watched Mom from the doorway.
She was sitting very straight.
"Why are you telling me instead of him?" Mom said.
"Because I don't know how he'll react and I'm scared," Diane said.
"And because you just found out everything last night and you still said yes to Sunday dinner, and I don't know many people who would do that.
I thought — I thought if anyone could help me figure out how to say it to him, it might be you."
Mom was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Diane.
Come over this morning.
Bring Thomas if you need to.
We'll sit down together and work out how to tell Richard.
Not over the phone.
Not in a message.
Properly."
A very small sound from Diane's end.
Not quite a word.
"You don't have to do that," she said.
"I know I don't," Mom said.
"Come anyway."
She hung up.
She sat there for a moment with her hand still on the phone.
Then she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway.
"You heard," she said.
"Most of it."
"Good.
Then you know I'm going to need more pie."
I almost laughed.
It came out wrong — too close to crying — and Mom reached over and patted the back of my hand once, firmly, the way she used to when I was small and something had frightened me.
"She's not a bad person," Mom said.
"She's a person who's been alone with something too heavy for too long.
I know what that feels like."
She stood up and moved toward the pantry.
"Call Chloe.
Tell her to come before eleven."
Diane arrived at ten forty-five.
Thomas was with her.
He was small for four, with dark eyes that moved carefully around the room before the rest of him did.
He was wearing a blue sweater with a small boat on the front.
He held Diane's hand with both of his and didn't let go until Mom crouched down to his level and said, very seriously, "I've heard you might like chocolate pie."
Thomas looked at her for a long moment.
"I've never had it," he said.
"Then today is a very important day," Mom said.
He considered this.
Then he let go of Diane's hand.
May you like
What happened in that kitchen over the next two hours changed things between all of us in ways I'm still finding words for.
But before any of it could settle, Richard arrived at noon — and nobody had told him Diane would be there.
