Chapter 7: Anna
My first instinct was to hand the phone to Graham.
I didn't.
"How did you get this number?" I asked.
"Rachel gave it to me." A beat.
"I know how that sounds.
Please don't hang up."
Graham had gone very still across the table.
He could hear her voice through the phone — not the words, but the tone.
He knew who it was.
I stood up and walked to the window.
"I'm listening."
"I want you to know that I'm not calling to cause trouble," Anna said.
"I'm calling because Rachel told me what happened at the restaurant.
What she said to you." A pause.
"I was angry when she told me.
She had no right to use my name like that."
"No," I said.
"She didn't."
"I also want you to know — and I need you to believe this — that whatever Graham and I have been in contact about, it has never been romantic.
Not since we ended.
He helped me when I was in a bad situation, and I was grateful.
That's the whole truth."
I looked out at the street below.
A neighbor was walking a dog.
Ordinary Tuesday evening.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because you deserve to know.
And because—" She stopped.
Started again.
"Because I think Rachel has been using me.
Using the idea of me.
To keep Graham guilty and keep you off-balance.
And I don't want to be used that way anymore."
"What changed?" I asked.
"She called me tonight.
She told me about your meeting.
What you said to her." Another pause.
"She was shaken.
I've known Rachel for six years and I have never heard her shaken.
Whatever you said to her today — it got through."
I thought about Rachel's face at that café table.
The moment the certainty cracked.
"She loved your mother too," I said.
"Anna.
She told me you were there through the illness."
A long silence.
"Yes.
I was."
"Graham never told me about any of it.
Not one word."
"I know," Anna said quietly.
"That's Graham.
He carries things alone until they crush him." A pause.
"You should ask him about the last week.
Before his mother d*ed.
There's something he's never told anyone except me.
I think — I think he needs to tell you."
"Why won't he tell me himself?"
"Because he's ashamed of it.
And because he thinks it makes him a bad person.
It doesn't.
But he's convinced it does."
I turned away from the window.
Graham was watching me from the table, his face unreadable.
"Thank you for calling," I said.
"I'm sorry it took this long," Anna said.
"Take care of him.
He's not as strong as he looks."
The line went quiet.
I set the phone down on the counter.
Looked at Graham.
"She says there's something you've never told anyone," I said.
"About the last week before your mother d*ed."
His face changed.
Something behind his eyes went very still.
"Graham," I said.
"What happened?"
He looked at the table for a long time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"I wasn't there," he said.
"The night she d*ed.
I was supposed to be there.
I'd been there every weekend for two years.
But that particular Friday I was tired and I told myself she was stable and I—" He stopped.
"I stayed home.
Rachel called me at two in the morning."
The room was completely silent.
"She d*ed alone," he said.
"Because I chose one night of rest over being there."
I crossed the room.
I sat down next to him — not across from him.
Next to him.
"Graham," I said.
"Look at me."
He did.
"You did not let your mother d*e.
You were exhausted from two years of showing up.
You are allowed to have been tired." I held his gaze.
"She knew you loved her.
Two years of weekends told her that."
His eyes were wet.
He didn't blink.
"Rachel knows this?" I asked.
"Rachel was there.
She never said she blamed me.
But she never said she didn't either."
I thought about that.
About two people carrying the same loss in completely different directions — one through silence, one through control.
"I think," I said carefully, "that you and Rachel need to have a conversation that has nothing to do with me or Anna or dinner or money.
I think you need to talk about your mother."
He nodded slowly.
A single tear ran down his face.
May you like
He didn't wipe it.
I put my hand over his and left it there.
