Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

clothes hung on her. The belted housedress bagged at the waist and her stockings were wrinkled and loose. Susannah wrapped her arms gently around her mother and felt immersed in guilt. She should’ve come sooner, should have realized how poorly her mother was doing.

      “I’m so glad you’re here,” Vivian said.

      “I’m glad I’m here, too,” Susannah told her. Joe would be fine without her for a few weeks. The children, too. But Susannah’s mother needed her.

      “Come inside,” Vivian urged. “I made iced tea.”

      Susannah slipped her arm around her mother’s narrow waist and together they walked inside. She was surprised to see a few newspapers scattered on the steps, still in their protective plastic sleeves. This was unlike her meticulous mother.

      The house was much as she remembered it from her last visit. The chair where her father had watched television every night sat empty. The crocheted doily pinned against the back was still in place.

      Even in his retirement, the television wasn’t allowed on before the five o’clock news. The judge had decreed it and no one dared question his decisions, least of all her mother. Susannah wondered if Vivian watched daytime programs now that her husband was gone. She suspected not. Old habits die hard.

      The kitchen table was set with dishes and silverware. “You didn’t make dinner, did you?” Susannah asked.

      Her mother turned from the refrigerator and frowned. “You told me not to.”

      “I was planning to take you out to eat, anyplace you want.”

      “Oh, good. I was afraid I did something wrong.”

      “No, Mom, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

      Her smile seemed so fragile, so tentative. After all these years of marriage she was lost without George. Her dependence on him had been absolute, Susannah thought. She blamed her father for that more than she did her mother.

      “Sit down and tell me about the children,” her mother said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table for Susannah. The round oak table was an antique now and the chairs along with it.

      Stepping over to the counter, her mother filled tall glasses and brought them to the table. Then she sat down, looking expectantly at Susannah.

      Susannah sipped her tea. “Brian has a summer job in construction. He’s thrilled and the money is excellent.”

      Her mother smiled with approval. “And Christine?”

      “Joe’s picking her up from the airport this afternoon.”

      Her mother’s smile faded. “She was away?”

      “At school, Mom. Chrissie’s coming home from college for the summer.”

      “Oh, of course. Chrissie’s away at school now, isn’t she?”

      “That’s right. She’s about to enter her junior year.”

      “She has a summer job, too?”

      Susannah should have anticipated the question. “No. Not yet, but I’m sure she’ll find one.” This was wishful thinking on her part.

      Her mother nodded. “Yes, she will. She’s such a beautiful young girl.” Susannah’s gaze drifted into the dining room, where Vivian kept family photos on the buffet. Chrissie’s high school graduation picture stared back at her. Her daughter’s long blond hair, parted in the middle, flowed down over her shoulders as she smiled into the camera. Susannah’s own high school graduation photograph, taken after her return from France, was positioned next to that of her daughter. Her hair had been long and blond then, too, but curlier than Chrissie’s. It had darkened over the years and was now a light shade of brown. These days she kept it short and styled. In her graduation picture, Susannah wore a cap and gown and held her diploma, tilted at an angle as if it were a cherished scroll. It was all for show.

      “Chrissie’s so much like you at that age.”

      Susannah’s gaze flew back to the photographs. Frankly she didn’t see the resemblance. Her daughter was nothing like her in temperament or in looks. At almost twenty, Chrissie still had a lot of growing up to do.

      “It’s in the eyes,” her mother continued.

      Susannah looked again, partly, she supposed, in the hope that her mother was right. For the last year or so, Susannah and Chrissie had been at odds. Not for any particular reason, but over a succession of little things. Susannah felt that her daughter didn’t take life seriously enough. She didn’t put much effort into school and tended to waste time lounging in front of the TV, indulging in long conversations with her friends and sleeping in until noon. Chrissie should have summer employment, but instead of going on a job search, she’d frittered away her spring break, convinced she could charm herself into employment when it suited her.

      “Your hair was that blond when you were young,” her mother said wistfully.

      Susannah didn’t want to disillusion her mother, but Chrissie’s pure blond color came courtesy of an expensive salon.

      “The minute Joe’s mother set eyes on the baby, she told us Chrissie looked exactly like her aunt Louise,” Susannah commented. Joe had rolled his eyes, but Susannah did see a resemblance. Not then, of course, but more recently.

      “She’s still at school?”

      “No, Mom, Chrissie’s flying home. Joe’s going to the airport to pick her up.”

      “Oh, yes, you said that, didn’t you? I forget sometimes.”

      “That’s all right, Mom, we all do.” She gave her mother’s hand a reassuring pat, then stood. “I’d better bring in my suitcase.”

      “You’ll stay more than a day or two this time, won’t you?”

      “Yes, Mom, I’ll stay.”

      A smile brightened her mother’s dull eyes. “Good. I hoped you would. I’ve been so lost without your father. And now Martha’s left me, too!” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and removed a tissue to dab her eyes.

      Martha had quit! Susannah groaned inwardly as she walked out of the house and opened the trunk of her car. She brought in a large suitcase; assuming she’d be in town for a few weeks, she’d packed more than her usual overnight bag.

      Susannah carried her suitcase down the hallway to her childhood bedroom, which remained exactly as it had when she’d lived at home. Her desk was still there; her chair, too. The heavy blue drapes were the same, although faded, and the lighter blue shag carpeting looked terribly dated now. She couldn’t imagine why her parents had never updated their home after she’d graduated from college. It was as if they’d been stuck in a time warp for the last thirty years. There’d certainly been money to make changes.

      “I saw a friend of yours last week,” her mother said, coming to stand in the bedroom doorway, watching Susannah as she unpacked.

      “Who?” Susannah had few friends in town. She’d attended her ten-year reunion, but had felt awkward and out of place. She’d been married to Joe for three years then, and the two of them had stayed at each other’s side. Susannah hadn’t returned for subsequent reunions. She didn’t know these people anymore. Because she’d been away for the last year of school, she hadn’t even graduated with them, not officially.

      “Just a minute,” her mother said and closed her eyes, forehead creased in thought. “Carolyn!” she said triumphantly. “You remember Carolyn. Carolyn Bronson.” Her mother paused. “She said you should phone her sometime.”

      “Carolyn Bronson?” Susannah couldn’t believe it. Carolyn had been her best friend and the richest girl in Colville. They’d gone to France together. Her father owned the mill that employed nearly forty percent of the town—or had at one time. With the changes in the lumber industry, Susannah didn’t know how the yard had fared.

      “You