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“What do we do? Should we say we’re sorry?”

Meredith couldn’t help thinking about the last time she’d made her mother mad and told her she was sorry “She won’t care Trust me ”

“So what do we do?”

Meredith tried to feel as one She kneould happen: Dad would calm Moh and hold the arms and tell them that Mom really loved them By the time he was done with the jokes and the stories, Meredith would want desperately to believe it Again “I knohat I’h the entryway toward the kitchen, until she could see Mom’s side—just her slim black velvet dress and her pale ar to listen to one of her stupid fairy tales again ”

We don’t kno to say goodbye:

ander on, shoulder to shoulder

Already the sun is going down;

you’re moody I am your shadow

–ANNA AKHMATOVA, FROM POEMS OF AKHMATOVA,

TRANSLATED BY STANLEY KUNITZ, WITH MAX HAYWARD

One

2000

Was this what forty looked like? Really? In the past year Meredith had gone from Miss to Ma’am Just like that, with no transition Even worse, her skin had begun to lose its elasticity There were tiny pleats in places that used to be smooth Her neck was fuller, there was no doubt about it She hadn’t gone gray yet; that was the one saving grace Her chestnut-colored hair, cut in a no-nonsense shoulder-length bob, was still full and shiny But her eyes gave her away She looked tired And not only at six in the

She turned away from the mirror and stripped out of her old T-shirt and into a pair of black sweats, anklet socks, and a long-sleeved black shirt Pulling her hair into a stumpy ponytail, she left the bathroom and walked into her darkened bedroo made her almost want to crawl back into bed In the old days, she would have done just that, would have snuggled up against him

Leaving the room, she clicked the door shut behind her and headed down the hallway toward the stairs