Chapter 15
Noah was eight months old when Gloria first saw him again.
Vivienne chose the day.
Not Gloria.
Not me.
The meeting happened in our garden.
Camille was there because Vivienne asked.
Gloria stopped several feet away.
No reaching.
No crying dramatically.
Just waiting.
Noah was sitting on a blanket smacking a wooden block against another wooden block with the concentration of a mob accountant.
Gloria smiled.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
He ignored her.
Appropriate.
Vivienne sat beside him.
Gloria asked:
“May I come closer?”
Vivienne thought.
Then nodded.
Two steps.
No more.
Gloria obeyed.
That mattered more than any apology.
Noah eventually looked at her.
Then offered one block.
Gloria took it.
Started crying silently.
Noah tried to take it back immediately.
She returned it.
Also important.
No entitlement even to a toy.
Camille looked at me and almost smiled.
Afterward Gloria left before anyone asked.
Vivienne watched the car disappear.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Good answer.
She leaned against me.
“I still remember the washer every time she holds anything near him.”
“I know.”
“Does that ever stop?”
“I don’t know.”
Truth.
Maybe trust grows.
Maybe some part never returns.
Forgiveness is not memory loss.
That night Noah crawled toward the laundry room because toddlers have terrible instincts for symbolism.
Vivienne froze.
I saw it.
Then she followed him.
The washer door had been removed months ago during renovation.
Not because machines are evil.
Because we replaced the unit.
Noah slapped the shiny front panel.
Laughed.
Vivienne picked him up.
May you like
Nothing happened.
Sometimes reclaiming a place is that ordinary.
