Lucy
Matthew was here this evening. We had tea on the porch and watched the lake settle into darkness. Since Lilith’s passing, he comes by once or twice a week. We don’t talk much, but our silences are comfortable, and I’m always happy to see him walk up the road.
Tonight, as he sat in Lilith’s chair and I in mine, I found myself wanting to ask him if he remembered our time together as children. It was a difficult question, because we never talk about the past. Our conversations are always in the present or the immediate future. How are his guests, how is the library, what will the weather bring. I’ve always thought it a generosity on his part, to avoid raising memories of the worst time of my life. I still think that. But now that I’m writing this and remembering so many things I though
