Chapter 10: What Lily Remembered
Spring came.
Lily turned three in April, in Paula's backyard, with a cake that had a rabbit on it because she had asked for a rabbit cake four times and I had written it down all four times so I wouldn't forget.
She wore a yellow dress.
She blew out the candles on the second try.
She laughed so hard at the silly song that she fell sideways off the picnic bench and laughed harder from the grass.
Carol came.
She drove down from Milwaukee with a stuffed rabbit nearly as big as Lily, and Lily carried it around for the rest of the afternoon dragging it by one ear, exactly the way she carried the small one.
Richard Bennett came.
He stood at the edge of the yard for a moment, uncertain, until Lily spotted him and said "Grandpa Rich" and ran at him with both arms out.
He caught her.
He held on for a long time.
Jason came for the last hour.
He stood with Richard.
He didn't try to talk to me.
He watched Lily eat cake and get frosting on her nose and chase a neighbor's dog around the yard.
When it was time to go, he crouched down to her level.
"Happy birthday, bug," he said.
She looked at him seriously.
Then she held out a piece of her cake, slightly squashed.
He took it.
"Thank you," he said.
She nodded, already turning back toward the dog.
He stood up.
He caught my eye across the yard.
He didn't say anything.
He nodded once, and walked to his car.
---
The divorce was finalized in June.
Margaret had negotiated a settlement that gave me primary custody, the apartment, and a support arrangement that covered Lily's needs without requiring me to ask Jason for anything extra.
Jason had agreed to everything without a single counter-proposal.
His attorney told Margaret he had instructed Phil Garner not to fight it.
The day the papers were signed, I took Lily to the lake.
We sat on a blanket near the water and she threw crackers at the pigeons and shrieked every time one came close enough to take one from her hand.
The afternoon was warm.
The lake was very blue.
A woman nearby was reading a book.
A man was walking a very old dog very slowly along the path.
Lily climbed into my lap and leaned back against my chest and looked out at the water.
"Mama," she said.
"Yeah, bug."
"Is the duck happy?"
I looked.
There was a single duck moving across the water near the shore, unhurried, going nowhere in particular.
"I think so," I said.
She considered this.
"Me too," she said.
I held her a little tighter.
The duck moved on.
The water was still.
The afternoon stayed warm for a long time.
---
Some people stay quiet because they're afraid.
Some people stay quiet because they're building something.
If you've ever had to choose between keeping the peace and protecting someone you love — what did you do?
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