She continued. “Knowing you, you feel responsible for your grandmother’s actions, and maybe even just a tiny bit feel like Cal’s taking his anger out on you was justified in some crazy way. It is well documented that women in abusive situations adopt a warped way of thinking just so they can manage their lives. Like telling a person so many times that they can fly that one day they believe it and jump out a window.
“But Cal loved you, Merritt. Even you admit that. Why else would he have married you? When he discovered that your grandmother was dead, he could have let it be. Maybe he thought that you could redeem each other—and maybe for a bit, you did. But he was sick, honey, and I don’t think anybody could have changed him. He knew it, too. He walked into that burning building on his own two legs, of his own free will. Don’t you be hanging that around your neck, either, because that’s just wrong. We make our own choices, and he made his. And now it’s your turn. Show Gibbes the letter and take it from there. You are not the guilty party here, and I promise you that Gibbes won’t think less of you or want to punish you.” She took another deep, rattling breath. “You’ve been dealt a tough deck of cards, that’s for sure, but it’s time to pull up your big-girl panties and move on. Like my mama used to say, you can’t move forward if you always have one foot on the brake.” She closed her eyes, as if all her energy had been completely emptied.
My whole body shook with anger. “You have no right,” I began, then faltered, because I didn’t know what else to say. She had every right, simply because there was nobody else.
“Good, I’ve made you mad. But you’ve got to get louder than that so I’ll pay attention. Go ahead and yell and scream at me and tell me I’m wrong.” She paused, wheezing in and out as she struggled for a deep breath. “A good hissy fit every once in a while is good for you. And if you want to cry your heart out about all the injustices in the world, then do that, too, but come over here first so that I can put my arm around you and pat your shoulder while you cry. Crying alone is never recommended.”
I began to sputter, hot, angry tears I didn’t know how to shed somehow finding their way down my face.
She held up her finger, her voice now considerably weaker and making me feel even worse. “And the last thing I’m going to say on this subject—unless you actually ask for my opinion on it—is that you should give Gibbes a break. Not only is he not too hard on the eyes, but he’s smart, and funny, and kind—not to mention great with Owen. If you would just stop putting up walls where they don’t belong, and wondering whether he sees you the way you think Cal used to see you, I think you two would make a nice couple. And for heaven’s sake, show some leg once in a while, and use a bit of mascara and lipstick. You have no idea how pretty it will make you feel.”
I stood there, crying harder than I ever remembered crying, feeling like the little girl I’d once been whose mother had made her swim away. You are so much stronger and braver than you think you are. I just wish you could see you as I see you. I still had doubts that Gibbes was right, but maybe it was time I stopped fighting the words I didn’t want to hear. Maybe Loralee was right, too, that I’d had one foot on the brake for far too long.
She patted the bed next to her and I curled up at her side, being careful not to jolt her, and let her stroke my shoulder while I cried and hiccuped until I couldn’t. We lay there for a long time in silence, the irony of the situation suddenly hitting me and making me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, a smile in her voice.
“That I just let a dying woman comfort me. As Owen would say . . . awkward.”
She laughed gently, and I tilted my head to look at her, amazed that I no longer saw her as my enemy, as the woman who’d stolen my father from me, but as a friend. The kind of friend who let me cry on her shoulder despite her own pain.
“Is that what you meant by ‘opening up a can of whoop-ass’ on somebody?” I asked.
“Pretty much. Except I went easy on you, seeing as how you’re family.”
“Bless my heart,” I said.
Her shoulder shook beneath my head. “You’re learning, darlin’. You’re learning.” She looked at the bag I’d dragged up on the bed with me. “What’s that?”
“I brought you a surprise.”
She smiled again, and I saw how the wattage hadn’t dimmed. I hoped Owen saw this, noticed how strong his mother was, how she counted every blessing even when the basket of blessings was almost empty. That was something she’d said to me when I asked her why she kept smiling, and then she’d written it in her pink journal.
I sat up and upended the bag and watched as the DVD set of Gone with the Wind spilled out onto the bedclothes. “I’m tired of being the only person in the world who’s never seen it. Since we finally have a DVD player and it’s conveniently located in your room, I thought now would be a good time.”