Christmas week passed in a blur. The children were busy with visits to friends and excursions to the movies and the ice-skating rink. Lucy kept in touch with Marge, but the news was always the same. Barney’s physical condition continued to improve, but he remained deeply comatose. Marge brought in newspaper articles that she thought would interest him and read them aloud; she even read Peanuts to him. She took in photographs of Eddie, and she played his favorite Jimmy Buffett and George Thorogood songs on a portable tape player, but he remained stolidly unreachable.

On New Year’s Eve Lucy drove her mother to the airport. They went alone, partly because Lucy didn’t want another long wait with the children in tow, but also because she wanted a chance to talk with her mother.

“How are you doing?” Lucy asked as they drove along the highway. “I don’t want your polite answer, I want to know how you’re really doing.”

“Well, I don’t like the way things are, but I’m all right.”

“I was very worried about you when you came. You seemed so depressed.”

“I almost didn’t come,” admitted the older woman. “I was afraid it would be too painful. But there’s so much going on at your house that I forgot to worry.”

“What do you worry about?”

“Everything! The car, the house, the furnace, the roof. I’ve never had to think about those things before. What if something breaks?”

“Just call the plumber or the mechanic,” Lucy sensibly advised.

“But the expense,” her mother protested.

“You’ve got plenty of money. I think you’re really worried about yourself—whether you can cope without Daddy.”

“I miss him so much. I still expect him to walk through the door at five-thirty every night.”

“I keep seeing men who remind me of him,” confided Lucy. “I’ll be in a parking lot and I’ll see a man who holds his head a certain way, or who has a cap like Daddy used to wear, or a red-and-black plaid jacket. For a second I’ll think it’s him. Then I remember, and I feel so sad. It must be much worse for you.” Lucy glanced at the shriveled figure beside her.

“It’s awful. But I know I’ve got to pick up and get going. Maybe I’ll volunteer at the Red Cross or something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Lucy encouraged.

Helen managed a shrug and a wan smile. When it came time to board the plane, Lucy gave her an awkward hug and stood watching as her mother made her careful way through the gate, never turning to look back.