“Glad you did something nice for you for a change, instead of just taking care of everybody else like you tell me you do. You know, when you’re not sad.”

I slide into the back seat. He closes the door behind me and hurries to the driver’s seat. When he gets in I say, “Yes, motherhood is trying sometimes. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was just finishing up the breakfast dishes. Betsy and I had a lovely meal together. She’s such a wonderful young woman, so sweet.”

He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. His eyes are dark, widely spaced, caring. “Glad you two are getting along. I know today is a hard day.”

I may complain to Sam too much about Betsy. I’ll change that, perhaps. But I’ll start tomorrow. It’s so easy to talk to Sam, unlike my family members. And he’s always on my side. I allow him to see me open my purse, reach for tissues. My facade of cheer crumbles. The ceremony is tonight. “It’s such a hard day. One year since Mary died. And can I confide in you, Sam?”

“Of course, Mrs. H.”

“Betsy isn’t really nice to me. She’s mean.”

“You’ve told me that. I’m sorry. Maybe she’s sad.”

I shrug. “That could be it. Or maybe it’s something else? Guilt?”

Sam meets my eyes in the mirror. “Guilt? For being mean to you?”

No. It’s so hard to get people to see things sometimes. “No, for fighting with her sister, at the park, on the day Mary died. Never mind. It’s not important. I’m saying too much.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. H., you can tell me anything.” Sam and I have been together now since a month after Mary’s funeral. I don’t drive much anymore, or so I tell him. It fits with my grief and I like being chauffeured by a person who listens to my every command. Sam takes me most of the places I need to go. He still drives for Lyft, but he blocks out our schedule: doctor’s visits, grocery store trips. And Friday morning, whatever errands I need to run, if I can get myself up and out of the house and away from my addicting computer.

Some errands I handle on my own, but he doesn’t know that. “Well, let’s see. I don’t think I have to worry about Mary’s birth mother showing up and ruining things this evening, so that’s good.” I love being able to confide in Sam. He is so loyal. Like a friend. I smile at the thought.

Sam says, “You don’t like Elizabeth, that much I know. But how do you know she won’t be there?”