Unity’s eyes widened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? This is a crisis and you’re sitting there smiling, telling me it will be fine. It’s not fine. It’s my son and I want him to be happy.” Her voice was rising and she honestly didn’t care. Maybe shouting would get her point across. “I want him to have a wonderful college experience and not worry about me for even one second. Why can’t you see that? Why aren’t you helping?”

Unity stood and faced her. “I’m sorry you think I’m not being supportive. That isn’t how I feel. Of course I want to help you. I just think you’re making this way bigger than it is. You’ve lost perspective.”

“What perspective do you have about anything? You’re living in your late husband’s house, sleeping in his high school bed, wearing his old clothes, wishing your life away. It’s been three years and you’re still in the same place you were when I dropped everything and flew to South Carolina to bring you home. I handled everything, Unity. Everything. You needed me and I was happy to be there when you needed me. It would be nice, if just once, you could stop thinking about yourself and realize sometimes I need you, too.”

They stared at each other. Ellen’s chest hurt. She didn’t want to be fighting. She wanted understanding and support and maybe a hug. But Unity only stared at her, wide-eyed before saying, “You really hurt my feelings.”

“You hurt mine. You’re dismissing me and what’s going on.”

“Maybe because it isn’t a big deal. Certainly nothing like losing my husband. You still have your child. You’re not in pain every single day. You’ve never lost anyone and you don’t know what it’s like. Maybe when you understand that, I’ll decide to understand you.”

The words were like a physical blow. Ellen felt sick to her stomach. Was she wrong about every relationship in her life?

“I didn’t realize that caring and concern came at a price in our friendship,” Ellen told her, hoping her heart wasn’t really breaking. “It would be helpful if you’d send me some kind of accounting so I could see what you think I’ve paid for and what I haven’t. That way I won’t make the mistake of coming to you for help when there’s not enough credit in my account.”

She turned then and ran out of the house. She got in her car and drove home, then locked herself in her bedroom where she curled up, pulling her knees to her chest, and started to cry.

five

Righteous indignation got Unity through most of the morning. She couldn’t believe how horrible Ellen had been and the awful things she’d said. They were family—you’d think Ellen would remember that. But by noon, Unity started to question what had happened and was thinking maybe she could have been a little more supportive.