Veronica turned her hand and gripped Faye’s fingers with surprising strength. “I’m not going to be around for long so I’m going to tell you this now. And yes, I know; it’s as hard for you to hear, but you—”

Faye swallowed. “No, Mom. Please don’t. It’s not—”

Her mother ignored her, speaking louder. “You have never been forgetful. You are not delusional. Or confused, suspicious or obsessive. Or whatever else Derek accuses you of being. You are my strong daughter, the one who was my rock when Dad died and who has always been caring and reliable. Always reliable. Always capable.”

Faye leaned forward and laid her head on her mother’s hand to hide her tears. “I know, Mom, I know.”

But she didn’t know. She wished she believed in herself the way her mother did.

A little later, Faye left her mother and walked down through the hospice passages, feeling frustrated. Veronica was dying and deserved peace. She shouldn’t be worrying about her daughter. Faye never discussed her marriage with her mother or anyone else. Had Veronica drawn her own conclusions or had Derek discussed Faye’s shortcomings with his mother-in-law? Why? Because he was worried about her and hoped that her mother might join him in trying to convince her to seek help?

She’d sat in her car in the parking lot, trying to calm her thoughts. Of course Veronica would defend her daughter. She was biased, old and couldn’t see Faye’s faults the way Derek could. But what of their son? Was Zach more objective? Was that why, as the years passed, Derek had toned down his criticism of Faye when the three of them were together? Still, that didn’t mean Zach was unaware of how things were between his parents.

“Mom,” he’d said one evening as she prepared supper and he did his homework. “Why doesn’t Dad give you pocket money every month like he gives me?”

She looked at him over the tomatoes she was chopping. “Why would he do that?”

“Then you could buy yourself things you like, like books and lipstick.”

“I don’t need lipstick and I get books from the library.”

“You used to sometimes wear lipstick, and if you could buy books, you could join the book club with Alice and Clare’s moms.”

“I could, I mean, I can buy books. Dad wouldn’t mind if I bought books.”

Zach looked at her. “So why don’t you?”

“The book club meets on Tuesdays, which is when Dad has his Toastmasters meetings.”

The boy tilted his head.

“Besides,” she continued, tipping the tomatoes into a pot, “the library has plenty of books.”

“I think Dad should give you pocket money,” mumbled Zach, head down again. “I’m going to ask him to.”