I remember what he was like at seventeen, the bitterness and the anger, the way he looked at Julia at the wedding. Death takes more than just the victim. It destroys everyone else within touching distance.

Julia’s eyes are drifting shut, her voice getting slurry. “I always thought I’d have time. That enough years would pass and we could become a family again. My boys and my stepdaughters. That I could forgive Jack and he would forgive me…I’m sorry, Sean. Tell your brother, won’t you? He won’t listen to me. I’ve tried…”

Her breathing slows, becomes even. What does she mean—forgive Jack? Forgive him for what? I stay in the chair, wait for Sean to storm out or sit back down. He comes over to the bed and takes Julia’s limp hand, still held outstretched toward him.

“No one ever talked about Ellie,” he says, staring down at his mother. “We all just suffered alone.” He sinks back into the chair. “You became a target for all the pain and anger. We could blame you.”

We sit in silence then, the son and the stepdaughter, holding Julia’s hands, willing her to keep breathing.

“I wish…” he begins, and his voice trails off. I wait another three of Julia’s breaths before he continues.

“I wish I’d come to visit her sooner. Before she got ill. I’ve wanted to for a long time, but my anger, my resentment—it was like a voice in my head. It kept saying no, she should come groveling to you on bended knee.” He sighs. “And Jack…Jack fed into that, always telling me she should come to me, not the other way round. I let his and Dad’s bitterness feed mine.” He looks at his mother. “I used to take such childish pleasure in refusing her calls. I was angry at her for calling; then, when she gave up, I was angry at her for not calling. It became easier for us to pretend we had no parents. We never bothered coming back after the wedding.”

“We always think there’s going to be more time,” I say, thinking of Bella, our strained relationship that last summer. How many nights have I spent aching with regret, curled up around it like a physical pain, thinking the same as Sean—I wish, I wish, I wish?

“At least you’re here now.” At least Julia is still alive.

“It’s too late, though, isn’t it? Fucking deathbed reconciliation—that’s not what I wanted.”

“No, of course not, but that’s all you’ve got.”

He flinches. Does he hear it in my voice? Bitterness. No, it’s not enough, yes, it’s too late for him to restart his relationship with his mother, but at least he has this time, however long it is, to talk to her, to mend what’s broken.