His love usually arrived disguised as practical things.
Coffee placed beside a lesson book.
Gas in the car before a long drive.
A repaired lamp returned to its table without comment.
A piano purchased two dollars at a time.
And apparently, two names engraved where neither of us was supposed to find them until we needed to remember what they meant.
Rebecca sat beside the bench, still on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
This time she did not reach for me.
She did not explain.
She did not ask whether I forgave her.
She simply said it.
I looked at the woman who had slapped me.
And also at the little girl who once cried over one missed measure at a recital.
Both were true.
That was the difficult part.
“I believe you’re sorry.”
Rebecca nodded.
“That isn’t the same as everything being okay.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I stood.
At the front door, I stopped.
“My key.”
Rebecca looked up.
I could see the instinct to explain why the locks had been changed.
She let it go.
Instead she reached into the small bowl near the entry table.
There were two spare keys inside.
She picked one up.
Then she hesitated.
“I had this made when we changed the locks.”
I stared at her.
“You told me you hadn’t.”
“I know.”
“Why make it?”
Rebecca looked ashamed.
“I think part of me knew I was wrong before I was willing to admit it.”
She held the key out.
I did not take it.
Not yet.
“Keep it.”
Her fingers closed around the metal.
The disappointment on her face was immediate.
Then I added, “When I’m ready to come back here without feeling like I need permission, you can give it to me.”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
“I’ll keep it.”
I opened the door.
Cool night air reached my face.
“Mom?”
I looked back.
Rebecca stood beneath the warm hallway light, holding the key in one hand.
“Happy birthday.”
My throat tightened.
It was the first thing she had said all evening that sounded like my daughter.
“Good night, Rebecca.”
The next sound came from the piano.
Not a song.
One key.
Rebecca had crossed back to it after I stepped onto the porch.
She pressed a single note, softly.
Then another.
Six notes.
The same six I had played before she pulled my hands away.
