the Virgin Mary fell over on me. I didn't tell Mom and Dad that I'd been climbing on her at the time, hoping to look at her face.
I never really knew my grandparents. One set lived on the East Coast and visited only on rare occasions. My mother's family had come to Seattle at the time of the Great Depression, but her parents had died shortly after I was born. Each Memorial Day we visited their graves and placed flowers by their headstones. I felt little emotion for my long-dead relatives, perhaps a twinge now and then, wishing I remembered them, but that was about it.
Now as I stared down at my father's marker, so fresh and new, a surge of harsh grief came over me. The marble tablet said so little. His name, JAMES HOWARD HOFFMAN, and the dates of his birth and death: May 20, 1940 - December 29, 2003.
Birth to death, and all that appeared between those two events was a dash. That silent dash said nothing about his two tours of duty in Vietnam, or his unwavering love for his wife and daughters. That dash couldn't possibly reveal the countless hours he'd spent at my bedside, comforting me, reading to me, doing whatever he could to help me. There are no words to describe the depth of my father's love.
The familiar blinding pain struck me then. One consequence of the tumor that continues to linger is migraine headaches. With the new medicines now available, I can almost always catch them early. The telltale signs are unmistakable. This one, however, had caught me by surprise.
I fumbled in my purse for the pills I carried with me constantly. My mother, aware of my situation, came toward me when she saw me stumble. "Lydia, what is it?"
I breathed in slowly and deeply. "I need to get home," I whispered, closing my eyes to the blinding sunlight.
"Margaret, Matt," Mom called urgently. She slid her arm around my waist. Within minutes she'd bundled me into the car but instead of having Matt drive me to my own small apartment above the yarn shop, my mother insisted on bringing me to her house.
It wasn't long before I was in bed in the room where I'd spent most of my childhood. The shades were drawn. Mom draped cool washcloths on my forehead and then tiptoed out of the room to allow me to sleep.
I knew that once the medication had been given a chance to work, I'd sleep for a couple of hours. Afterward I'd be fine, but reaching that point - the beginning of relief - was difficult.
Soon after my mother left and the horrible throbbing was at its peak, I heard the bedroom door creak open again. Although I was completely prone and my eyes were closed, I knew it was my sister who'd walked into the room.
"You couldn't do it, could you?" Her words were weighted with bitterness. "You can't let a day pass without being the center of attention, can you?"
I found it hard to fathom that my sister would seriously believe I'd intentionally bring on a migraine for the sake of a few minutes' attention. If Margaret had ever suffered with one, she'd know differently. But I was in no shape to argue, so I kept silent.
"Someday it's only going to be the two of us, you know."
I did know and wanted so badly to have a good relationship with my sister. If I hadn't been hounded by pain I would've tried to explain how much I wished things could be different between us.
"If you think I'm going to step in and pick up where Mom and Dad left off, you're sadly mistaken."
I almost smiled. I couldn't imagine Margaret doing anything of the kind.
"I refuse to pamper and spoil you. It's time you grew up and became an adult, Lydia. In fact, it's long past time you accepted responsibility for your own life. As far as I'm concerned, you can look for sympathy elsewhere." Having made her great pronouncement, she stalked out of the room.
The sound of the slammed door reverberated through my head. My lungs froze and my heart skipped a beat. With the cool washcloth over my face, it took me a moment to realize tears had dripped from my eyes.
Now more than ever, I was convinced that a relationship with Margaret was impossible.
CHAPTER 14
JACQUELINE DONOVAN
J acqueline checked her reflection in the hall mirror and sighed, praying for patience. Paul and Tammie Lee had invited