she been told that she fussed too much over her son? True, in the beginning she had feared he would suffer from the void of an absent father. But no longer. He had a family who adored him. There was no denying that Samuel’s life, while unconventional, was blessed more than many.
Before these thoughts could form words, however, her mother held up her hand, a command to let her finish. “But you also need to think about you. Your father and I won’t be around forever, and we simply dread the idea of you being alone.” The heaviness and care in her voice were mirrored in her downturned eyes.
A parent’s protectiveness, it seemed, was a beloved burden with no end.
Defenses lowering, Lily attempted to comfort her. “I appreciate your worry, but I’m not alone. I have our family. I have Samuel.”
“And when he grows up? What then?”
He was so small and young, still so dependent. It shook Lily to imagine him off on his own adventures, perhaps half a world away.
“Mother, truly. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, yes. You’ll be fine,” she said. “But will you be happy?”
• • •
The question had stalked Lily ever since. Even now, it loomed in every inch of her and Samuel’s room, from the toy chest in the corner to their pair of narrow, quilt-laden beds. One of which would someday remain empty.
Shutting out the thought, she completed her french twist and applied red lipstick, preparing for her train to New York Pennsylvania Station, where Clayton would be waiting. So as not to encroach on her savings, he had arranged for her ticket and overnight stay at a place suitable for a lone female traveler. When Clayton made plans, he left little to chance.
At the closet, Lily stepped into her T-strap heels and fastened the gold buttons of her silken dress. With its jade hue and sweetheart neckline, the garment was her only one elegant enough for a highbrow affair. She added her tweed coat and pinned on her green brimmed hat, each article bringing her closer to departure.
Just inside the entrance of the deli, she tucked her ivory gloves into her travel bag and knelt before Samuel. A smattering of customers blurred into the background. Lily forced a smile as she straightened the collar of her son’s shirt, the misaligned buttons proof of having staunchly fastened them himself. “Now, be a good boy while I’m away. Promise?”
He nodded with such surety, growing ever more accustomed to making do without her. A pinch flared deep in her chest. But then he threw his arms around her neck and said, “I love you, Mommy.”
“Oh, Samuel. I love you more.” She savored the feel of his fine hair, auburn like hers, brushing against her cheek. He smelled of lavender soap and boyish sweat and bananas from his oatmeal. Tears pricking her eyes, she reminded herself that she would be gone for just a night. Tomorrow, an early train would loop her back to Maryville, where she would spend the afternoon with her son before catching the bus to Philly. Her mother thought it foolish not to travel directly back with Clayton, but Lily disagreed.
“Well then. I’d best be off.” She kissed Samuel’s sticky, dimpled cheek and broke out of his hug before she could reassess her plans.
On cue, Lily’s father hollered from behind the counter, “Hey, Sammy! How about a gingersnap?”
Samuel scurried toward the cookie, a reliable distraction.
“Goodbye, sugar bug,” Lily whispered. Travel bag in hand, she sent her father a grateful smile and slipped out the door.
Sugar bug. The origin of the nickname passed through her mind as she bused to the train depot. Years ago, on endless nights of colicky wailing, a dab of sugar on Samuel’s tongue had delivered moments of reprieve until he wore himself out, along with Lily. And now part of her yearned for those bittersweet days. He would be turning five in June. It was all going too fast.
You need to think of Samuel, her mother had said. Once Lily was settled into her train car, she reevaluated the words. History had taught her to be wary when it came to men, including her own judgment in their regard. With Samuel to think of now, the stakes had never been higher.
The more she deliberated, weighing the idea of a future with Clayton, the clearer her path became. She rubbed her locket like a worry stone, a cherished picture of her son inside. By the time the train passed Trenton, her decision