The Goodbye Quilt by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online

doing new things with you, even little things.”
    “Like Magic Fingers.”
    “Exactly. Everything was new with you. That’s what was so much fun about raising a child. I’d be in the middle of doing something—whipping egg whites into meringue or riding my bike with no hands or graphing a parabola—and you’d think I was amazing. A magician or something.”
    “You were amazing,” Molly says quietly, turning on her side and tucking her hand under her cheek.
    I must be hearing things. I consider asking her to say that again, but I doubt she will repeat it. “Who will I amaze now that you’re leaving?”
    Molly laughs. “Excuse me?”
    “I’m losing my audience.”
    “You should have had more kids,” she observes.
    I hesitate, caught off-guard by her words. Yet not off-guard at all. It’s an opening to a difficult conversation. I know this before either of us speaks again.
    “Mom?”
    I turn to her. “I couldn’t have any more babies after…”
    Her eyes widen. “After you had me?”
    I gaze into her face, seeing maturity and wisdom there, trusting the compassion in her expression. When I first conceived of this cross-country adventure, I knew things would come up between us, difficult matters. And I knew this matter was the most difficult of all. Through the years, I had protected Molly from the most painful episode of my life. It wasn’t fair to reveal a wound she didn’t cause and couldn’t heal. What would be the point of that?
    Things are different now. She’s a young woman. Another person’s pain won’t confuse or destroy her. Isn’t that, after all, the essence of maturity?
    Deep breath, I tell myself, gazing into her doe-soft eyes. “I had a baby boy named Bruce.” Even after so much time has passed, I still feel the piercing loss. I was bleeding, drugged half out of my mind, but I can feel him even now, his slight, unmoving weight in my arms. Weeks premature, he was as pale and beautiful and silent as a fallen angel, having never drawn breath in this world.
    Molly’s eyes instantly fill with tears. “Mom, really? What happened? When?”
    Pulling in a deep breath, I explain in a shaky voice. “You were just two years old at the time. Hecame too early, and I was bleeding. There was a tear in my uterus.”
    “Oh, Mom. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
    I feel a tear slide over the bridge of my nose. Such an old, old wound, made fresh again by indelible memories. When it happened, it changed me in ways I am still discovering, even now. That kind of loss has the power to stop the world. My baby boy’s tiny, other-worldly face will always haunt me. He looked so very much like my other newborn, Molly. “It was just so sad, honey.”
    She reaches for me and we’re quiet together for a long time, the moments slipping by, measured by our breathing.
    “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers.
    “You don’t have to say anything.” There are some things that simply can’t be made better, not by talking or weeping or praying or pretending they didn’t happen. Yet her reaction is exactly as I’d hoped it would be—compassionate without being pitying or obsessive.
    “I wish…” Her voice trails off, but I understand exactly what she’s saying.
    “So do I.”
    More quiet moments. We turn on the Magic Fingers again to shake us out of the somber mood. “You’re all the kid I need,” I tell her. She’s heard that from me before. Now she understands the hidden meaning behind the words.
    “Well, I hope you know, I’m the one losing my audience,” Molly insists. “When I’m away at college, who will I perform for?”
    This surprises me. I know there are things she worries about, being so far from home in a strange world where no one knows her. Still, I thought her eagerness to go out and find her life had banished all her fears. Now I realize she’s well aware of what she’s leaving behind. And it’s not just Travis Spellman. From her first smile to her last day of high