Page 82 of When Love Takes Root

He never interrupted or tried to turn my service into a moment about him.

But whenever I looked up, his eyes were there.

Present.

Careful.

Taking me in without taking anything from me.

My hands stilled over my cards.

Mrs. Alberta leaned toward me. “Baby, you gon’ play that yellow seven or stare at that man until Jesus comes back?”

Ms. Ruthie cackled.

Heat rushed up my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mr. Clarence looked over his shoulder toward the lobby. “Tall fella with the shoulders?”

“Clarence,” I warned.

“What? I might be old, but I’m not blind. That man built like the Lord gave him a blueprint and an inspection sticker.”

Mrs. Alberta fanned herself with her cards. “Amen.”

I dropped my face into my hand. “Can we please play Uno?”

“We are,” Ms. Ruthie said. “You’re just losing in two rooms at once.”

The table erupted.

I laughed because I had no defense. None that would hold up under cross-examination anyway.

When I finally played my card, my mind went back to the kitchen, to Kayden’s eyes, to the lie that hadn’t felt like a lie until it had filled the space between my children and me. Last night, Josiah had said he was paying attention, and this morning, my children had done the same thing. Everybody was watching me become a woman again, and I didn’t know how to do that without making somebody ache.

During a break between games, I excused myself and walked down the hall toward the courtyard doors. The garden outside Rosehaven was small but loved, with raised flower beds, bird feeders, two benches, and a crepe myrtle whose branches reached toward the sky in pale, twisting lines. I stood behind the glass with my palm against the cool metal doorframe and watched sunlight spill over marigolds and purple salvia.

“God,” I whispered, barely moving my lips. “I need You to help me. Because last night felt beautiful, and this morning felt like consequence. I don’t want to run from something good because I’m scared, but I don’t want to call something good just because I miss being chosen.”

My eyes burned, but I kept them open.

“I loved my husband. You know I did. You know I still do, in the ways love keeps breathing after somebody leaves this Earth. But I’m tired of feeling guilty every time my heart notices light. I’m tired of wondering if wanting to laugh with somebody means I’m letting Jamal go. I don’t want to let him go like he didn’t matter. I don’t want to hold on so tight I stop living in front of the children he loved.”

I pressed my hand to my chest. “If it’s too soon, show me. If it’s fear, correct me. If it’s You, make it plain enough that I don’t talk myself out of it.”

Behind me, laughter rose from the activity room. Mrs. Alberta was accusing somebody of fraud again.

I wiped beneath my eye, took a breath, and returned to the table.

By late afternoon, Rosehaven had shifted into its evening pace. The television volume had gone up in the common room. Dinner trays rattled down the hall. Nurses moved with practiced urgency, answering call buttons, adjusting blankets, calling residents by name. I stayed longer than I had planned, partly because Mrs. Alberta demanded a rematch, partly because Ms. Ruthie wanted help writing a birthday card to her grandson, and partly because going home meant facing the questions I had tucked into the corners of my morning.

Josiah and Juice left sometime before dinner. I saw them near the front doors while I was helping Mr. Clarence sort his cards back into the box. Josiah’s grandfather sat between them, his blanket straight, his chin lifted, his eyes sharp beneath silver brows. Juice bent to kiss his forehead and got fussed at for being dramatic. Josiah hugged him with one arm, careful of the wheelchair, and the old man gripped the back of his neck for a long second.

Something passed between them.

A blessing maybe.

A warning.