“So do you.”
She laughed.
“Liar. I've been cooking since six.”
I carried a pie into the kitchen.
Then I saw Delphine.
She stood beside the dining table, arranging silverware.
She looked older than she had at Pier 12.
Not dramatically.
Just tired around the eyes.
Her hair was shorter.
She wore a simple green sweater and dark pants.
When she saw me, she stopped.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “Hi, Marlo.”
“Hi.”
She looked at the pie in my hands.
“Apple?”
“Of course.”
A small smile touched her mouth.
“Mom's recipe?”
“Mostly.”
“She always put too much cinnamon in it.”
I smiled despite myself.
“She said there was no such thing.”
Delphine laughed softly.
And for one brief moment, we were simply two sisters remembering our mother.
No accusations.
No competition.
No audience.
Patricia appeared from the kitchen.
“Are you two going to stand there all afternoon, or is somebody going to help me with these potatoes?”
I took the opening gratefully.
“Coming.”
Dinner was pleasant.
Not perfect.
But pleasant.
Bram was there, quieter than I'd ever known him.
He greeted me politely and asked about my drive.
He didn't mention the investigation.
Neither did Delphine.
Patricia told stories about her teaching years.
We discussed holiday traffic, a neighbor's new puppy, and the ridiculous amount of food she'd prepared for five people.
At one point, Delphine asked whether I was still stationed in Norfolk.
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
I looked at her.
The question was simple.
But it was the first time in years she'd asked about my work without adding an insult.
“I do.”
She nodded.
“That's good.”
And then she let the conversation move on.
It wasn't a dramatic reconciliation.
There were no speeches.
No tearful declarations that everything was forgiven.
But it was a beginning.
After dinner, I went outside to the back porch.
The air was cool, and the yard was scattered with fallen leaves.
I stood beside the railing, holding a cup of coffee.
A few minutes later, the door opened.
Delphine stepped outside.
“Mind if I join you?”
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
She stood a few feet away.
For a while, we watched the trees.
Finally, she said, “I've wanted to ask you something.”
I looked at her.
“Okay.”
“Why didn't you yell at me?”
I knew immediately what she meant.
The pier.
The bag.
The moment she'd turned to face me, waiting for a reaction.
I considered my answer.
“Because yelling wouldn't have gotten the bag back.”
She nodded.
“I know. But that's not really what I mean.”
I looked out at the yard.
Then I said, “I think part of me finally understood that you wanted me to yell.”
Her eyes filled.
“I did.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you to look foolish.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed.
“And when you didn't, I got angrier.”
I turned toward her.
“Delphine, I spent most of my life believing that if I could just find the right words, you'd understand me.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
“I don't think there were any right words.”
“No,” she whispered. “There weren't.”
A long silence settled between us.
Then she said, “I used to think you joined the Navy to get away from us.”
I gave a small, sad smile.
“I joined because I wanted a life of my own.”
She nodded slowly.
“I couldn't tell the difference.”
I looked at her.
For once, she wasn't trying to make me responsible for that misunderstanding.
She simply acknowledged it.
It was a small thing.
But after thirty-seven years, small things mattered.
Delphine wiped her cheek.
“I'm not going to ask you to forget what happened.”
“Good.”
“And I know we're not going back to how things were.”
“No,” I said. “We're not.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Maybe someday we could be different.”
I looked toward the house.
Through the kitchen window, I could see Patricia laughing at something Bram had said.
The warm light made the room look almost like the home we'd grown up in.
Almost.
“I'd like that,” I said.
Delphine nodded.
“Me too.”
She didn't hug me.
I didn't hug her.
Not yet.
We went back inside together.
Over the following year, our relationship changed slowly.
Delphine called occasionally.
She asked whether it was a good time before launching into conversations.
When I disagreed with her, she didn't automatically accuse me of looking down on her.
There were uncomfortable moments.
Old habits didn't disappear overnight.
Once, during a phone call, she made a sarcastic comment about officers having everything handed to them.
I went quiet.
She caught herself.
