Mornings in Blue Springs always start the same way. I wake up at first light when most of my neighbors are still asleep. At 78, one appreciates each new day as a gift.
To be honest, though, some days are more like an ordeal—especially when my joints ache so badly that even walking to the bathroom becomes a feat.
My little house on Maplewood Avenue isn’t what it used to be.
The wallpaper in the living room has faded over thirty years, and the wooden porch steps creak louder each spring.
George, my husband, was always going to fix them, but never got around to it before his heart attack.
Eight years have passed, and I still talk to him sometimes in the mornings, telling him the news as if he’s just gone out to the garden and will be back soon.
This is the house where my children, Wesley and Thelma, grew up. Everything here remembers their baby steps, their laughter, and their fights.
Now it seems like those happy, noisy days never happened.
Thelma comes in once a month, always in a hurry, always looking at her watch.
Wesley shows up more often, but only when he needs something. Usually money, or a signature on some paperwork.
Every time he swears he’ll pay it back soon, but in fifteen years he’s never paid it back.
Today is Wednesday, the day I usually bake blueberry pie. Not for me, because I can’t eat that much on my own. It’s for Reed, my grandson—the only one in the family who visits me without an ulterior motive.
Just so he can spend time with his old grandmother, drink tea, talk about his college business.
I hear the gate slam, and I know it’s him.
Reed has a peculiar gait—light, but a little clumsy—as if he’s not used to his tall stature yet. He inherited it from his grandfather.
“Grandmother Edith,” his voice comes from the doorway. “I smell a specialty pie.”
“Sure you do,” I say, smiling, wiping my hands on my apron.
“Come on in. It’s just about the right temperature.”
Reed leans over to hug me. Now I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
It’s weird. When did he get so big?
“How’s school going?” I ask, sitting him down at the kitchen table.
“Still struggling with higher math. I got an A on my last exam,” Reed says proudly, eating his pie.
“Professor Duval even asked me to work on a research project.”
“I always knew you were smart.” I pour his tea. “Your grandfather would be proud of you.”
Reed is silent for a moment, staring out the window at the old apple tree. I know what he’s thinking.
George taught him to climb it when he was only seven.
Wesley yelled that we’d never do the kid any good.
And George just laughed.
A boy’s got to be able to fall down and get up.
“Grandma, have you decided what you’re going to wear on Friday?” Reed suddenly asks, returning to the pie.
“Friday?” I look at him, puzzled. “What’s going to be on Friday?”
Reed freezes with his fork in the air. A strange expression appears on his face, a mixture of surprise and confusion.
“Dinner.
It’s dad and mom’s wedding anniversary. Thirty years. They have reservations at Willow Creek.
Didn’t daddy tell you?”
I slowly sit down across from him, feeling something chill inside.
Thirty years of my son’s marriage is a significant date. Of course, they should celebrate.
But why am I hearing about it from my grandson and not Wesley himself?
“Maybe he was going to call,” I answer, trying to keep my voice light-hearted. “You know, your father always putting things off until the last minute.”
Reed looks uncomfortable, picking at the leftover pie with his fork.
“I guess he does,” he agrees without much conviction.
We move on to other topics.
Reed talks about his plans for the summer, about a girl named Audrey he met at the library. I listen, nodding, asking questions, but my thoughts keep returning to this dinner.
Why hasn’t Wesley called? Is he really planning to celebrate without me?
When Reed leaves, promising to stop by over the weekend, I stand at the window for a long time, staring out at the empty street.
In the house across the street, Mrs.
Fletcher, my age, plays with her grandchildren. Her daughter comes every Wednesday bringing the kids. They are noisy, running around the yard, and old Beatrice is glowing with happiness.
I wish my children could be there too.
The phone rings, interrupting my thoughts.
I recognize Wesley’s number immediately.
“Mom, it’s me.” His voice sounds a little strained.
“Hello, darling.” I answer, trying to sound normal. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Listen, I’m calling about Friday.”
So you were going to ask me out after all.
I feel warm inside.
Maybe I was wrong to think badly of them. Maybe they were just running around and didn’t give me enough notice.
“Cora and I were planning a little anniversary dinner,” Wesley continues, “but unfortunately, we’re going to have to cancel. Ka caught some kind of virus—fever, the whole thing.
The doctor said she needs to stay home for at least a week.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I’m genuinely saddened, though. There’s something in his voice that makes me uneasy. “Is there anything I can do to help?
Can I get some chicken broth or—”
“No, no, no, that’s okay,” Wesley interrupts hastily. “We have everything. I just wanted to let you know.
We’ll reschedule for another day when Cora is better. We’ll be sure to call you.”
“Of course, darling. Give her my best wishes for a speedy recovery.”
“I will.
Okay, Mom. I got to run. I’ll call you later.”
He hangs up before I can say anything else.
The conversation leaves a strange aftertaste.
Something’s wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is.
I spend the rest of the day flipping through old photo albums. Here’s Wesley at five years old with a knocked-out front tooth and a proud smile. Here’s Thelma on her first bike.
George teaching them to swim in the lake.
Christmas dinners when we all got together.
When did all that change? When did my children become so distant?
That evening, I call Thelma casually, asking about Kora. To my surprise, she knows nothing about her daughter-in-law’s illness.
“Mom, I have a lot to do at the store before the weekend,” she says impatiently.
“If you want to know about Kora, call Wesley.”
“But you’re coming to their anniversary on Friday, right?” I ask cautiously.
The pause on the other end of the line is too long.
“Oh, that’s what you mean. Yeah, sure,” Thelma finally answers. “Look, I really have to go.
I’ll talk to you later.”
And then the short beeps again.
I stare at the phone, feeling the anxiety growing inside.
They’re hiding something, both of them.
Thursday morning, I go to the local supermarket. I don’t so much need to get groceries as to stretch my legs and clear my head.
In the vegetable section, I run into Doris Simmons, an old acquaintance who works in the same flower store as Thelma.
“Edith, it’s been a long time,” she exclaims, hugging me. “How’s your health?”
“Not bad for my age,” I smile.
“Are you still working with Thelma?”
“Of course I am. Only tomorrow is my day off. Thelma’s taking the evening off for a family celebration.
I hear thirty years is a big date.”
I nod, trying to hide my confusion.
So dinner wasn’t cancelled.
So Wesley lied to me.
But why?
When I get home, I sit in my chair for a long time trying to figure out what’s going on.
Maybe they’re springing a surprise on me.
But then why the lies about Ka being sick? And why was Thelma acting so strangely?
The phone rings again, but it’s not Wesley or Thelma.
It’s Reed.
“Grandma, I forgot to ask. Have you seen my blue notebook?
I think I left it at your place last time.”
“Let me see.” I go into the living room where Reed usually sits. I don’t see it. “Maybe it’s in the kitchen.”
While I’m looking, Reed keeps talking.
“If you find it, can you give it to Dad tomorrow?
He’ll pick you up, right?”
I freeze with the phone to my ear.
“Pick me up?”
“Well, yeah. For dinner at Willow Creek. I can stop by if you want, but I have classes until six.
I’m afraid I’ll be late for the start.”
I’m gripping the phone tighter.
“Reed, honey… I think you’re confused. Wesley told me dinner was cancelled. Cora is sick.”
Reed is silent now for a long time.
Too long.
“Reed, I’m calling. Are you there?”
“Grandma, I… I don’t understand. Dad called me an hour ago asking if I could be at the restaurant by seven.
Nobody canceled anything.”
I’m slowly sinking into the couch.
So that’s how it is.
I was just decided not to be invited.
My own son lied to me so I wouldn’t come to the family reunion.
“Grandma, are you okay?” Reed’s voice sounds concerned.
“Yes, honey. I’m fine.” I try to keep my voice normal. “I must have misunderstood something.
You know, at my age, you get confused sometimes. I’m sure it’s some kind of misunderstanding.”
“Do you want me to call my dad and find out?”
“No,” I answer hastily. “There’s no need.
I’ll talk to him myself. Don’t worry.”
After the conversation, I sit in silence for a long time, looking at the picture of us all together—me, George, the kids—happy, smiling.
When did it all go wrong? When did I become a burden to them?
Better left at home than taken to a family party.
Resentment and bitterness rise up inside, but I force myself to breathe deeply.
Now is not the time for tears.
Now is the time to think.
If my kids don’t want me at the family reunion, then I’ve become a stranger to them, and I need to figure out why.
I walk over to the closet where I keep old letters and documents.
Among them are George’s will, the insurance policy, the deeds to the house.
Wesley has hinted several times that I should sign the house over to him.
For your own safety, Mom.
Thelma suggested I sell it and move into a nursing home.
They’ll take better care of you than we can.
I always refused, sensing that there was something else behind those suggestions.
Now, I think I’m beginning to realize what it is.
In the evening, the phone rings.
This time, it’s Ka—my sister-in-law. Her voice sounds cheerful and energetic for someone with a high fever and bed rest.
“Edith, honey, how are you? Wesley said he called you about Friday.”
“Yes,” I say in a steady voice.
“He said you were sick and dinner was cancelled.”
“That’s right,” Kora confirms too hastily. “It’s a terrible virus. Just knocked me off my feet.
The doctor prescribed bed rest for at least a week.”
“I hope you feel better soon,” I say. “Say hello to the others.”
“The others?” I can hear the tension in her voice. “Yeah… Thelma.
Reed. They’re upset about the canceled holiday, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.
They’re all very upset. But it can’t be helped. Health is more important.”
“Well, Edith, I have to take my medication.
Feel better.”
She hangs up.
I look out of the window at the darkening sky.
Well, now I have confirmation.
They’re planning dinner without me.
They haven’t even bothered to come up with a plausible lie.
I pull out of my closet the dark blue dress I haven’t worn since George’s funeral. I try it on in front of the mirror.
It still fits well, even though I’ve lost weight over the years.
If my children think they can just cut me out of their lives, they’re sorely mistaken.
Edith Thornberry hasn’t said her last word yet.
And tomorrow night promises to be interesting. Very interesting.
I’ve been up all night.
Not because of the pain in my joints, although that was coming on.
Not because of the insomnia that often afflicts people my age.
I was awake because the thoughts of the day ahead kept me awake.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of my children gathered around the holiday table without me—laughing, raising their glasses, telling each other how lucky they were to be rid of their old mother for the evening.
Friday morning was overcast.
Heavy clouds hung over Blue Springs as if reflecting my mood.
I made tea, but it went cold, untouched.
I didn’t feel like eating.
Something inside me seemed to be frozen, waiting for a decision I hadn’t made yet.
What would I do tonight?
Would I stay home like my children had planned, or…?
My gaze fell on George’s picture on the mantelpiece. He was looking at me with a slight smile, tilting his head slightly to the side—a gesture that always meant he had something important to say.
“What would you do, George?” I mentally asked him, and I could almost hear the answer.
Don’t let them trample on your dignity, Edith. You deserve better than that.
I went to the window.
Outside, Mrs. Fletcher was walking her dachshund. When she saw me, she waved.
I waved back, thinking about how few people were left in my life who were actually happy to see me.
The phone rang, snapping me out of my musings.
It was Wesley.
“Mom, good morning.” His voice sounded suspiciously cheerful.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I answered. “How’s Kora? Is she better?”
There was a second pause.
I could almost see him frantically recalling last night’s lie.
“No. She’s the same. She’s lying down with a fever.
The doctor said it might be a while.”
“That’s a shame,” I say with fake sympathy. “I was thinking of baking her a chicken pot pie and bringing it over. Nothing like a home-cooked meal for a cold.”
“No, no, you don’t have to,” Wesley answered hastily.
“We have everything, really. I’m just calling to see if you need anything. Maybe you’re out of medication.”
Oh, that’s it.
Checking to see if I’m going out tonight—making sure I stay home while they celebrate without me.
“Thanks, son. I’ve got everything,” I reply. “I’m going to spend the evening reading.
I’ve been wanting to reread Agatha Christie for ages.”
“That’s a great idea,” Wesley says with obvious relief. “Okay, Mom. I have to go to work.
If you need anything, call me.”
I hung up the phone and looked at my watch. Ten in the morning.
There was still plenty of time before dinner tonight.
Time to think about how things had gotten to this point.
When had things changed? When did my children stop considering me?
When did I go from being a mother to being a burden?
Maybe it started after George died.
Wesley and Thelma used to come every day, help with the funeral, the paperwork.
But then their visits became less and less frequent. First once a week, then once a month.
Thelma was always in a hurry, always looking at her watch.
Wesley came more often, but his visits usually coincided with requests for money.
Mom, it’s Kora’s birthday. I want to get her a necklace, but we’re tight on money this month.
Mom, we have a leaky roof.
We need repairs right away, but all the money went to pay for Reed’s college.
Mom, I’ve invested in a promising project, but we need to reborrow for now.
I always gave—not because I believed his stories. They’d gotten less and less believable over the years, but because I wanted to feel that they needed me, at least that way. That they’d come to me, even if only for money.
I pulled an old notebook out of the closet where I’d written down all of Wesley’s loans.
Over fifteen years, it had accumulated a sizable sum—money he’ll never pay back, and we both know it.
It’s different with Thelma.
She doesn’t ask for money directly, but every time I go to her flower store, she insists I buy the most expensive bouquet.
Mom, you don’t want people to think I can’t provide my mother with decent flowers, do you?
And I buy every time.
And then there was the case of the medication.
Six months ago, the doctor prescribed me new blood pressure pills. Expensive, but effective.
Wesley made a big fuss about it.
Mom, are you crazy? Four hundred a month for pills?
That’s ruin. Let’s look for cheaper alternatives.
I tried to explain that other medications don’t work for me, that I can be allergic, but he wouldn’t listen.
Thelma backed him up.
Mom, you have to be more frugal. We all have expenses.
And this was coming from people who changed their cell phones to new models every month, who went on vacation to the Bahamas and bragged about their new car.
My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.
Audrey—Reed’s girlfriend—stood on the doorstep.
A sweet, shy girl with a lock of red hair and freckles.
“Hello, Mrs. Thornberry.” She fidgeted nervously with the strap of her bag. “Reed said he might have left his notebook here.”
“Yes, dear.
Come in.” I let her in. “I was just going to look for it. Would you like some tea?”
While I made tea, Audrey looked around the living room at the pictures.
“Is that Reed as a child?” she asked, pointing to a picture of a five-year-old boy holding a fishing rod.
“Yes, his first fishing trip with his grandfather.” I smiled, handing her a cup.
“He caught such a tiny little fish, but he was as proud as if it was a shark.”
Audrey laughed, and for a moment, the house felt young and alive again.
“Mrs. Thornberry,” she said suddenly, “Reed is very fond of you. He talks about you all the time—about your stories, about how you taught him how to bake pies.”
I felt tears coming to my eyes, but I held them back.
“He’s a good boy.” I hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of my children in front of a stranger.
“He looks a lot like his grandfather.”
Audrey helped me find Reed’s notebook. It turned out to be under the couch cushion.
As she was leaving, she suddenly turned around in the doorway.
“I’ll see you tonight. Reed said you’d be at Willow Creek, too.”
I smiled, strained.
“We’ll see.
I have a bit of a headache. I’m not sure I can go.”
After Audrey left, I stood at the window for a long time, watching her get into her car and drive away.
Sweet girl. Sincere.
She has no idea that I wasn’t invited to the family reunion, that my own son lied to me so I wouldn’t come.
The decision came suddenly.
I looked at my watch.
It was almost two in the afternoon. Dinner was still five hours away—plenty of time to get ready.
I pulled out the dark blue dress I’d tried on yesterday. It still fit well.
Even though I’d lost weight over the years, the low-heeled shoes I’d worn at Thelma’s wedding, the pearl necklace George had given me for our thirtieth anniversary.
I wasn’t going to sit at home and feel sorry for myself.
I wanted to see for myself how my children celebrated without me.
I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a misunderstanding, but a conscious choice on their part.
At five, I hailed a cab.
The driver, a young guy with tattoos on his arms, looked at me in surprise when I gave him the address.
“Willow Creek?
Really, Grandma? That’s where the prices are.”
“I know the prices, young man,” I said firmly. “And I’m not your grandmother.”
He shrugged and didn’t ask any more questions.
I stared out the window the whole way, watching the streets of Blue Springs change.
From my humble neighborhood of small houses to downtown with its modern glass and concrete buildings.
What happened next changed everything…
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
