The Book of Peach

by Penelope Stokes J.

Epilogue

  As the old white-haired fool is fond of saying, sometimes progress moves along at glacial speed, and sometimes it takes quantum leaps forward. I looked into my mother’s eyes, and in that moment love woke up, took off, and left duty in the dust.

  “Stay, Mama,” I said. “I want you to stay here with me. Whatever we have to work out, we’ll work out together.”

  Melanie was sure I’d had a nervous breakdown of my own. But then my sister can’t see our mother sitting here in her blue striped housedress and no makeup, watching the sun go down over the river. She can’t understand how the evening light sets Mama’s white hair aflame with the auburn tints of her girlhood or illuminates her face like candlelight or turns that one bubble of spittle into a diamond on her lip.

  I’m not claiming it’ll stay that way. I’m sure there’ll be times I’ll want to wring her neck and probably times she’d like to kill me, too, if she had two good hands. But I meant what I said about wanting her to stay. I meant it with all my heart.

  I still mean it.

  Like everyone else in this world, I’m just doing the best I can.