Miriam grimaced. It was one thing to have made peace with Jo, but accepting yet more largess from her really smarted. Knowing her sister, it would be the swankiest place Colorado Springs had to offer.
“Miriam,” said Dicey, seeing the look on her face, “don’t be an ass.” She coughed long and hard, reminding Miriam that she needed a place to rest too. Then she took a swig from her water bottle. “Only by pride cometh contention,” she said in a singsong voice as she capped it.
Miriam shot her a glare. “What is that?”
“Proverbs, Church Lady. Someone didn’t have enough Sunday school.”
Miriam tried to scowl but ended up laughing. “All right, fine. Tell her thank you.”
Thunderheads were building over the mountains, disgorging periodic lightning blasts and thunderclaps as the car sped south along the base of the range. After last night, the juxtaposition of storm and sunshine was doubly disconcerting. Especially with the long crack in the windshield bisecting the view, and the flap of plastic covering the back window for a reminder.
By the time they arrived in Colorado Springs midafternoon, Gus had given up texting. Miriam felt inordinately pleased to discover that she could not only resist him but outlast him.
It was also gratifying to discover that the room Jo had booked was, after all, in a modest hotel a few blocks from the repair shop. She couldn’t possibly have known about the crazy-painted upright piano sitting on the sidewalk outside. Miriam took it as a sign of divine approval.
“I’m going to run the car to the shop and then go work on that piano outside.” She frowned at Dicey, who’d mummified herself in pillows. The younger woman looked drawn and pale. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. But I need to stay close to a bathroom.”
Maybe not so resilient after all. Miriam wanted to feel her forehead for fever, but she suspected Dicey wouldn’t take kindly to that.
Dicey’s blue bracelet flashed as she extended the remote to flip a channel. For the first time, Miriam saw the symbol on the metal. “Is that a medical bracelet?”
Dicey folded her arms, hiding the ornament. “Yes.”
“What’s it for?”
“Drop it, Miriam.”
“Dicey—”
“I said drop it.” Dicey’s mouth took on a stubborn set. “Don’t look at me like that. You are not my mom, and this is not your problem! Butt. Out.” Her passion sparked a coughing fit, but when Miriam moved forward, Dicey put up the heel of her hand to block her.
Miriam’s anxiety ratcheted upward. She wanted to tell Dicey what a bad idea secrets were. But she knew it wouldn’t make any difference.
Maybe she could unravel the mystery herself. She knew all Dicey’s symptoms. Could a Google search illuminate a path forward?
Dicey finished coughing. “Just chill,” she said, her voice husky. “I’m just worn out. I’m taking care of myself while I have the chance. That’s all. I don’t need help.”
“Says the woman who told me, ‘Crap is easier to handle with help.’”
“Piss off.” Dicey turned up the TV volume.
“Fine.” Miriam put her hands up. “I’m outta here.”
“Fine.”
She made it to the door before the TV went silent. “Miriam?”
Miriam turned back.
Dicey’s voice was small, an echo of its usual bluster. She looked so fragile. “Do you ever regret it?”
Miriam glanced over. “Regret?”
“Keeping the kids. Getting married. Giving up your schooling.”
Miriam opened her mouth, then closed it. The right answer was no, but it wasn’t true, and Dicey would see through it in half a second.
Dicey picked at a string hanging off one of the pillows. “It’s just that … my life would be so much easier. In so many ways. If I could’ve just taken that check, gone down to a clinic, and … but I couldn’t do it.” She swallowed. “You’ve been where I am. I guess I just want to know if it’s worth it. Everything I’m giving up.”
Miriam returned to the bed and sat down. “It’s worth it,” she said. “Motherhood is a terrifying responsibility. And an amazing gift. Yes, I did regret it at times, when it was hard. Sometimes I felt like if I got pulled another millimeter, I’d snap in half. Sometimes I wanted to run away. But I always knew if I’d chosen differently, I would have spent my whole life looking over my shoulder, feeling like something was missing. And now, I just regret wasting time regretting. But I guess that’s part of it too.”
“It takes a lot. Motherhood.”
“It takes everything. I was lucky. I had a good man who loved me. He gave up at least as much as I did, and they weren’t even his kids. I’d wish that for you if I were a fairy godmother.”
The corner of Dicey’s mouth turned upward. “I don’t need anybody,” she said. “As long as I have breath in my body, I’m going to live and breathe for this baby.”
Miriam smiled. Dicey would learn about balance soon enough. “I’ll let you rest now. Give me a call if …”
“If I go into labor?”
“Definitely if you go into labor.” She brushed Dicey’s hair back, letting the impression of the wiry, coarse texture imprint on her memory. “I may be gone a while.”
“I’ll be okay.”
Miriam stood, and Dicey clasped her hand. “Thanks,” she said.
Miriam took the car to the shop and walked back to the hotel, texting an update to her family on the way. She messaged Becky separately: There’s a piano outside the hotel—can you believe it? Going to try to work on the sonata. Send good vibes. She attached a picture of the garishly painted piano on the sidewalk.
Becky texted back: I’ll do you one better.
Miriam frowned. What did that mean?
She sat down at the piano and got to work, but people kept walking by. She wanted to move from the theme she’d wrestled out of the piano back in Omaha into a development of all the sonata’s themes. It was a sound idea; she could hear how they related to each
