Oliver married at twenty-four. His wife, Emily, was twenty-twoan only child, born late to a university professor and a schoolteacher. Before they knew it, they had two boys in quick succession, followed by a little girl.
Emilys mother, Margaret, retired early to dote on her grandchildren.
Oliver and Margaret had an odd dynamic. He always addressed her formally as Mrs. Whitmore, and she responded with a polite but frosty you, never shortening his name to Ollie. They werent exactly at odds, but her presence left him feeling like hed stepped into a draft. Still, credit where its dueshe never meddled, spoke to him with careful courtesy, and stayed strictly neutral in his marriage.
A month ago, Olivers firm went under, and he was laid off. Over dinner, Emily remarked, We cant live on Mums pension and my salary forever, Ollie. Youll need to find something.
Easier said than done! Thirty days of pounding the pavement, and nothing!
Frustrated, Oliver kicked an empty beer can. Thank goodness Margaret hadnt said anything yet, but her pointed looks spoke volumes.
Before the wedding, hed accidentally overheard a conversation between mother and daughter.
Emily, are you sure hes the one you want to spend your life with?
Mum, of course!
I dont think you realize the responsibility. If your father were alive
Mum, stop! We love each other, and itll all work out!
And what about children? Will he provide?
He will, Mum!
Its not too late to reconsider, Emily. His family
Mum, I love him!
Fine, but dont come crying to me later.
*Well, laters here,* Oliver thought grimly. Margaret had seen it coming.
He didnt want to go home. It felt like Emilys encouragementDont worry, tomorrows another day!was just for show, Margarets silence was judgmental, and the kids teasingDad, got a job yet?was unbearable.
He wandered along the Thames, sat on a park bench, and as night fell, drove to the countryside where the family stayed from May to September. A single light glowed in Margarets bedroom. Tiptoeing up the path, he froze as the curtain twitchedthen yelped when a tree stump met his backside.
Margaret peered out. Olivers late. Have you called him, Emily?
Yes, Mum. His phones off. Probably job-hunting againor avoiding it.
Margarets voice turned to ice. Emily, dont you dare speak about the father of your children like that!
Oh, Mum, dont be dramatic! I just think Ollies slacking. A whole month on *my* dime!
For the first time in six years, Oliver heard Margaret slam a fist on the table. Dont you *dare*! What did you promise when you married him? *For better or worse!* To stand by him!
Emily backpedaled fast. Mum, Im sorry. Dont upset yourself. Im just tired, thats all.
Go to bed, Margaret sighed.
The light went out. She paced, then pulled back the curtain, staring into the dark. Suddenly, she looked up, crossed herself, and whispered, Dear Lord, merciful and kind, protect my son-in-law, the father of my grandchildren. Dont let him lose faith. Help him, Lordmy dear boy.
Tears slipped down her face as she prayed.
A warmth spread through Olivers chest. No one had ever prayed for himnot his stern, workaholic mother, whod devoted herself to local government, nor his father, whod vanished when Oliver was five. Hed grown up in nurseries, schools, after-care. At university, hed worked immediatelyhis mother despised idleness and believed he should support himself.
The warmth rose, spilling over in rare tears. He remembered Margaret waking early to bake his favourite scones, simmering rich stews, her pies and dumplings near miraculous. She tended the children, kept the house, grew vegetables, made jams, pickled cucumberscrisp, tangy, perfect.
Why had he never noticed? Never thanked her? He and Emily had just worked and raised kids, assuming that was enough. Or *he* had. He recalled watching a documentary on Australia once, when Margaret murmured, Ive always wanted to see that beautiful country. Hed joked that the heat would melt her ice-queen exterior
Oliver sat under the window, head in hands, a long time.
At breakfast on the veranda, he took in the spreadscones, jam, tea, milkthe childrens bright faces. Meeting Margarets eyes, he smiled softly. Morning, Mum.
She startled, then smiled back. Morning, Oliver.
Two weeks later, he found work. A year after that, he sent Margaret to Australiadespite her protests.
