Things I Want My Daughters to Know Read Online Free PDF Page A

missed too much, really, in the weeks before Barbara’s death. But she was mad at him, anyway. When he put his arms around her, she held herself a little stiff and wouldn’t relax into the embrace.
    “Are you sure that you want to stay?”
    “Yeah. I haven’t seen Amanda in a long time, Hannah is a mess, and I don’t want Mark to be by himself. . . .”
    “Aren’t Amanda, Hannah, and Lisa here to look after him?” His tone was almost sarcastic, almost amused. “You look exhausted.”

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    “I just buried my mum, Stephen . . . how do you expect me to look?” She didn’t want to go home with him, that was the truth of it. She wanted to stay here.
    “I didn’t mean that.” He knew it, whether she told him or not. He knew she’d rather be with all of them tonight. He tried not to let it hurt him.
    “I know. Sorry.”
    “I’m sorry.” God, this politeness.
    “I’ll be back tomorrow, by the time you get home from work. Lisa’ll drop me off, I’m sure. Or maybe I’ll take a train . . .”
    Stephen raised his hands in a gesture of unnecessary surrender. “Fine, fine . . . seems to me, to be honest, like you haven’t really needed me all day.”
    “Is that what you want to feel—like I need you?”
    He rubbed his eyes impatiently with one hand. “. . . You know what, Jen? It’s fine that you stay. It’s fine.” He kissed her again, the same dry lips skimming her skin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    She leaned against the door frame and watched him walk to the car, get in, drive away. He had looked back at her, and called out that he loved her, not waiting for an answer. But once again, it felt like they were on opposite sides of a big hole, a chasm they both made attempts to cross, just never at the same time.
    When she got back to the others, Mark was making tea.
    The national pastime. She got the milk from the fridge and poured some into each mug. He put them on a tray and carried them back to the sofa.
    “How mangled are you all feeling?”
    Lisa laughed weakly. “Scale of one to ten? A good nine.”
    Hannah raised a limp hand from her reclining position. “Eleven over here.”
    “Why?” Jennifer asked.
    “Because there’s more,” Mark replied. “Not the official stuff—we’ll sort that out at the lawyers. This is your mum. She did manage to write T h i n g s I W a n t M y D a u g h t e r s t o K n o w 23
    a few more letters, like she said. I have them. I was supposed to give them to you all after this was finished. I’d have waited until tomorrow, but Jen’s not going to be here. . . .”
    “I am, actually. Stephen just left.”
    Lisa raised an eyebrow quizzically at her sister.
    “He’s got an early start tomorrow. I just thought . . .”
    Mark put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here. Your mum would be pleased—to know that all her girls were here together.”
    They didn’t open them right away. It wasn’t Christmas morning, after all. Each of them held her letter in her lap. Amanda tried to remember what her mum’s hands looked like, imagined them holding the envelope.
    They chatted until they were too tired. Hannah fell asleep and had to be gently shaken. They peeled off one by one, a subdued chorus of Wal-tonesque good nights issuing forth on the upstairs landing, and went to bed, glad, at least, to have put today behind them.
    Lisa
    The letter was stuck to the outside of a rectangular box, about one foot square. It was tied with a wide green ribbon. Just the packaging was a reminder—Barbara always wrapped things beautifully. An organza ribbon, or a wax seal, or plain brown paper with sprigs of lavender tied in utilitarian string. It was her signature. Lisa left the package there while she undressed and slipped naked underneath the duvet. She looked at it for a moment, almost afraid of it, and then slipped the letter out of its envelope, her hand faltering as she unfolded it. Mum’s writing, as familiar as her own, neat and