Maeve never expected to feel like a guest in her own mother’s kitchen. But every Saturday, a young woman dressed in black would arrive at Doris’s house, sit at the table, and share tea with the 73-year-old woman as if they had known each other forever.
The visitor’s name was Raven. She wore dark clothes, had tattoos and facial piercings, and looked nothing like the women Doris usually spent time with at book club or in the garden. To Maeve, the friendship made no sense. To Doris, it seemed to bring comfort.
At first, Maeve tried to stay nearby during the visits. But Doris would gently ask her to give them privacy. The two women would talk for hours, their voices low, while Maeve sat in another room wondering what her mother could possibly be sharing with someone so different from her.
One afternoon, Maeve noticed a wooden box on the table. Doris quickly covered it with a towel. That only deepened Maeve’s suspicion. Still, she could not deny what she saw after Raven left each week: Doris seemed lighter, happier, almost relieved.