A Slender Thread by Katharine Davis

was no need to talk. After all, they had been together since childhood. Maybe they shared a tacit understanding, some kind of marital telepathy that went beyond words.
    Margot had not told Oliver everything about her own past. Some things—yes. But not all. Was she making a mistake in holding back?
    Lacey backed up the car and began the drive to the bus terminal. The sky was blue today and the air cold. “I just wish,” she said, “that your . . . life was more . . . stable.”
    â€œYou don’t need to worry about me,” Margot said, feeling defiance creeping into her voice. “We’re fine.”
    â€œI know that.” She gave Margot a brief smile and said nothing for a while. After a series of bridges and causeways they wound their way into Portsmouth.
    â€œHave you ever thought of painting again?”
    â€œI could never go back to it now,” Margot said, thinking of her awkward attempt to draw the bittersweet. She was glad that Lacey had dropped the topic of Oliver. It was hard to explain to Lacey that she didn’t need marriage, children, and hosting family holidays to be happy. “It’s been too long,” she added. “Besides, I love choosing art and showing it. That’s more than enough.”
    â€œYou were very good.” Lacey pulled the car to a stop at a light. The traffic was heavier. Holiday shopping season had officially begun.
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œYou were. You just let . . .” Lacey closed her mouth.
    Margot waited. Lacey seemed to have given up her thought.
    Finally Margot spoke. “I don’t want to paint now.”
    The light changed to green. Lacey accelerated. “That’s not right,” she said emphatically.
    â€œIt’s fine with me. Having Oliver around is enough artists for one household,” she said in a joking way.
    â€œYou are better,” she said.
    â€œCome on.”
    â€œYou are.”
    â€œLook, it’s ridiculous to argue about this.”
    They had arrived at the bus terminal. Lacey pulled the car into one of the fifteen-minute parking places and turned off the engine. The bus was due to leave on the hour.
    Margot stared down at her lap. Why were they even talking about painting or her life with Oliver? How could she have forgotten the real problem, even for a second? “Lacey,” she said, “the girls are concerned. They sense something’s wrong.”
    â€œDid they say something?” Lacey’s face was pale in the unflattering light of the car. The fine lines around her eyes seemed deeper.
    â€œWink is worried that things aren’t right between you and Alex.” Margot felt guilty about betraying her niece’s confidence. She had never been disloyal. Being younger, and not their mother, Margot had found her nieces were inclined to share their feelings with her. “Toni senses something, too.”
    â€œAlex and I are going to be fine.”
    â€œI think you should tell them.”
    Lacey slammed her hands against the steering wheel. “Don’t tell me that. I know what I’m doing. I’m their mother. Not you.”
    Margot moved closer to the door, feeling as if she’d been slapped. A few fat clouds blew across the sky, covering the sun. The air in the car grew chilled.
    â€œIf I say it,” Lacey said, her voice measured and determined, “if I tell them, then it’s . . . true.”
    â€œI just think it’s better to be honest with them. Please, let’s go back to the house.” Margot tried to keep her voice gentle. She wanted to persuade her sister, not anger her further. “I could change my ticket and stay another day,” she said, realizing that taking some kind of action might make a difference. “It might be easier for you if they knew what’s going on.”
    â€œAbsolutely not.” Lacey straightened and drew in her breath. “I don’t want to upset them. We’re