The letter was brief. Croft acknowledged that he had judged her by her clothes and had spoken to her in ways no visitor deserved. He apologized for making her feel unwelcome and said he understood, now, that learning who William was did not excuse what came before. There were no claims about how hard he had worked or requests for his old job back, though Christina noticed how little he said about the other people he had dismissed before her.
She left the letter on the table overnight. In the morning she wrote a reply on plain stationery, the same kind she used for birthday cards and church correspondence. She thanked him for acknowledging what he had done and said she hoped he would treat the next person with more respect, whether or not that person held any position he admired.
"I am not sending you forgiveness in exchange for a letter," she wrote. "That is something I will work out in my own time. I am wishing you the chance to become the sort of person who does not require a lesson like this again."
She mailed the letter and did not mention it to William immediately. Some choices belonged to her alone, including how much of the wound she wanted to discuss and when. She was proud of the changes at the gallery, but she refused to turn her own pain into a duty to make everybody else feel they had reached a happy ending.
Three days before the birthday, Anna joined Christina at a neighborhood grocery store where they bought ingredients for dinner. Christina wanted macaroni and cheese, collard greens, baked chicken, and peach cobbler because those were the foods William requested every year even after he began eating at restaurants where a plate cost more than groceries for a week. Anna offered to carry the heavy bags, and Christina accepted while warning her that helping with groceries did not exempt a person from peeling vegetables later.
"How did you get this good at saying what you mean?" Anna asked as they loaded the back of the SUV.
Christina considered the question. "I wasn't always good at it. I spent much of my young life being agreeable because I believed that was the price of being treated well. Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn't. Eventually I learned that politeness isn't a contract requiring me to accept disrespect."
Anna nodded. "My mother used to say that when somebody is determined to misunderstand you, perfect manners won't save you."
"Wise woman."
"She would have liked you."
"I think I would have liked her too."
They went back to Christina's kitchen and spent the afternoon discussing measurements, family memories, and the best way to keep peach cobbler from becoming too sweet. Their conversation wandered naturally to William's childhood and his obsession with blue cars. Anna listened to stories of a boy who used masking tape to make racetracks on the living room floor, and of Samuel complaining each time the tape took a patch of polish off the wood.