“Would you please get out of here and go bring home some bacon?” Hope tilted her head backward. Rick bent down to give her a goodbye kiss and then headed out the door, whistling a tune.
“Somebody’s happy,” McKenzie said, grinning and shaking her head.
“So happy. You have no idea. If he’d won the lottery, he couldn’t be happier. I’m so proud of him.”
“Me too,” McKenzie said. “I think this will be better for him, don’t you? Daddy was always so driven, such a workaholic. When he lost his job, I really wasn’t sure he’d be able to bounce back. But now he’s like . . .” McKenzie paused and took a sip of tea. “I was going to say he’s like his old self, but that’s not quite right. I feel like he’s better than his old self, you know? More balanced. I think I might like him even better now, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t know that I’d say I like him better. But I think he likes himself better and that’s good for everybody. He’s thrilled to be going back to work, especially for this organization, where he’s building something more meaningful than corporate profits. You get to a certain point in life and you start to think seriously about your legacy, how you’ve spent your time, and what you’ll leave behind.” Hope lifted the cup to her lips, smiling. “I don’t know if the people over at Many Hands realize what a brilliant hire they just made or not. If they don’t they will, probably before the end of his first week.
“It’s funny,” Hope said. “I still miss Portland but not the way I used to. Back then, we thought we had it all—house, career, lifestyle, security—but somewhere along the way, we’d lost track of each other. Rick will work hard at this job, he doesn’t know another way, but I think he’s got his priorities set straight now. I think we both do.”
“So? You’re never too old to grow up?”
Hope laughed. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Well. That’s a relief.” McKenzie looked down at her belly. “You hear that, kid? Don’t be discouraged. There’s still a chance that, someday, your mother won’t be a total train wreck.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Hope chided. “McKenzie. You are not a train wreck.”
“I’m kidding!” McKenzie countered, lifting her hands. “It was just a joke. And I think you’re right. Even grown-ups can still grow up. Or at least change. I think we’ve changed in the last few months, haven’t we? I mean . . . you and me?” McKenzie waved a finger between herself and her mother, indicating their connection rather than their individual personalities.
“Yeah,” Hope said, her voice a little hoarse. “I think so too.”
“I don’t know why it took so long, but . . . I think it’s better this way.”
“So do I.”
McKenzie bobbed her head a couple of times and then cleared her throat. “Right. Well, anyway. What were you saying before Dad bounced in here?”
“Saying?”
Hope felt her pulse quicken. She couldn’t do it. Not now, anyway. Not after McKenzie had just told her how much better their relationship was now. For the first time in thirty years, they had the kind of close, cozy connection Hope had always longed for.
From the moment Hope first laid eyes on McKenzie, naked, red as a beet, and squalling her head off, as though she’d taken that first glimpse at the world and already found it wanting, Hope had loved her daughter. Nothing McKenzie said or did or didn’t do or didn’t say could change that. But, in these last weeks, for the first time, Hope could honestly say that she liked her daughter and that if she and McKenzie had shared not one drop of common blood Hope would still have enjoyed spending time with her. Yes, things had changed between them. Much for the better. But how quickly would things change for the worse if Hope told McKenzie that she wasn’t going to be a full-time babysitter for her grandchild?
And yet she had to say it. Becoming her granddaughter’s principal caregiver would be a mistake for all of them: McKenzie, Hope, and the baby.
McKenzie needed to gain confidence in her own mothering instincts and abilities. Yes, she would be a different kind of mother than Hope, but that was fine. Actually, it was better. McKenzie needed to see that! And the baby needed to look to McKenzie as the most important person in her world. Hope planned to be a doting and very involved grandparent; so did Rick. Already they were talking about the things they wanted to do with the baby, the places they wanted to show her and things they wanted to teach her. But the child could have only one mother—McKenzie.
And as for Hope? She had spent a lifetime rearing her family. She wouldn’t trade a single day of that experience for all the money in the world. But now was the time for her to do other things. She didn’t know what those things were, not yet. Her firing had come so out of the blue, like a punch to the gut. But working at the prison had proven to Hope that she had something meaningful to offer to the world, as well as a duty to offer it.
Hope had thought it through from every possible angle and she knew what she was doing was best for everyone. Rick agreed with her. Would McKenzie?
She had to have the conversation eventually. But things were going so well between them. She didn’t want to lose that, not yet. She would wait for another day and another moment, a better one.
When would that be?
She had no clue. She hoped that when the moment came the right words would come as well and that, miraculously, McKenzie would be able to hear them. But now was not that moment. Today, she just wanted to enjoy her daughter.
“I didn’t say anything. Or if I did, I don’t remember.”
“Sure you do,” McKenzie said casually, taking a cookie from the plate and dunking it into her tea. “We were talking about how the evil David Hernandez fired you and canceled the quilting program, and I was saying that maybe it wasn’t all bad, you getting a chance to rest and recover before the baby was born, and then you said you had something to tell me.”
McKenzie glanced up from her tea, soggy cookie still in hand, looked into Hope’s pained face, and turned suddenly pale.
“What’s wrong?” McKenzie dropped her hand. A glob of wet, gooey cookie fell onto the table. “You’re sick, aren’t you? You said it was just something with your thyroid, but it’s something else, isn’t it. What? Your heart?”
“No, no,” Hope said urgently, grabbing her daughter’s hand. “It’s nothing like that, Kenz. Really. The doctors did all kinds of tests and it’s exactly what I told you—my thyroid. Nothing else.”
“You’re sure?” McKenzie asked. “Because you looked really funny just then. Like you were trying to figure out how to share bad news.”
“It wasn’t that. I was just thinking about—about getting fired. That’s all.”
It was true, at least partially.
“Okay,” McKenzie said slowly, her expression relieved but still tinged with suspicion. “And you’re sure. It’s nothing with your heart?”
“Nothing with my heart,” Hope replied, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip before going on. “All those things I was experiencing—anxiety, rapid heart rate, tremors in the hands, weight loss even though the appetite increases—are symptoms of hyperthyroidism. The medication to normalize my heart rate is already working; I’m feeling a lot better.
“It’ll take at least six weeks for the anti-thyroid medication to kick in, but once it does, the other symptoms should disappear. I was kind of hoping I could lose the tremors and rapid heart rate but keep the weight loss thing. But the doctors said it was all or nothing, so . . .”
Unable to resist temptation any longer, Hope plucked an oatmeal cookie from the plate and then took a bite, an expression of rapture crossing her face.
“Oh my gosh, Kenz. These are heaven.”
“Thanks. It’s Kate’s recipe. It’s weird, but all of a sudden I’m overcome with the urge to bake, and clean, and organize everything in sight. Yesterday I stayed up until midnight, putting my spice rack into alphabetical order.”
“I’ve always done that,” Hope said. “Makes it so easy to find
things when you’re cooking.”
“Yeah, I know,” McKenzie replied, taking another cookie for herself. “But that’s you. I’m the girl who wanted kayak paddles and Bose speakers in her bridal registry instead of flatware, remember? The only reason I even have a spice rack is because you gave me one when I graduated from college.”
“You’ve gotten new spices since then, right?” Hope asked. “Because if you haven’t you should. They only stay fresh for about a year. After that, they’re not as flavorful.”
“Yes,” McKenzie groaned, rolling her eyes and letting her head flop to one side, as if she were too weary to hold it up. “I know. You only told me that about fifty thousand times when I was growing up. That’s kind of my point.
“As soon as I got pregnant, and this was even before I knew I was pregnant, I woke up on a Saturday morning and made a special trip to the grocery store to buy all new spices. It cost me close to two hundred dollars! Now I’m staying up half the night and alphabetizing them.” McKenzie shook her head and rubbed her hand over her belly, which was now approximately the same size and shape as a July watermelon. “I don’t get it. I used to be the least domesticated person on the planet. Now I’m turning into Martha Stewart. Or you.”
“It’s called nesting,” Hope said. “Happens to most expectant mothers. It has something to do with hormones. But don’t worry; it doesn’t mean you’re turning into me.”
McKenzie groaned again, rolled her eyes again, let her head flop again, this time to the opposite side, and even tsked for good measure, displaying the full range of nonverbal cues that daughters employ to signal their disgust with their mothers.
“Stop, okay? Just stop.”
“Stop what?” Hope asked, her confusion genuine.
“Doing that thing you do.”
Still confused, Hope looked at her askance. McKenzie pointed toward her own lips, making a circling motion with her index finger.
“That thing you do with your mouth when your feelings are hurt. Stop it.”
“What thing? I don’t do a thing.”
“Oh yes. You do.” McKenzie broke her cookie into two pieces, took one for herself, and placed the other onto Hope’s plate. “Would you try not to take everything so personally? All I meant was it’s weird, the way these urges have come over me; I wasn’t saying that I don’t want to turn into you. If anything, lately I’m wishing I was more like you. A lot more.”
Hope started to protest, but McKenzie lifted a hand to cut her off before she could say anything.
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. But you have to promise not to get all, you know, the way you get.”
“The way I get about what?” Hope said, throwing her hands out, feeling more confused than annoyed.
“The way you get when you are too happy about something small. The way you get,” McKenzie said, opening her eyes wider, as if this and repetition would make her meaning clear. “Excited. Too excited.”
“Fine,” Hope said. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, but I promise I won’t—Wait.” Hope’s face lit up as she considered the possible list of things that would be exciting. “Oh, Kenz! Are you having twins?”
McKenzie laughed. “No. I am not having twins. I know you love the idea of two-for-the-price-of-one grandkids, but one baby at a time is plenty for me, thank you. I wanted to tell you something else. Well,” she said, “to ask you really: Would you teach me how to crochet? I want to make something for the baby, but something easy. A hat or something?”
Hope clenched her fist and pressed it against her mouth.
“Oh no,” McKenzie moaned, her neck hinging backward. “You’re not going to cry, are you? I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just looked for a YouTube video or something.”
Laughing, Hope wiped away her tears. “It’s okay. I’m just happy, that’s all. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me something like that?”
“About thirty years?” McKenzie guessed.
“Twenty-eight. I figured I had to give you a couple of years to learn how to talk first. But yes,” Hope said after taking in a deep breath and blowing it out, moving past her happy tears. “I would love to teach you how to crochet. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather try quilting? I know I’ve already made you a baby quilt, but you really can’t have too many. And I’d be a far better quilting teacher than crochet teacher. I mean, I can crochet, but it’s never been my strong suit. I can show you the basics, but that’s about all.”
“I know. That’s the reason I asked.” McKenzie leaned forward, looking somewhat sheepish. “Okay, I know it sounds stupid. But one of the reasons I never wanted to get into sewing, or quilting, or furniture refinishing, or cooking, or any of the twelve gazillion things you’re so incredibly good at is exactly that: You’re just so good. At everything. How can I ever hope to compete with you? Or even keep up?”
Hope opened her mouth to argue, ready to say that they weren’t in competition and never had been. But then shut it again, thinking back to that day when McKenzie had mocked her ill-considered plans for a career in real estate, the pleasure she’d felt when Hazel came to her defense and how it had turned to self-reproach when Hope realized it stemmed from a desire to score points against her own daughter. Hope ducked her head, trying to catch hold of McKenzie’s downcast eyes.
“But we’re not like that anymore, are we? I think we’re both playing for the same team these days, don’t you?”
McKenzie lifted her gaze, nodding to signal her agreement. “Yeah. We’re good now. But I think I’d still rather stick with the crocheting. Not because I’m worried that you’ll show me up. It’s hard to explain, but I kind of want to figure it out for myself. . . .” McKenzie paused briefly and bit her lower lip. “Mom, if I tell you something, can you promise not to take it personally?”
Hope frowned. She wasn’t quite sure where this was going.
“Well. I don’t know if I can promise, but I’ll try.”
McKenzie paused a moment more before continuing. “You were an amazing mother. The best. I’ve always known that. So did everybody else.
“When I was a teenager and most of my girlfriends were barely speaking to their moms, they’d come up to me and tell me that you were so great, and cool, and such a terrific listener, and how lucky I was to have you for my mom. And I knew they were right because you were. Basically, you were perfect.”
“McKenzie, I wasn’t. Nobody—”
McKenzie let out a little growl of frustration. “Okay, okay. You weren’t perfect; you interrupted a lot. Oh, and you and Dad would stand in the kitchen and kiss in front of me, which, frankly, still skeeves me out.” She closed her eyes for a moment and waved her hand in front of her face as if trying to shoo away the image. “But you were close to perfect and that was incredibly annoying.
“I mean, for one thing, everybody acted like I wasn’t entitled to have any problems because I had this amazing mom, so how bad could my life possibly be? But more than that was the feeling that no matter what I did, I could never, ever do it as well as you.
“I know that you and everybody else think I broke off my first two engagements because I didn’t think Shawn or Andrew measured up to Daddy. But that’s not why I called the weddings off. I was afraid that I wouldn’t measure up, to you. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have a family. But I also knew that I could never be the kind of wife or mother you were and so . . .” She shrugged. “I chickened out. But then Zach proposed and I thought, ‘I’m almost twenty-eight years old. If I’m not ready now, when will I be?’ The answer, obviously, was never.”
“Kenz, this divorce was not your fault. You can’t be in a marriage with three people. At least not outside of certain counties in Utah.”
“Funny,” McKenzie deadpanned. “But whoever is at fault, it’s over. But this . . .” McKenzie looked down and stroked her stomach. “This will never be over. It’s for life. Ready or not, in another ten weeks I�
�m all in. And probably over my head. But one way or another, I’m going to be a mother. I know I won’t be the kind of mother you were—and are. I can’t be. But I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. And I think that I can be, that I have to be, my own kind of mother. Right or wrong, I’m going to have to find my own way to screw up my kid.”
“As every parent does,” Hope said. “Including me.”
“Nah. You did good. I mean, sure, Liam’s a total pain. But otherwise . . .”
McKenzie cracked an impish grin and Hope smiled.
“Anyway, the reason I came over—apart from keeping myself from eating the whole batch of cookies—was to ask you to teach me to crochet. But there’s something else too.”
McKenzie pressed her lips together and winced, almost as if she were anticipating a blow.
“Would it hurt you terribly if I found somebody else to be my babysitter?
“I know you were excited about it and I know you’d be amazing. But Mom, even though they fired you, I think this work you were doing at the prison was really important. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to handle it at first, but I was wrong. I underestimated you. You will be an amazing influence on the baby, but I think you should spread that influence as far as you can. It’s like you said: You get to a certain age and you start thinking about your legacy. I think you need to chart your own path, apart from just our family. And as a mom, I need to chart mine.”
Hope swallowed hard. For a moment, she was unable to speak. But had she been able to, she’d have told her daughter that she was already charting her own path and that, as her mother, she had never been prouder.
She hadn’t just raised a daughter; she had raised a woman. And should Hope’s next breath be her last, she knew her legacy was already secure. And profound.
Chapter 38
“Hang on. Let me get the door. You’re dropping stuff everywhere.”
Hazel took Hope’s key ring, unlocked the condo door, and then held it open for her sister. Hope carried her burden into the kitchen and set the overflowing box down onto the counter.
Hope on the Inside Page 27
