A Mother's Homecoming

by Tanya Michaels

  With that long-ago blow in mind, he looked at her living room with fresh eyes. All of the improvements he’d been applauding her for now looked sinister. He thought about the mood she’d been in all evening, the pensiveness in her expression when she met him at the stadium entrance.

  “You’re finished, aren’t you?” he said. “With the house.”

  She nodded, not looking at him. “It isn’t perfect, but most homes that go on the market aren’t. It’s good, though.”

  “Are you …” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Are you going to stick around until after it sells?”

  She sat on the couch, tucking one leg under her. “Technically I don’t have anywhere I have to be, although Annabel thinks she’s ready for a change of scenery and we’ve talked about being roommates. The longer I stay here, the harder it will be to leave.”

  “Then don’t leave.” He knew it was a mistake even before he said it—she’d see it as pressuring her, and she was having a lousy night. But he couldn’t help it. “Would it be so bad to stay?”

  “I’m at a good place with Mimosa right now,” she said. “Best I’ve ever been. You follow sports. Don’t they always tell athletes to go out while they’re on top, retire at the zenith of their game? I’d rather leave town now and never see any of these people again than … than do what that man did tonight. I’d be surprised if his wife stays with him after this.”

  It was the choice she’d made twelve and a half years ago all over again, he realized. If she convinced herself that it was in their—his, Faith’s, her family’s—best interest for her to go, she’d probably be out of the town limits before he even got to say goodbye. Then she’d been motivated by her depression and the specter of her dysfunctional relationship with Mae, afraid of how both those things could harm their daughter. Now she was terrified of what would happen if she started drinking again.

  He knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his. “You’re sober now, Pam. I believe in you.”

  “Which I appreciate,” she said, “but you never saw me at my worst. You don’t have any real frame of reference. You’ve only ever seen me sober, but I’m an alcoholic, Nick.”

  “It’s part of who you are, but it’s not what you are. You’re more than that, and you’re more than your mother.” He got to his feet, frustrated that he wasn’t reaching her. The last time she’d left, he’d never had a chance to talk her out of the decision. He couldn’t blow this. “You said yourself, you left because you didn’t want to be like her, but that’s who you became anyway. Running doesn’t solve anything.”

  “I’m not running,” she protested tiredly. “I’m moving on because it’s time. You knew that was always the plan.”

  “Damn it, it’s a stupid plan! I love you, and I think you love me. And Faith—”

  “Don’t.” Pam held up a hand. “Don’t use her to try to guilt me into staying.”

  He clenched his fist around his car keys. “Are you even going to say goodbye to her before you go?”

  “You make it sound like I’m jumping in the car right now. I’m just trying to decide, rationally and unsentimentally, where to go from here. I’m not leaving in the dead of night.”

  He raised an eyebrow. You sure about that?

  “Go home,” she ordered. “I’m too tired to fight with you and, frankly, it’s my life. I don’t have to defend my decisions.”

  “Fine. Whatever you decide, have the guts to tell me? I don’t want to read it in a note this time.” He went to the door but, before he stepped back out into the night, offered her one last observation to consider. “You know, if you keep pushing away people who love you, you’ll wind up exactly like Mae. Alone.”

  IT WAS ONE OF the world’s oldest and most annoying paradoxes—being so tired you couldn’t sleep. Pam punched her pillow even as she acknowledged defeat. She wouldn’t be nodding off anytime soon.

  What she really wanted to do was call the hospital and ask if that little girl had been okay, but the staff wasn’t allowed to give out information like that. Still, she grabbed her cell phone and checked the time. Just a little after midnight.

  She bit her lip. Martha was constantly handing out her number at meetings, saying that she was a chronic insomniac and could be called on around the clock if someone needed to be talked off the ledge. Pam wasn’t exactly out on the ledge—more like standing just inside the window, trying to gauge the distance down—but she sure could use a friendly ear. She sent a text, figuring that would be less intrusive if Martha actually had gone to bed. It’s Pam. Rough night. U still up?

  Her phone rang a moment later. Guess that answers that question. “Martha?”

  “Oh, hon, I heard about the football game. I’ve been thinking about you. Need to talk? We can either chat on the phone or meet at the Pie House on Welbington. They’re open twenty-four hours and they have a fantastic coconut cream.”

  “I can meet you in fifteen minutes,” Pam said. Less, if she wore flip-flops and didn’t brush her hair.

  An hour later, both women had polished off sizable pieces of pie and Pam had poured out everything from noticing Jake’s glassy eyes and dulled expression to throwing Nick out of her house.

  “I’ve been up front with him,” she defended herself. “He always knew I was leaving.”

  “Mmm,” Martha said, sipping her coffee.

  “Are you siding with him?”

  “Course not. But does he have a point? Are you just too afraid to try?”

  “Hell, yes. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks, and he’s saying love and stay. He wants long-term commitment. How am I supposed to promise happily ever after when I’m still trying to take it one day at a time? And I certainly can’t ask a twelve-year-old to take it one day at a time.” She changed the subject. “How well do you know Jake’s family?”

  “Not well enough that Tami thought to call me after what happened, but enough that she won’t mind if I bring a lasagna to the family tomorrow and see how they’re doing.”

  Pam shook her head. “I just keep seeing his little girl’s face in my mind.” Which was probably why she couldn’t sleep. “I’ve heard him talk about his family at meetings. He loves them. He’s got more incentive to try than anyone I know! If he can’t do it …”

  “Apples and oranges, hon. Just because Jake had a weak moment doesn’t mean you will. Or that I will. It’s all unrelated.”

  “I know. Rationally I know you’re right. But the statistics are scary.”

  Martha reached across the table to pat her hand. “Life is scary, hon. Don’t mean we stop living.”

  THE RATHER BURLY night manager of the Pie House walked both women out to their cars, admonishing them to drive carefully and making one last offer of coffee for the road if either of them felt tired.

  On the contrary, Pam was wide-awake, her mind abuzz with everyone’s opinions. Even Julia had weighed in with her two cents earlier in the week, saying that she thought Faith was an absolute doll and that nothing would make Julia happier than to see Pam reunited with her ex-husband and daughter.

  Now that Pam was sober and her evenings were no longer marked with people arguing with her to hand over her car keys, she found a soothing freedom in driving. Sometimes just being behind the wheel helped her think more clearly. So she meandered around Mimosa for nearly an hour. At one point, she even considered going to the cemetery and watching the sunrise there. She’d refreshed the flowers at her mother’s grave several times now, and with each trip, the emotional turmoil she’d felt after that first visit had lessened.

  Maybe because coming home to Mimosa had ceased to be about Pam being someone’s daughter. In the hours she’d spent with Faith, strumming guitar and talking about boys, she’d glimpsed what it was to be a mom. Could she really walk away again, knowing how much she’d already missed and what she’d be sacrificing? Faith was only at the beginning of her dating years; it was a given that her aunt Leigh and grandma Gwendolyn weren’t going to give her straight an
swers about boys!

  And Nick …

  Just the image of his face made her heart hurt. The man must be a glutton for punishment. Falling for her the first time had been understandable—he’d been young, stupid and at the mercy of guy hormones. What was his excuse this time? If she left, would he find someone simpler and safer to love, or would he be too embittered to try again? Three strikes.

  The palest fingers of pink were streaking the sky by the time she turned onto her road. She recalled the way she’d felt when she first jostled down this driveway in August, choked with dread and uncertainty about what to do. Now, whenever the little house came into view, she felt … content.

  My mother never could make this place a home, not in all the years she lived here. Mae hadn’t had enough love in her to do that. Was it remotely possible that Mae had left her the house hoping that Pam could?

  Instead of driving all the way into the carport, Pam parked midway down the gravel stretch. She leaned forward and watched the sun come up over the roof and grinned at the view, pride swelling inside her. Mine. Maybe her past here hadn’t been pretty, but the present included family, friends and accomplishment. And the future?

  She swallowed hard. Well, she’d have to discuss that part with Nick. At least this time she was brave enough to give him a say in the decision.

  WHEN PAM KNOCKED, Faith was the one who opened the front door, her face puckered in concern. “Hey! What happened last night? You guys disappeared before kickoff and then Dad didn’t want to talk this morning. You didn’t have a fight, did you?”

  “We had a difference of opinion,” Pam said. “Is he around?”

  “Backyard, mowing. You want to wait in the kitchen while I go get him?”

  “Sure.” Since Pam’s throat had gone as dry as cracked desert floor, she poured a glass of water and knocked half of it back in one gulp.

  “Liquid courage?” Nick asked from behind her.

  She spluttered, then had to surreptitiously wipe moisture from the corner of her mouth. Very smooth. “No, I have to get my courage the old-fashioned way these days—faking it.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter, eyeing her coolly. It was ridiculous for a man to look that good in an orange T-shirt and a pair of cutoff sweatpants. He was handsome as the devil, but all the passion was missing. This was the man who’d shown up at Trudy’s to warn her she had no business in Mimosa, not the man who’d trickled corn starch over her bare flesh or raged at her about his daughter’s haircut.

  Oh, Nick. Seeing how guarded he was, she realized that he was every bit as scared as she was.

  She’d meant to explain that she wanted to give this a chance, that she wouldn’t leave Mimosa but that she couldn’t rush into anything, either. That they were going to have to take it one day at a time for the foreseeable future and just hope that path took them where they wanted to go. Instead, she stared into his shuttered eyes and blurted, “You were right.”

  “What?” The impassive mask fell away. Shock and tender vulnerability lay beneath it.

  “You were right,” she repeated. “I do love you.”

  “Yes!” A high-pitched whoop came from the next room.

  Nick pressed the heel of his hand to his head. “I’d send her upstairs, but it seems too late for that to do any good.”

  Pam sighed. “I suppose she can come join the conversation if it’s all right with you. After all, this affects her, too.”

  Faith skidded into the room in her socks so quickly that she almost crashed into the refrigerator. “Are you staying? You’re staying in Mimosa!”

  Pam nodded, her eyes locked on Nick. “I’m staying.”

  He crossed the kitchen in two strides and pulled her in for a deep kiss.

  After a minute, Faith tittered. “Guys? I’m totally on board with celebrating the good news, but … ew.”

  Nick angled back, resting his forehead against Pam’s. “We’re squicking out our daughter,” he whispered.

  “Squicking?”

  “I’m told it’s a word.” He tightened his embrace around her as if disbelieving she’d stay of her own volition. “You’re really not leaving?”

  “No. I worked too damn hard on that house to go just when it’s getting good.”

  “It’ll get even better,” he swore. “I’ll get you a dishwasher for Christmas. Top of the line!”

  She laughed, but then pulled back so that she could think clearly enough to articulate what needed to be said. “I want to promise you that I’ll never touch another drink, that I won’t panic and freak out at the thought of permanent commitment, but …”

  “Pam, you’re one of the strongest people I know,” he told her. “Even when you bolted before, you acted out of a sense of integrity. And you were a kid! That’s not going to happen again. If you ever did happen to fall off the wagon, we’d find a way to cope with it and move forward.”

  Her vision blurred. “You think?”

  His own eyes were damp with emotion, too. “I know. Hey, it’s not like you get off so easy. You’ll have to deal with my grouchy, hotheaded temper when I get angry and act irrationally. And what about the times when this one behaves like a brat?” He jerked his thumb toward his daughter.

  “Hey!” But she was grinning from ear to ear, pleased to be included.

  “As long as you both understand that we can’t rush into anything,” Pam cautioned. “No crazy talk of people moving in together or getting married.”

  “No, not yet!” Faith yelped, looking harried. “You know how long it will take me to write the perfect song to sing at the wedding? Not to mention working up the courage to perform in front of people. And a person doesn’t learn to play guitar overnight!”

  Pam looked from the love of her life to their daughter and smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ve got time.”

  Most importantly, they had each other.

  ISBN: 9781408951323

  A Mother’s Homecoming

  © Tanya Michna 2011

  First Published in Great Britain in 2011

  Harlequin (UK) Limited

  Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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