Sitting one step lower so that his head was that little bit closer to mine, he whispered, “It’s the right thing to do.”
“I know,” I whispered back, but my hands were clenched between my knees.
“You’re worried about exposure.”
“For starters.”
“That won’t happen, Maggie,” he whispered, looking sideways at me. “Nina was the only one who figured it out from The Devon Times piece.”
“That we know of.” And here I was today, AWOL with Edward. In theory, only Joyce and Kevin knew that, but theory only worked if no one else figured it out.
“Nina’s the exception,” he came back. “She’s from a world where suspicion is a player. You know her secrets, so she wants to know yours. The rest of the people in Devon? They’re not looking. You and your mother are Reids, but the accident involved a Cooper—and in Massachusetts, not Connecticut. There’s no reason for people to make the connection.”
“But I can’t tell Mom not to talk. All it would take is an innocent comment, like, Mackenzie had a bad time after the crash, and I’m outed.”
“She’ll only be with good friends. Would it be so bad if they knew?”
Yes, the frightened voice in me said, but his pale-blue eyes were a beacon in the shadowed stairway, guiding me somewhere new.
“Explain the situation,” he urged softly. “Ask her not to mention the accident.”
“She’ll say I’m hiding.”
“Confess to it. Be honest. She’s feeling things that you hadn’t known, like the religion thing, so maybe she’ll talk more if you do. Explain your fears. Get her invested in this. She’ll be pleased to be drawn into the loop.”
I wasn’t sure. The meek Margaret down there on the sofa was an enigma. And that was only one of my doubts.
Edward got the others, too. Propping an elbow behind him, so that he was angled my way, he whispered, “You’re also wondering where in the hell to put your mother in your house, because there’s only one bedroom, which is upstairs, and the downstairs is small. If Liam is there, he may get in the way, but if he moves out, she’ll feel isolated. Once you get past PT and doctor’s appointments and Spa treatments, she’ll be alone up there on your hill with not much to do or see and maybe or maybe not loving the forest like you do.”
“Not. When my Girl Scout troop did an overnight in the woods—”
“I didn’t know you were a Girl Scout,” he said, pulling back with a captivated half-smile.
Unable to resist, it was still so new, I ran a fingertip over his mustache. “I was more artsy than the other girls, so I didn’t really fit in. That’s why Mom volunteered for field trips.” I dropped my hand. “She didn’t fit in either. She did the cooking. That’s it. She’s never been into nature.”
He straightened and grinned. “Then she needs to stay at the Inn.”
The words came so fast on my thoughts about Mom in the great outdoors, that it was a minute before they sank in. “The Inn,” I finally said. “Oh, no. I was thinking I could rent a place in town.”
“Why? The owner’s suite is mine to use or not. I have my house, and if that weren’t a major mess, I’d have both of you stay there. It’s bigger than your place. But it’s still raw, and it would be just as isolating. The Inn is ideal.”
“That’s yours, Edward. We couldn’t—”
“Of course you could.” His pale blues were intent. “The suite has two bedrooms, so you could stay there with her. It has a living room, plus a kitchenette, which she could use or not. Housekeeping would be in to help twice a day. She could call for room service whenever she wanted or come down to one of the restaurants, and it’s a hell of a lot closer to the Spa than your house is for when you have to work. She could have PT in the suite. She could use the pool at the sports center. She could access everything without having to use stairs.”
“It’s too much,” I scolded.
“What? Cost? There’s no cost, no effort, no inconvenience.”
“The offer. You don’t need to do this.”
“Need has fucking nothing to do with it,” he whispered with force, then grew beseeching. “It’s the perfect solution, Maggie. The suite is empty, it’s on one level, and it’s accessible to anything she might want to do. There’s even a separate elevator.” He added a singsong to his lure. “You could have your pets there with you.”
“Me? I can’t live at the Inn.”
“Why not? It’d beat driving back and forth a dozen times a day, and she’d be more comfortable with you there. Even just for a week? Two, maybe, until you see how she does?”
But the offer was way too generous. Edward didn’t owe us anything. We were the ones who had hurt him, not the other way around. “She doesn’t deserve it. Neither do I.”
His whisper held sound now, and the sound was angry. “So we’re all feeling the blame, but it won’t move us forward. Let it go, Maggie. I’m trying to on my end, but you have to try on yours. Guilt is pointless. What happened is over and done.”
That quickly we were in the past—but not—with the pain of it hovering—but not. It was like a screen was superimposed on it, showing sneak peeks at a future I hadn’t imagined when I took up with Devon, and the pain was the possibility that it wouldn’t come.
“Is it?” I asked. “The past, over and done? Is it ever?”
“Ever changed? No. Ever accepted? Yes. It becomes who you are. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
I wanted to believe him. He must have sensed how badly, because, with one lithe move, he was on my stair, pulling me to his side. I closed my eyes for a minute and breathed him in. His mouth touched my forehead with the barest grazing of beard before lowering until I tipped my head back and we were forehead to forehead, breath to breath. When he finally kissed me, it was featherlight, more soothing than heated, but just as precious. It spoke of a connection that went beyond chemistry. I could have basked in it forever.
“Just think,” he teased against my lips, typically male in the end, “if you stay at the Inn with your Mom, you can meet me in my office after hours.”
I swatted his middle. “You can think about that in the middle of a family crisis?”
“I can think about it any time. One look at you”—he breathed a rising whistle—“and there it is.”
“You’re bad.”
“Not always.”
“No,” I conceded. “Not always.” Because his offer of the owner’s suite was really pretty good.
Slipping my arms around him, I fitted my head to its spot under his whiskered jaw. I was getting used to that scruff, was getting used to the longer hair and the idea that he, too, was different now. That said, I would never think of him as Ned. My need was to reconcile with Edward. And much as it terrified me to have and lose—again—I did want him there.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“It’s a go, then,” he asked against my hair, “you and your mom at the Inn?”
“Yes.” I drew back to look up at him. “She’s in a bad way. Pampering may help.”
For some reason, a little subconscious tug, my eyes shifted to the wall by his head. Disturbed, I pulled back farther and followed one wall up and down, then the other. “Where are they?” I whispered.
“What?”
“Family pictures. She took them all away. Look at the holes.” Though the grass cloth hid them, they were definitely there. But a niggling had started. Leaving Edward, I went down the stairs and circled the rooms. Oh, pictures still hung on these walls, but I had been too focused on my mother to notice specifics. I realized now that I had never seen any of them before. They were of the type sold at the mall, that looked like authentic oils but weren’t.
Turning around in dismay, I realized that family pictures weren’t all that was missing. My parents had been big on religious images, but those were gone now, too. Hoping that my mother’s verbal dismissal of God was simply momentary bluster, and that she had simply shifted them to her bedroom, I left Edward a
nd ran up the stairs. There were none in the room my parents had shared, none in the hall, none in either of the other two bedrooms.
At the door of the one that had been mine, I felt a little catch. Unable not to, I stepped in. It was much as it had been when I lived there, with its single bed dressed in pink, its matching curtains, my well-loved stuffed animals standing, some straighter than others, atop the bookshelf. And the shelves beneath? Clear as day despite the cracked spines were titles like Number the Stars, Tiger Eyes, and Ramona Quimby, and, on lower shelves, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Hairy Maclary from Donaldson’s Dairy, and The Very Busy Spider. And there was Lilly’s Purple Plastic Purse. It hadn’t been one of mine, but one that my mother added to the collection when Lily was born. My baby had loved it. She had loved overnights with Nana and Papa, returning home with tales of classic movies and cookie-making. My parents hadn’t liked my life, but they adored their grandchild.
The familiar tightness was growing. This was ground zero where memories were concerned.
“Painful,” Edward said from the door. He had a hand high on the jamb, supporting himself against memories of his own, and for a minute he seemed so … wrecked, that I couldn’t breathe. Since our reunion, he had been the stronger of us. What I saw now was a glimpse of what his own past had been.
Crossing to him, I slipped my arms around his waist. Had we done this after the accident? I couldn’t remember. Those days, weeks, months were a blur of shock and shame, grief and blame. But holding each other now felt right. And it wasn’t only about my being held. It was about my holding him.
We didn’t speak, just stood there feeling the memories, letting the pain have its way until, like the sting of medicine on a cut, it lessened, and my chest slowly relaxed.
“Thank you,” Edward whispered against my temple.
“Ditto,” I whispered back.
Then I heard the plop of mail hitting the floor from the slot by the front door and, pulling away, I hurried down to check on my mother. Mercifully, she hadn’t woken.
But I did. There were things to be done while she slept. First, phone calls.
Knowing that Joe Hellinger would have to call me back, I left him a message, then called Annika Allen, who gave me the names of my mother’s doctors, assured me that she could manage the bakery herself, and took my cell number.
I texted Shanahan, who had been sending annoying texts.
I texted Kevin, who had been sending endearing texts.
I was studying an unknown number on my screen, this one from area code 202, when Joe called back. He was thrilled to help after all I’d done for him—those were his words—and while I didn’t see that I’d done anything I hadn’t been glad to do, there was no time to argue. After I had explained the situation, he promised to get us an appointment with the best orthopedic person at Dartmouth-Hitchcock, plus the name of a good physical therapist to work with Mom at the Inn. He also insisted on coming over with his wife to meet my mother, which added two more friends to the list.
While Joe and I talked, Edward was phoning his assistant about readying the owner’s suite. I caught phrases like fresh flowers, bowl of fruit, and Irish Breakfast Tea, before I tuned out to call Liam.
“You are what?” my brother said.
“Bringing Mom to Devon.”
“Oh no. Nonono. If she knows I’m here, she’ll be all over me!”
“She already knows, knew before I said a word. She isn’t a stupid woman, Liam.” I elaborated briefly on that and went back and forth with him for a time before cutting to the chase. “And here’s the thing,” I said, because he claimed to know nothing about the religious images, which meant that either he was oblivious of his surroundings or their removal had happened after he left, which meant that his departure had affected her as deeply as everything related to me, “she is our mother, and she’s in need. You will welcome her to Devon, you will bring her food, you will tell her what you’re doing. You will spend at least a little time with her each day and take her wherever she wants to go. If she feels up to it, you will walk with her. You’ll drive her around on a tour of Devon. If she wants to eat out, and I can’t be with her, you will be. You will take care of my pets until I’m sleeping there again—”
“Where will you be?” he cut in, sounding terrified.
“With Mom at the Inn.” I explained that piece.
“Mom? At our Inn? She and Dad never went anywhere. She won’t have a clue what to do with a luxury Inn.”
I smiled into the phone. “Which is why we will show her. She is recovering from a broken hip, so she can’t walk far or for long, but we will make things as pleasant as possible for her—and I’m serious about my pets, Liam.” I ran through their needs to remind him. “And my house. I want it as neat as you keep your kitchen. Got that?”
“I’m not deaf,” he grumbled.
“Just self-absorbed, but right now, this isn’t about you or me, it’s about her. She’s given us a lot. We need to give back. She’s our mother, and she’s hurting. We owe her.”
“Hey, you were the one who left. All those years, I stayed.”
“Until five weeks ago, and that was the last straw.”
“You’re blaming me for her problems?”
I sighed. “No, Liam. We both let her down, so here’s a chance for us to redeem ourselves. I’m hanging up now. I need to pack her things.”
There was silence for a minute, then, because Liam wasn’t dumb either, a cautious, “And she’s onboard with all this?”
Wasn’t that the question? But I wasn’t giving him the chance to argue against the plan, so all I said was, “We’ll be back in Devon tonight. Plan to be at the Inn first thing tomorrow. Actually, no,” I made a few calculations, “be in the lobby by seven tonight. I want you there when we arrive.”
* * *
My mother was not onboard with it, but when she started to argue, I listed the arrangements Edward and I had already made. Then I smiled. “It would be a major inconvenience if we had to cancel everything.”
She stood by the front door, which was where she had been when she spotted her packed bag, and for an instant her expression held the kind of steel it used to. “That’s unfair, Mackenzie.”
I should have been daunted by that look. After my father died, it had pushed me away in the most hurtful of ways. Now, though, it felt more like spirit than censure, and spirit was good. So, smiling still, I said, “Maybe, but I’m betting Liam is already planning what to cook.”
I waited for her to argue about that. After a minute, she simply said, “Liam puts too much salt in his food.”
“Please tell him that before he opens his restaurant.”
“I have,” Margaret insisted, then blinked. “Restaurant? There?” So she might know where he was, but she didn’t know what he was doing. Same with me. Apparently, her Googling had limits.
I gentled, even dared hold her arm. I imagined I felt a tremor, but she didn’t pull away. “There’s lots you don’t know. I need to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my life,” I said and then, without thought to whether the time or place was ideal, I felt my eyes fill, and while the tears didn’t spill, my words did. “Because you’re my mother. Because I’m different from who I was, and I want you—need you to know who I am. Because Edward says he loves me, only I find that hard to believe after the accident, and because if I still blame myself for Lily’s death, I have to blame myself for Dad’s death.”
She gave an angry huff. “It wasn’t his first.”
I pulled my hand back fast. “What?”
“Heart attack. He had one six weeks before Lily died.”
“But he never said—you never said—”
“He wouldn’t let me,” she replied with surprising strength, and it struck me that her anger was at him.
“Why not? I was his daughter. I had a right to know.”
Her green eyes held mine. “You tell him that. I tried. He wouldn’t listen.”
>
“But I could have helped. I would have. I’d have checked out doctors and treatment, and shifted things around to spend time here and maybe not even been on that road on that day at that time—” Catching myself, I closed my eyes. I inhaled loudly, exhaled loudly, inhaled again. The breather brought conviction. “And that,” I said, opening my eyes to my mother’s concerned face, “is why we need to talk. I can’t keep on with the what-ifs—or maybe I just need to accept them into my life. That’s what Edward says”—I palmed my chest—“only I can’t if they’re locked in here. So you coming to Devon would be good for you physically and good for me mentally and maybe good for you mentally, too.” Feeling more sure of it than ever, I added, “Maybe we both need this, because we’re neither of us going nowhere until we do.” I hurried on before she could correct my grammar. “Opportunity doesn’t knock twice. Who used to say that?” She did, mostly about small things to do with my schooling or her baking, but it sure as hell applied now. “This is our opportunity, Mom.”
* * *
We were on the road shortly after three. The highway was dry, and, typical of late March, the air cooled as we drove north. My mother insisted on the backseat, where she could alternately stretch out on a pillow or sit. She began the trip sleeping, though whether from exhaustion after physical therapy or sheer escapism I didn’t know. When she woke, she took to the phone to cancel her Tuesday doctor’s appointment, alert a friend that she would be away, and follow up on a shipment of flour and sugar that was late reaching the bakery. Her voice was surprisingly strong during those calls. I’m with my daughter, she said at one point during each call, and while I wanted to hear relief or even pride, I could live with a simple statement of fact.
I held my own phone, but far preferred to listen to my mother’s voice than hear mine or that of anyone else. An hour into the drive, when my screen showed another 202 call, I ignored it.
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