By Friday, the unseasonably mild weather of early week has followed the route of the snowbirds. Leaden clouds sag from the sky, shrinking the feel of our earthbound world. The weatherman calls for snow by the weekend.
The halls of Mom and Dad’s house are fully decked. The foyer tree sparkles merrily across the marbled floors and bounces off the beveled glass of the double front doors. Decorating, just me and Mom with a Christmas playlist and mugs of hot apple cider, is a memory I’ll cherish. She laid off about Rand—and I didn’t confess my preoccupation with another tree-trimming episode featuring a certain pretty, waitress-not-a-waitress.
Despite the drama of my week at home, Everly has lingered stubbornly about the nooks and crannies of my mind. Leaving without a word was a bad look, I know, but I panicked when Mom called with the news about Honey, using terms like coma and brain activity. I was about to stick my head in the kitchen to find her, but then Mom texted with flight information and I had no choice but to run. I hope she’ll forgive me.
Does Everly even care that I pulled a disappearing act? Given her tepid reaction to my cantata invitation, it’s hard to imagine. The woman is an open book one moment and a hieroglyphic scroll the next.
DoIcare? Relationships take effort, and I’m still exhausted from Becca.
“You’re on another planet today.”
I drag my palm down my cheek, scuffing the stubble I’ve neglected for two days. Bad of me since old-school Honey ispartial to the cleanshaven version of her grandson. “Nah, I’m here.” I flash the grin she seems to love.
She flaps her veiny hand. “Now, that was just pathetic, young man. The phoniest smile I’ve seen since I opened my eyes to my hovering children four days ago.”
Huh. I thought I’d pulled it off.
“At least your father has finally started to let you boys share the load, but you and your brother work so hard all the time. You look tired, sweetie.”
She runs her fingers through her hair, the pretty style from the weekend mashed and warped. “Tell me how you’re really doing, now that we have a moment alone.”
Honey’s private room has teemed with family and church friends ever since she was rolled down from ICU Tuesday evening. Every horizontal space is filled with a poinsettia or some other floral display, a balloon or two thrown in for good measure. “I’m doing fine.”
She stares at me with fiercely drawn in brows, then stretches out her hand for me to take. I haul the vinyl chair closer and comply.
“This thing with Rand…”
I roll my eyes up to her face. There’s nowhere she can take this opener that works for me.
“I pray you won’t let it separate the two of you.”
My teeth begin to ache. What is it with everyone shoving off responsibility for the rift on me? Since when is it cool to take up with your brother’s ex? Seems to me if anyone owns the responsibility of righting this ship it’s Rand.
“He has tried to speak with you, hasn’t he?”
She knows the answer. She was watching two evenings ago when I shut down Rand’s suggestion I take a walk with him. He hasn’t been around since, not while I was here.
“Do not let Becca separate brothers.” Honey huffs. “That girl is not worth it.”
My eyes expand. Her tone digs with the ring of a truth I’ve sensed regarding her true opinion of Becca but that she’s never spoken explicitly.
She presses slightly trembly fingers to her mouth. “Oh, dear. I did not mean to say that.”
I lean and point. “Ah-hah. I always knew you didn’t like her!”
“Well, now, it isn’t that I don’t like her…”
I dip my chin.
She glances toward the ajar door and curls her shoulders as if the huddled posture will keep her words from carrying. “Alright, fine. She’s never been a favorite of mine.”
Honey is the sweetest, most gracious woman, so the confession, while not shocking to the part of me that always suspected as much,isstartling.
“Why did you never say anything?”
She pinches the back of my hand. “Would you have listened?”
I stare into the heavy sky beyond the window.
