“I suppose not,” I whisper. A mother is a mother.
He takes a sharp inhale as if he’s about to speak but stays silent.
“What?” Somehow, now that I’ve opened that door, I’m craving this heart-to-heart. I’ve hardly shared with anyone the shame and trouble of my early years. But Noah’s gentle understanding makes it easy to unburden on him.
The earlier compliments at Mom’s didn’t exactly hurt either. How does he know all this about me?
“No… I…” He takes another quick inhale.
His hesitancy is endearing. “Go on. You can ask me anything,” I say. Truthfully, it feels good to unload on someone who actually cares.
“What’s with the nickname?” he asks. I noticed his frown when Mom called me Weeping, but I never thought anything of it. “I used to cry a lot as a baby. I guess it stuck.” At leastshenever called me Pillow. I chasethatbitter memory away by smiling encouragingly at Noah. Another question right about now would work out just fine.
“Your father…?” He narrows his eyes on me, his concern clear.
I shake my head, a small smile spreading on my lips. “Never knew him. I don’t think she did either.”
He doesn’t even flinch. Just raises his chin, his stare on the fire. “She probably didn’t have an easy life.”
“No, she didn’t,” I whisper. Did she have a choice? Or was she just too weak to fight for a better life for us? “I can’t believe she brought up the stolen land thing. I thought that stupid story died with Gramps. He was always complaining about everything and blaming everyone for the way his life turned out.” And yes, he was jealous to the point of obsession of the Callaways, and clearly Mom retained some of the toxicity on that topic.
Noah grunts, his gaze still on the fire.
“I don’t know if she takes advantage of being ill or if she genuinely is more abrasive because of what she’s going through. But just so you know, it’s not normally like this.” I realize it’s unimportant how bad it is or isn’t. He didn’t genuinelymeet the parents. It was a matter of necessity for me, of appearances for him.
“I didn’t ask her about her health tonight,” he says, looking at me. “It felt too personal, for a first time. And now I realize I haven’t asked you either, and that’s really shitty of me. I’m sorry I’ve been so self-centered. How… how is she… is she going to be okay?”
It was not self-centered. We’ve talked about it, if briefly. And I started using his credit card to pay for medical bills. “She was diagnosed with stage III ovarian cancer late last year. She had chemo and surgery, and she was stable for a while. Last month, they found it had returned. But it’s small, and slow growing. So for now she’s staying home, on daily meds.”
“How does she manage that?”
I shrug. “She tires easily, can get a little confused. Her hair is growing back slowly, so that makes her happy. Gives her hope.” She still wears a scarf when she’s not alone, as her hair is growing back in uneven wisps.
“She’s lucky to have you,” he says, his gravelly voice making me all kinds of funny inside.
“You know what, I think you’re right.”
He laughs. “You know your worth, and I love that about you.”
My heart stumbles at his unfortunate word choice.Don’t dwell on it. He didn’t mean it that way. You know he didn’t.“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Well aren’t you two cute!” Lane calls out.
I jump in my chair as if I’d been caught kissing in the janitor’s closet. “Hey, what’s up?” I ask, my gaze snapping briefly to the handsome man at her side.
“This is Jake,” she says with a wink for me. “He’s just visiting Emerald Creek, you’re forbidden to ask awkward questions, and I’m just grabbing my ID,” she says as she runs up the stairs.
Noah sizes the guy up and down but doesn’t get up. “Jake. Noah. Where are you guys going?”
“The Grumbler? The Howler? The Grunter. I think she said the Grunter.”
“The Growler,” I offer. It’s an event space up in the hills with several bars, live music, pool tables. Trouble will find you there if you’re looking for it, or you can just have a really good time. “That’s awesome. You’ll have fun. D’you know who’s playing tonight?”
“I didn’t even know they had live music.”
Noah takes my hand. “Maybe we should go?” He squeezes it spasmodically as if he’s trying to pass along a message in Morse.
“Babe, I don’t think that’s what Lane wants.”
