A quiet sound drew Britt’s attention to the hallway door. It slid open a few feet, revealing a feminine silhouette. Her mom, checking on her.
“I’m awake,” Britt said.
“Rough night’s sleep?”
“Sadly, yes. You too?”
“Sadly, yes. It’s early. You should try to get more sleep.”
“Nah.” Britt scooted up so that she was sitting against the pillows propped against the antique metal headboard. “I’d rather start the day now than lie here trying to sleep.”
Mom neared and clicked on the lamp next to the clock.
“First the kayaking accident and now this.” Britt squinted as her eyes adjusted. “I’ve decided to avoid death-defying situations for a while.”
“That’s a resolution I can fully support.” Mom, wearing a white fleece robe, lowered herself to the edge of the mattress near Britt’s legs. “How long do you think your decision to avoid death-defying situations will last? I’d like to pace myself.” Her quick smile transformed her face.
“I think I might be able to make it a whole month,” Britt teased.
“A whole month?” Mom asked wryly. “As long as that?”
“As long as that.”
Mom liked to pull her strawberry blond hair into a topknot for sleep. The style was very similar to the style Britt favored when making chocolate. Mom’s hair was shorter, though, so several strands had come undone to glide around her ears and neck. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened to you yesterday.”
“Me neither. I want to feel like myself again.” The prospect of feeling this unsettled for days? Intolerable.
“Yesterday was really, really scary, Britt. I’m afraid it might take some time for you to feel like yourself again.”
“I hope not.”
Mom’s brown eyes seemed to see right down into the hidden valleys of Britt’s personality. “You’ve never been a complainer.”
“No.”
“I mean, when you were a teenager, you’d complain about what was being served for dinner or Dad’s driving or the temperature inside the house.”
“Don’t forget that terrible radio station you used to play. I complained about that.”
“But you never complained about the really hard things.”
“It’s just ... not my way.”
“I get that. We both love our independence, you and I. And yet, there were times ... therearetimes ... when I worry that you don’t feel you have the right to saddle us with the difficult stuff because of our family dynamics or our history or both.”
“You want me to saddle you with the difficult stuff?”
“Of course I do.” Compassion infused every word. “If it would help.”
“You’ve all endured more than I have.”
“No one in our family is keeping score to determine who’s endured the most or least. You know that, right? We’re not in competition with one another.”
“I know that in theory. But I’d feel like an idiot if I melted into a puddle in front of you guys simply because I was placed in a room by myself for a few hours and got some scrapes on my hands.”
“Every person in this family is going to need support occasionally. Even you.”
Skepticism pushed upward within her, but her mom leveled an adamant I’m-right-about-this face at Britt, so there was no point in disagreeing.
