“Give a hug, you.” The door closed behind us as I looked around. Nothing had changed. Same oriental rug on the polished oak floor, same round entry table with its ever-present arrangement of flowers. Yellow roses. I’d received a spanking from Paul shortly after his marriage to my mother for knocking that arrangement on the floor as I ran through the house. It was the first spanking I’d ever received.
I turned to Savvi. “Are they here?”
“They are. Have a seat and I’ll let them know you’re here.”
Mouth twisting, I led Shiloh into the parlor, and we took a seat on the antique upholstered sofa. Ever formal, my parents. I couldn’t just wander at will into Paul’s study or Mother’s sitting room. I had to be announced.
Like a visitor.
The thought made the rebel in me want to insinuate myself back into this place and their lives. Mother would go about her day pretending I was everything she required in a daughter, but it would piss Paul off no end. I was too big to spank into place anymore.
I stroked a hand over the fabric of the sofa. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? This place was mine, and Paul knew it and couldn’t stand it. He’d keep me out as long as he could by making my life hell, but the day was coming when the terms of my father’s will would deed it over to me. When that day came…well. I wasn’t sure yet how spiteful I would be. By nature I wasn’t a bitch. But God help me, I was looking forward to it.
Several minutes passed before I heard the click of my mother’s heels. They tit-tatted for several beats on the wood floor, then muted to a duller thud against the carpeted segment. I stood, bracing myself, and felt Shiloh stand beside me. Then she stood in the doorway, an older, more polished version of myself. Platinum hair was darkening to gray with age, and faint lines feathered out from her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were a faded blue where mine were green, the color of sea glass, my father had always said.
“Emery.” She stopped a few paces inside the parlor.
“Mother.” I rubbed my palms against my jeaned thighs and motioned to my friend. “You remember Shiloh?”
Distaste flickered in her eyes, but she hid it with a stiff smile. “Of course. How are you recovering from your…ordeal?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Please sit, girls. Emery, your father is working on something, but he said he’d try to slip in and see you before you left again.” Mother perched on the edge of the wingback cattycorner to the sofa Shiloh and I were seated upon and crossed one leg over the other. Even here, in the comfort of her own home, she was dressed for company in a pair of slim beige slacks, a silk blouse, and a strand of pearls. I’d never once seen her in a pair of jeans or a tee shirt.
“How have things been, Mother?”Small talk.I despised it, and all the familial and social niceties that made this visit a requirement. Absently I rubbed at my wrist.
“‘Things,’ as you put it, have been fine, Emery. We acquired a lovely new Arabian, and Gertie is due to foal in May. We already have a potential buyer.”
“That’s good.” Beside me, Shiloh was silent, her role as support only extending as far as physical presence. Not that I blamed her. Any comment or response was potential fodder for examination, not the most pleasant of experiences. I searched desperately for something to say. “And Paul? How is his health?”
Mother’s lips pressed together at my use of his first name. She didn’t like it, and felt I should give more deference to the man who had been there since I was tiny. “Your father is very well. I suspect it’ll be years yet before he dies.”
My mouth opened and closed on a snap. Her occasional snippiness always managed to surprise me. She was so blank, otherwise. “That’s not what I meant.”
Mother waved a hand, cutting me off. “Neither here nor there. How long are you on leave for this time? And do you plan on coming to brunch Sunday?”
Inwardly I groaned. Mother’s Sunday brunches were a home visit staple, and nearly always involved some eligible male she wanted me to meet. She had never given up on the idea of an advantageous marriage. Usually, these affairs were held at the downtown Bourbon House Hotel for maximum social impact.
“I’m actually out for a while,” I answered, avoiding the brunch question. “I’m on active reserve status, now. My plans are still a bit up in the air, but I’ll be here, in Virginia. There’s a job opportunity I’m looking into in the D.C. area.”
“That’s…that’s nice to hear, Emery. Why didn’t you tell us?” She was quick to shield the flash of annoyance that crossed her face, but I saw it. Why bother hiding her irritation? It just made me aggravated, damnit. Why not show it? Be honest. Pull it out, dissect it, and move on from it. No, instead she had to be reserved and closed off, even with her family. “I do hope you’ll plan on spending some time here on the farm.” Her gaze flicked to Shiloh and back to me. “I’m certain your friends won’t begrudge some time spent with family.”
“Of course, Mother,” I replied dutifully.
“And you know that Paul could set you up with a job if you’re insistent upon having one. Or you could do something here…help with the horses—”
“I’m not interested in working with Paul, Mother.”
“Please cease that infernal fidgeting. You’re making my blood pressure rise just watching you.” I realized I hadn’t stopped rubbing at my wrist since I had sat down. It was red and aggravated-looking.
Abruptly, I stood. “I’ll be by for brunch on Sunday, Mother. Same place and time as always?”
She nodded. “But what about—”
“I have to go. Please give my love to Paul. I have something…” Shiloh stood also and took over, and I started moving toward the door.
“I’ll see you soon, Mrs. Bishop.”
I wasn’t running away, I told myself.
I was just running.
