“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” she asked again before covering her mouth to stifle a yawn.
“No. After you eat, you should go to bed and try to get some sleep. I know you had to get up early to catch your flight. I’m going to leave here around one, and I should be back no later than three. The fridge is stocked, and so is the pantry. I’m not expecting any visitors or deliveries, so if the doorbell rings, you don’t have to answer the door.”
Edwina’s eyes grew wide. “Are there break-ins around here?”
“No, Mama. The island is quite safe. Many of the folks who live here are retired and vigilant; they monitor who’s coming and going.”
“Something like a neighborhood watch.”
Cherie laughed. “Yeah. It’s something like that. I know you like omelets, so what kind do you want?”
“A Western is okay.” Edwina pointed to a device on the countertop. “Are you growing herbs?”
“Yes. That’s an AeroGarden. One of my friends gave it to me as a housewarming gift. I just set it up last week, and already I see some of them sprouting. I can’t wait for the basil to come up so I can make pesto. My other gift is that crystal fruit bowl on the dining-area table.”
“You had a housewarming party?”
“No. They brought over the gifts when I hosted a Super Bowl party. Reese and his cousin brought enough bottles of liquor to last years. I’d rather have mocktails than cocktails.”
“I stopped drinking a couple of years ago because I’d wake up depressed and headachy. I can’t remember the last time I had an alcoholic drink. But getting back to your herb garden. You’ve really turned into a domestic goddess. I remember my mother telling you that if you wanted to get a husband, you had to learn to cook.”
“Grammie was old-school. Men nowadays cook as well as or some even better than women, and even if they’re not chefs, they don’t mind being seen in the kitchen.”
“Does your boyfriend cook, Cherie?”
“Yes, he does. And quite well.” She knew she had to give her mother a little background on Reese before she introduced him. “He was raised by his grandparents after his mother passed away.”
Edwina rested a hand on her throat. “Oh, how awful.”
“Reese doesn’t remember his mother because he was an infant when she was killed in a car crash.”
“What about his father?”
Cherie knew her mother had opened a Pandora’s box with the topic of fathers. She didn’t know hers, and Reese didn’t know his. “He doesn’t know his father.”
Edwina’s expression had become a mask of stone. “And you don’t know yours.”
“And I don’t want to know until you’re ready to tell me. And if you decide to keep it a secret, that’s okay with me. When I moved here, I decided to leave my past behind, and the nagging question about the man that was my father is no longer relevant. Unlike Reese, I do know my mother. I know our relationship hasn’t always been warm and fuzzy, but at least we both have been given a chance to try and get it right.”
“I told you before, and I’ll tell you again that I am so proud of you. You are everything I’d wanted to be but . . .”
“Enough, Mama. We’re not going down memory lane and end up crying and souping snot. You know that I cry ugly, and I don’t want my friends to think something’s wrong when I walk into work.” Whenever she cried, her eyes puffed up, and her cheeks were dotted with red blotches.
“Your friends sound like incredible women.”
“They are, and so are you. You raised four children who were never arrested or had to go to rehab because of an addiction.”
Edwina’s expression brightened. “I never thought about that.”
“Well, you should, because I don’t believe I would’ve been strong enough to go through what you have. And you’re still standing.”
“We’re still standing, Cherie, because we are descendants of survivors, and I don’t ever want you to forget that. My mother preached that to me because her mother had said the same thing to her, and it probably goes back generations.”
“I’d better get back to cooking so you can eat.”
Cherie sat in the alcove with Edwina, eating a fluffy omelet, crispy Applewood bacon, and buttered wheat toast, and laughing about some of the quirkier characters in their apartment building. She noticed her mother’s attempts to suppress her yawns, and after a cup of coffee, Edwina excused herself and went upstairs to rest. After cleaning the kitchen, Cherie exchanged her jeans for a pair of leggings and left a set of house keys on the kitchen countertop for Edwina.
* * *
