She’d had the bear made from Dad’s favorite flannel shirt, and Chloe liked to imagine his fragrance still resided in the threads. Maybe she’d have another made from Jean-Marc’s dark blue thermal. Keep them both on her bed, make it a memorial. She shook her head, throwing off depressing thoughts.
“It’s about dinner time,” Mom said. “Are you hungry? We could run to Ella’s Diner. Tina
reinstated Monday night pie nights. If we go early, we can get a booth by the front window.”
Chloe sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, a fresh batch of tears rising.
Mom placed a hand on Chloe’s arm. “What is it, darling?”
She flopped backward onto the old soft quilt. “Just this…life. I don’t mind being here, I want to be here, honest. But I can’t get it out of my head entirely that this is not what I planned on doing when I was turning thirty. I’ve been a mess since Jean-Marc died. One minute I’m angry at him. The next, weeping and sobbing and missing him so much, it physically pains my chest. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”
Mom lay down next to her and Chloe rested her head on Mom’s shoulder. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”
Chloe sat up. “Yes, so don’t.” She wasn’t ready to hear—again—that she’d get over losing her husband, she’d go on with life, maybe even find a new love. Yada, yada.Whatever. Clearly Mom didn’t practice what she preached. Twenty-two years after Daddy died, she was still alone.
Alone. Which was another reason why Chloe had left Paris to come home and help Maman.
“Why don’t we bake tomorrow? That always cheered you up as a girl.”
Chloe’s eyes filled with tears. “MeMaw’s vanilla cake?”
Mom kissed her forehead. “That’s the one. Unless you’ve come up with some fancy French pastry that cures your blues.”
“No way. MeMaw’s cake is theonlything to soothe a sad soul.”
“So, dinner?” Mom elbowed Chloe’s side. “Ella’s?”
Chloe surveyed the boxes stacked under the window seat—the ones she’d shipped at an exorbitant fee from France—and considered more unpacking. But where would she put the dishes or linens she’d acquired in her life as an ex-pat? The remnants of nearly eight years with Jean-Marc. She was here for now but not staying forever. This was just to get herself together and to see Mom through chemo and radiation.
Chloe drew a breath with a side glance at Mom. Now was as good a time as ever. “We’ve talked about Dad’s death, Jean-Marc, my return home, dinner, and vanilla cake, but not why I’m really here.”
Mom got up and moved to the window. “You know why. I feel like if I talk about it, I’m feeding it. If I ignore it, maybe it will go away.” She looked at Chloe. “Silly, I know.”
“Not silly. I understand.” Chloe slipped off the bed. “What time is your appointment in the morning?” The what-to-expect-during-treatment appointment would be Chloe's first opportunity to introduce herself to Mom’s medical team. Chemo would start officially the next day.
“Nine o’clock. I hope you don’t regret coming home from Paris to chauffeur me to the doctor or chemo clinic. I’m glad you’re home, don’t get me wrong, I just wish it wasn’t to take care of me. What about your career?”
“You are more important than my career. At least death has taught me one good lesson. Besides, I wasn’t in the right mind to make any more of my position at the bistro. This change to start over might spark something new, something different and good. Mostly I came home because you have cancer and need support. Mom, you were always there for me, now let me be there for you.”
“I’m the mother. Of course, I was there for you. But you’re supposed to be out living your life, having babies, buying a home, and becoming a world-famous pastry chef.”
Chloe scoffed. “Well, life saw fit to do otherwise and there is no place I’d rather be. Fame, ah, it’ll wait for me.” She glanced toward the photo booth strip she’d taken with Sam Hardy. “I bet if you ask him, fame is way overrated anyway.”
Mom turned away, brushing the back of her hand over her cheeks. “All this mush is making me hungry. I’ll get my pocketbook and we can go.”
“Sounds good.” Chloe reached for her handmade leather bucket bag she and Jean-Marc had found at a custom shop in the French countryside, and her favorite beret. She looked again at the boxes. Tomorrow. She would unpack tomorrow. If she’d learned anything from death, it was to not worry over the small things.
“Does Ella’s still have fabulous milk shakes?” Chloe followed Mom down the stairs.
“You bet.” At the coat rack, Mom and Chloe pulled on their winter coats before stepping into the Tennessee cold. “Let’s walk. Ella’s isn’t far.”
Their brisk walk was under a blue winter sky laced with the gold, red, and orange of the setting sun. Each step brought memories of running and playing down this lane with her friends. Riding her bike in the summer and throwing snowballs at the neighbor boy, Landon Martin, in the winter. She’d read in the latest Rock Mill High alumni newsletter he was a Wall Street mover and shaker now.
“Hearts Bend was a great place to grow up, Mom.” Chloe slipped her arm through her mother’s. “I have so many good memories.”
“I’m glad. Hearts Bend is a great little town.”
They turned off Red Oak Lane and headed down First Avenue. Across the way, Gardenia Park slept under a blanket of old snow. Mom’s breath billowed about her head as she chattered and pointed out the new ice-cream flavors Pop’s Yer Uncle Ice Cream Shop advertised in the window—Peppermint and Vanilla Sweetheart—as well as the pretty twinkle lights glowing inside Valentino’s restaurant, the donut and muffin-shaped paper cutouts on the plate glass window, along with a placard propped on the sill of Haven’s Bakery. Oh, she had a million memories of Saturday mornings at Haven’s with Mom.
