“Would you like some pancakes, Mom? I have plenty of batter.”
“No. I’m exhausted from the trip and would like to go up to my room and rest for a while before I go.”
In the middle of pouring the syrup over the plated stack of pancakes, Elliot paused. “Go where?”
“To see Claire, of course. You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”
“I…I have to work on an article.” Not really, but the last thing he wanted to do when Win had the morning off was spend time with his mother in the cemetery.
It had been a while since he’d been subjected to his mother’s scrutiny, and it seemed she was as capable of reading his mind as always.
“It’s fine. I can go by myself.”
Pain shot through him, and his shoulders slumped. It wasn’t fair that she treated him like this. “I do go. You know because I send you pictures.” It didn’t matter that he’d woken up on top of the world. His mother’s appearance had knocked him down the mountain.
“Once every month or so isn’t enough. It’s like you don’t even care.”
“Elliot cares. He’s the most caring person I know.” To the untrained ear, Win might have sounded mild-mannered, but Elliot knew him now and could see the tenseness in his body and the hard set of his jaw. “He told me about his sister, and I understand.”
“What do you know about the pain of losing someone? I’m sorry, but you don’t understand anything.”
“On the contrary, Mrs. Hansen. I lost my husband, so I think I’m more than qualified.”
