Fiona stared. “What about her?”
“I mean . . . don’t you care about her?”
“Oh, Lucy.” Her mother gave one of her familiar sighs, the sound of weary disappointment with poor, stupid Lucy. “It’s not that simple.”
Lucy could feel an ache in her throat, and an even deeper ache in her heart. How many times had her mother dismissed what she’d said, believed, or hoped for? But she didn’t have to buy into her mother’s philosophy anymore. She didn’t have to give it a moment’s worth of credence. “Actually,” she said, “sometimes it is that simple.”
She walked past her mother into her bedroom, filled with a sudden, restless anger for Juliet’s sake as well as her own. She’d hoped her mother’s coming here would change . . . well, everything. Juliet and Fiona would reconcile. They’d finally be a happy family. The End.
She sank onto the bed, annoyed with herself for being so bloody naive, even as she still half wished it could happen. Eventually she heard her mother’s footsteps along the hallway, and then the sound of a door down the hall closing. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, listening for Juliet’s now-familiar tread, but she fell asleep before she heard anything other than the lonely rustling of the wind through the trees.
She woke up to rain spattering against the windows, and even though it was nearly nine o’clock in the morning, it was still completely dark out.Welcome to a Cumbrian winter,she thought, and almost snuggled back under the duvet before she remembered. Juliet.Fiona.
She threw on jeans and a sweater and hurried downstairs. Milly and Molly were in the kitchen by their food bowls, whining and circling them. With a jolt Lucy realized Juliet must not have come home last night.
She took the dogs out into the nasty morning—ice, rain, and wind—and let them do their business while she huddled on the doorstep. Then she fed them their kibble and made herself a cupof tea, wondering where Juliet was and when Fiona would come downstairs.
Then she saw the note.
She eyed it warily, thick cream paper with her mother’s elegant script, propped between the salt and pepper shakers, addressed to both of them. Lucy wrestled with indecision for several seconds about whether to wait for Juliet before she plucked the note from the table and opened the folded paper.
I think it’s better if I go.
—Fiona
That was it. Seven words and her name. Lucy sank into a chair.
The back door opened and she glanced up to see Juliet coming in, looking decidedly rumpled but also surprisingly composed.
“Where were you?”
“At Peter’s.” Juliet closed the door and shrugged out of her jacket. “It’s horrendous out there.”
“All night?” Lucy practically squeaked.
“Yes, but not like that. Well, sort of like that.” Juliet reached for the kettle. “Don’t ask for details.”
She nodded to the kettle. “It’s already hot—I just boiled it. And of course I’m going to ask for details—”
“I needed someone to talk to after my conversation with Fiona. Someone who’s a little removed from it.”
“I can understand that.” Lucy waited until Juliet had made herself a cup of tea and sat down. “She’s gone,” she said, and handed her the note.
Juliet scanned it briefly and then tossed it onto the table. “I’m not actually surprised.”
“She came all this way to leave after one night?” Lucy could hear the hurt in her voice. “I’msurprised.”
“She’s probably gone to a spa somewhere in Manchester or London, to recover from her ordeal.” Juliet shrugged and took a sip of tea. “Her heart wasn’t in it, Lucy.”
Even now Lucy couldn’t help but say, “She seemed sincere when I talked to her in Boston. . . .”
Juliet grimaced. “I don’t know if our mother actually knows how to be sincere. But she gave me some answers, and I’m thankful for that. Mostly.”
“Answers . . . ?” Lucy ventured cautiously, and Juliet shook her head.
“I’ll tell you sometime, just not right now. It’s still . . . raw.”
Lucy swallowed and nodded. “Okay.”
