“Oh, yes,” I said. “It was very, very kind of you to let them use your boat.”
He sat down on the floor across from me. “How are they, Ansley? Are they OK? I want to do something to help. I really do.”
I smiled at him, that familiar warmth running through me. He was such a kindhearted soul, a generous man. That was what had always drawn me to him.
“Caroline is just going to have to feel it, I think. And Sloane...” I shook my head, hoping he didn’t hear the crack in my voice. But he must have, because he scooted beside me and pulled me into him.
“I want so badly to be mad at you,” he said. “I want to hate you for not giving me what I want. But then I think of all you’re going through and I understand you a little more. And I can’t hate you as much as I want to.” He kissed the top of my head, and a little laugh broke through my tears.
“This is the least professional interview I’ve ever done,” I said.
“Ansley, we both know I don’t know a thing about being a parent. But I know about you. I know they are your life, but don’t lose yourself in this.” I looked up into his earnest face. “Please.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “That’s why I want to do this house so badly. It will help me focus my attention somewhere other than on Sloane and Adam and even Caroline and James. Their unhappiness is so consuming.”
“How’s your mom?”
I shrugged, and as if she heard him, she called from her room, “Ansley!”
“I’ve got her, Ans,” James called from the kitchen. He walked into my mother’s room, saying, “Ansley is with a client. Remember?”
As I was saying, “She seems better,” James walked in. “I’m sorry, Ansley,” he said, “but I think you’d better come in here.”
I got up, and Jack followed me. Mom was looking around the room and glanced up at me when I came in. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
I could tell she was confused. “Whose suitcase is that?” she asked, pointing to the corner of the room.
“What?” I asked.
“Whose suitcase?” she repeated.
“Well,” I said slowly, “it’s yours, Mom. You’ve had it for like twenty years.”
“It’s not mine,” she said indignantly.
I looked at Jack helplessly. He rolled the suitcase to her. “See?” he said, pointing to the plate at the top of the suitcase.
“Those are my initials,” she said.
“Right.”
“My initials, but not my suitcase.” Then she peered at Jack. “And who in the world are you?”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Is she having a stroke?”
“Ansley, for heaven’s sake, I’m not having a stroke.” Then she looked up. “Jack, why in God’s holy name do you have my suitcase over here? It belongs in the corner.”
Jack looked concerned. I was sure I looked horrified. This was what I had been talking about for months now, what the doctors assured me was just old-age confusion.
“Mom? Do you know where you are?”
Now she really looked confused. “Darling, of course. I’m in the same bedroom I’ve had since I was a little girl at my parents’ house in Peachtree Bluff, which is now your house in Peachtree Bluff, much to the chagrin of your brother John.” She grinned at me. “And this is Jack, the man you have loved since you were a teenager but are too foolhardy to let back into your heart now.”
Jack laughed. “She seems fine to me.”
I sighed in relief. “Thanks, Mom. That’s great.” Whatever it was seemed to have passed.
I wanted to take her to the doctor or at least call, but every time I did, they acted like I was this delusional woman who couldn’t accept that her mother was aging.
