“Emerson took me to the store yesterday.”
“I see,” she said, making room for the produce and other groceries. “And it doesn’t look like you need these either.” She set a stack of books and a handful of magazines on the counter before walking over to Sophie’s makeshift workspace. “You made this?” She reached a hand toward the necklace taking shape on the velvet but stopped short of touching it.
When she turned back to face Sophie, the other woman’s face held such wonder it made her heart squeeze. She was used to having people admire her work but something about Sarah Southerland’s words and expression made it feel as if her admiration was for Sophie and not just the jewelry.
“I did. It’s just seed pearls and silver. Nothing terribly valuable,” she said, not sure why she was downplaying the piece.
“It’s beautiful. You’re an artist.”
Sophie felt her face heat, still not sure why a compliment from Emerson’s mother carried so much weight. Whatever the reason, it mattered. Sophie cared what the other woman thought about her.
“I’ve been lucky enough to make a living doing something I love.”
“I can see that. It shows.” She hit Sophie with a smile so genuine; it warmed her from the inside out. “So, my ruse of trying to save you from protein bars and daytime television is a sham. You didn’t need anything, and I’m just the meddling mother who’s come to gawk at the woman staying in my son’s apartment. You’ll have to forgive me. He’s just never had anyone stay with him before. When Gabe told me, I got curious.”
Which meant Emerson probably didn’t even know his mother was here.She wondered how he’d react when he found out—whether it would be a good thing or not.
“There’s nothing to forgive, and yesterday you would have found bare cupboards. Please, I needed to take a break anyway. Sometimes when I’m working, I forget to stop to eat.” It was the truth, and it made the other woman’s face light up. Sophie found she liked that almost as much as she liked hearing Emerson laugh.Almost.
“It’s after three o’clock, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you haven’t had lunch yet?”
Sophie chewed on her lip, and Mrs. Southerland shook her head. “You sit. I’ll make us something to eat. It’s the least I can do.”
“You’ve already done so much, Mrs. Southerland,” she said, perching on one of the stools at the counter. The woman moving confidently through the kitchen felt so warm, so maternal, Sophie instinctively leaned closer. Her boss Connie looked out for her but it had been so long since she’d really felt taken care of.
“Nonsense, and call me Sarah. How do you feel about chili?” she asked, digging in the refrigerator for one of the Tupperware containers she’d stashed in there minutes earlier.
“Chili would be great. Thanks.”
While the chili heated in a saucepan on the stove, the older woman put cheese on thick slices of bread and popped them under the broiler.
“I swear, I don’t think that son of mine ever uses his oven. I taught all my children to cook before they left my house, but Emerson always seemed to be going in too many different directions to worry about mundane things like eating. It sounds like that might be something you have in common.” She gave Sophie a considering look and Sophie had a feeling Gabe might have embellished the story about why she was staying with his brother.
“That smells so good.” It seemed safer not to comment on what she and Emerson may or may not have in common and the chili really did smell good. Now that she’d had a chance to think about eating, she was starving.
“I hope you like it.” She put two pieces of cheese toast on a plate and set it and a bowl of chili in front of Sophie.
Sitting on the stool, her legs too short to touch the floor while Emerson’s mom took care of her, reminded Sophie what it felt like to be a kid for the second time that day. Missing her mother was a palpable ache, and she found herself unexpectedly blinking back tears.
“Oh sweetheart, I know you must be scared,” said Sarah, taking her hand. “Don’t worry. My boys won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe here.”
Despite her mortification at her emotional outburst, Sophie smiled at the idea of men as physically strong and competent as Emerson and Gabe being called boys.
“It’s not that. Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m overreacting.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and willed back the tears. “It’s just my mother passed when I was young and I haven’t had anyone take care of me in a long time. I didn’t mean to turn into an emotional wreck over chili.”
“A few unshed tears hardly makes you an emotional wreck, especially given what you’ve been through the past few days. I’m sorry about your mother.” Sarah raised her hand as if she might reach for her but stopped short of touching.
Sophie was grateful. Emerson’s mother’s hand on her arm would send her over the edge. She’d never be able to hold back her tears.
“It was a long time ago.”
“I don’t imagine that matters all that much, does it?”
Sophie gave a rueful smile. The older woman was right. She missed her mother every day. She felt her loss all the time; she’d just gotten better at coping with it. “Not really.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’ve pried enough.” The older woman watched her with kind eyes, eyes so much like her son’s it tugged at her heart.
Sophie found she wanted to tell Sarah. The fact she wasn’t pushing made it easier to share details of her past. Her quiet compassion felt so maternal; it made Sophie want to open up about things she never talked about, things she hadn’t begun to share with Emerson.
