Chapter Forty-One
Grace
Huxley sends me a little bouquet of daisies the next day at the office, giving me a lift amid the foundation’s typical morning bustle. The card reads:
A little something to bring a smile to your beautiful face.
–Your devoted husband
Is the message something he came up with, or one of the default options the florist offered? His current attitude is nothing like how harsh he was when he found out that I was Nelson’s daughter. Has Huxley realized that I never meant to deceive him and now wants our marriage to work?
I noticed he’s trying hard to include me in his family gatherings, too. His efforts have given me a sense of belonging I’ve missed since Mom became sick. My mind whispers things are just too good to be true. But don’t I deserve something good after years of hardship?
Just enjoy it while it lasts.
True. Angsting won’t make a difference.
My eyes return to the flowers. They’re lovely. So is the sentiment. I pick up my phone and send him a photo of the bouquet.
–Me: Thank you. They’re so pretty.
–Huxley: I would’ve preferred to see a shot of your smile.
He attaches a cartoon brown bear GIF that looks out from the screen soulfully with its forepaws clasped together. I laugh at the unexpectedly sweet response, then snap a selfie and send it to him.
–Huxley: Beautiful.
–Me: The flowers add to my desk.
–Huxley: And you add to my day.
I smile. When he’s like this, I really want our marriage to work. I just wish I could be sure that it’s on a solid foundation. That, despite the prenup, we will be together, so I don’t feel like our future is hidden in some kind of fog.
–Me: I gotta go to a meeting. Talk to you later.
I confirm the final details of the art auction for next week. Everything’s all set, all our hard work finally paying off. The proceeds will go to shelters, kitchens, mental health counseling and more for veterans. Elizabeth was horrified to see some recent studies on the bleak situation many veterans face, and she wants to help them get back on their feet and lead productive lives with dignity and pride.
She was a little nervous, since the foundation used to spend its energy on women and children, but she shouldn’t have worried. So many people have promised to come. They know she’ll use the funds wisely. She doesn’t even draw a salary at the foundation, and puts her personal money into paying for a big chunk of employees’ salaries and benefits. I asked her once what would happen if she ran out of personal money, but she told me there’s plenty, and her financial advisor, Gavin Lloyd, is doinga fabulous job of getting her the return she needs to fund the foundation for as long as necessary.
As soon as I’m done with the checklist, an email from Dr. Blum hits my inbox. I open it immediately.
Your mother’s progress is very good. Her fingers twitched when we played your baby’s heartbeat. We start every morning that way, and let her know it’s her grandbaby. I think it may be giving her the will to wake up. She isn’t fully awake yet, but sometimes she taps once or twice with her index finger to indicate yes or no. However, her eyes are still closed. We aren’t sure why, but we are now quite optimistic about recovery. I hope you are too. Here are some photos from last week. And she was very fond of the pink orchids you sent because the nurse said she thought she saw your mother smile.
As I read, I put a hand over my mouth. My eyes grow hot with tears, and they fall in rivulets. This is by the far the most positive note from Dr. Blum yet. My heart swells, and I read the email one more time, slowly, to make sure I didn’t miss anything the first time.
Mom is making progress.
She will recover.
All the abuse I put up from Nelson and his family was worth it.
“What’s wrong?” Tolyan asks, plucking a tissue from his desk and handing it to me with a small frown.
“Nothing. It’s my mother. She’s doing better.” I dab my eyes, then blow my nose. “Excuse me. I need a moment.” I stand and head to the elevator. The joy inside my heart is too big to contain, and I simply can’t sit still.
What wouldn’t I give to be able to fly to visit with Mom right now, but I can’t leave with the auction happening so soon. Besides, I’m going to see her soon—her birthday is in a few weeks.
Maybe I’ll ask HR if I can extend my time off, so I can spend more time with Mom this year. I’d love to read her the latest romance novels by her favorite authors, and tell her all the ridiculous things Huxley is buying for the baby, like that gold-plated stroller. And the bespoke silk onesies he ordered from his tailor in London!
