I smiled into the phone. “Which is why we will show her. She is recovering from a broken hip, so she can’t walk far or for long, but we will make things as pleasant as possible for her—and I’m serious about mypets, Liam.” I ran through their needs to remind him. “Andmy house. I want it as neat as you keep your kitchen. Got that?”
“I’m not deaf,” he grumbled.
“Just self-absorbed, but right now, this isn’t about you or me, it’s about her. She’s given us a lot. We need to give back. She’s our mother, and she’s hurting. We owe her.”
“Hey, you were the one who left. All those years, I stayed.”
“Until five weeks ago, and that was the last straw.”
“You’re blaming me for her problems?”
I sighed. “No, Liam. We both let her down, so here’s a chance for us to redeem ourselves. I’m hanging up now. I need to pack her things.”
There was silence for a minute, then, because Liam wasn’t dumb either, a cautious, “And she’s onboard with all this?”
Wasn’tthatthe question? But I wasn’t giving him the chance to argue against the plan, so all I said was, “We’ll be back in Devon tonight. Plan to be at the Inn first thing tomorrow. Actually, no,” I made a few calculations, “be in the lobby by seven tonight. I want you there when we arrive.”
***
My mother was not onboard with it, but when she started to argue, I listed the arrangements Edward and I had already made. Then I smiled. “It would be a major inconvenience if we had to cancel everything.”
She stood by the front door, which was where she had been when she spotted her packed bag, and for an instant her expression held the kind of steel it used to. “That’s unfair, Mackenzie.”
I should have been daunted by that look. After my father died, it had pushed me away in the most hurtful of ways. Now, though, it felt more like spirit than censure, and spirit was good. So, smiling still, I said, “Maybe, but I’m betting Liam is already planning what to cook.”
I waited for her to argue about that. After a minute, she simply said, “Liam puts too much salt in his food.”
“Please tell him that before he opens his restaurant.”
“Ihave,” Margaret insisted, then blinked. “Restaurant? There?” So she might know where he was, but she didn’t know what he was doing. Same with me. Apparently, her Googling had limits.
I gentled, even dared hold her arm. I imagined I felt a tremor, but she didn’t pull away. “There’s lots you don’t know. I need to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my life,” I said and then, without thought to whether the time or place was ideal, I felt my eyes fill, and while the tears didn’t spill, my words did. “Because you’re my mother. Because I’m different from who I was, and I want you—needyou to know who I am. Because Edward says he loves me, only I find that hard to believe after the accident, and because if I still blame myself for Lily’s death, I have to blame myself for Dad’s death.”
She gave an angry huff. “It wasn’t his first.”
I pulled my hand back fast. “What?”
“Heart attack. He had one six weeks before Lily died.”
“But he never said—younever said—”
“He wouldn’t let me,” she replied with surprising strength, and it struck me that her anger was at him.
“Why not? I was his daughter. I had a right to know.”
Her green eyes held mine. “You tell him that. I tried. He wouldn’t listen.”
“But I could have helped. Iwouldhave. I’d have checked out doctors and treatment, and shifted things around to spend time here and maybe not even been on that road on that day at that time—” Catching myself, I closed my eyes. I inhaled loudly, exhaled loudly, inhaled again. The breather brought conviction. “And that,” I said, opening my eyes to my mother’s concerned face, “is why we need to talk. I can’t keep on with the what-ifs—or maybe I just need to accept them into my life. That’s what Edward says”—I palmed my chest—“only I can’t if they’re locked in here. So you coming to Devon would be good for you physically and good for me mentally and maybe good for you mentally, too.” Feeling more sure of it than ever, I added, “Maybe we both need this, because we’re neitherof us going nowhere until we do.” I hurried on before she could correct my grammar. “Opportunity doesn’t knock twice. Who used to say that?”Shedid, mostly about small things to do with my schooling or her baking, but it sure as hell applied now. “This is our opportunity, Mom.”
***
We were on the road shortly after three. The highway was dry, and, typical of late March, the air cooled as we drove north. My mother insisted on the backseat, where she could alternately stretch out on a pillow or sit. She began the trip sleeping, though whether from exhaustion after physical therapy or sheer escapism I didn’t know. When she woke, she took to the phone to cancel her Tuesday doctor’s appointment, alert a friend that she would be away, and follow up on a shipment of flour and sugar that was late reaching the bakery. Her voice was surprisingly strong during those calls.I’m with my daughter,she said at one point during each call, and while I wanted to hear relief or even pride, I could live with a simple statement of fact.
I held my own phone, but far preferred to listen to my mother’s voice than hear mine or that of anyone else. An hour into the drive, when my screen showed another 202 call, I ignored it.
