“No, I…no.” Kate shook her head, clearly trying to get her composure back.
Tina wondered if she should jump in, if Jack had pushed it too far. Damn it. She’d warned him to let her do the talking.
But despite her warning glare, he kept going.
“The truth is, my mother and I have a complicated relationship. We always have, even before the show. We rarely talk and when we do, we don’t know what to say to each other. Do you know what I mean?”
Kate nodded, her gaze glued to his face.
“It’s like there’s so much piled up that we don’t know where to start. I want to fix it, but I don’t know how. Maybe if I could speak her language, you know? Quilting, candle-making, something like that. Do you think that would work?”
Kate’s eyes filled with tears. “I…I…”
Oh shit. She was going to cry.
Jack stepped closer to Kate and touched her gently on the shoulder. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I unloaded all that on you. This cozy shop reminds me of her, that’s all. It’s so peaceful, like couldn’t we reconcile over a crochet needle?”
She gave a wobbly smile, but it didn’t last. A moment later she burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. As she sobbed, Jack squeezed her shoulder, offering comfort. She leaned in, resting her forehead against his chest.
Tina watched, amazed. This was a Marigold situation all over again. How did Jack do it?
Over her shoulder, he mouthed something to Tina—it looked like “back off a few steps.”
She did so, giving them some space, and a moment later Kate started talking in between her sobs. “My…my children don’t speak to me. I haven’t seen either one in years. I…I don’t even know where they are. Every so often I get a text from my son, but after we talk a tiny bit, he’ll change his number and we’ll be back to silence. My daughter…my daughter blames me for everything. She didn’t even invite me to her wedding. I’m so ashamed. What kind of mother doesn’t get invited to their own daughter’s wedding?”
Tina could think of a number of follow-up questions—who did she marry, when did she marry—but unless she could psychically communicate them to Jack, she’d have to rely on him to probe further.
He did not. He simply held the sobbing woman and repeated, “It’s okay, families are complicated. You’re okay.”
Frustrated, Tina waved her hands to get his attention, then mouthed, “Ask her about husband.”
He gave a minuscule shake of his head.
Damn it. Jack Finnegan was too nice of a guy, that was the problem. He wanted to comfort Kate, not interrogate her. Was he forgetting about their purpose for being there? Didn’t he want to find his sister?
You’re letting your thirst for results run away with you, she told herself. She had a tendency to do this. People weren’t just machines who spat out answers on command. They needed delicate and specific handling, and that was exactly what Jack was instinctively doing. She should back away and let him work his magic.
While she worked hers by finding out anything she could.
She spotted a half-open door behind the counter, and figured it must be a bathroom. Moving quietly so as not to disturb Kate, she darted around the counter, scanning everything she passed. She made her way past a stack of boxes with tissue paper, ready for packing; a rack of spools of thread of every color in the rainbow; and a banquet table piled with framing supplies; a corkboard absolutely covered with photos.
In the bathroom, she found a washcloth and ran it under warm water. Grabbing a towel to go with it, she made her way back to Kate’s side. Her sobbing had slowed, and she was wiping away her tears with fingers.
“Here, sweetie,” Tina said kindly, handing her the washcloth and towel. “I always like a warm facecloth after I have a good cry.”
“Thank you.” Kate buried her face in it. “I’m so embarrassed,” she murmured. “You two are complete strangers.”
“You know, sometimes it’s easier to let things out with a stranger,” Tina said. “Because you’ll never see them again, so what does it matter? Besides, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. My therapist says it’s so important not to let things just fester inside you.”
Jack shot her a sardonic look, as if he knew she’d never seen a therapist in her life. Which was incorrect, since her department mandated therapy sessions after every officer-involved shooting.
Kate took the towel from Tina and patted her face dry.
“I never talk about these things,” she said as she clutched the towel tightly in her hand. “But it’s always on my mind. Do either of you have children?”
They both shook their heads.
“Then you could never understand this pain.” She twisted the towel in her hands. “I did everything for my children. Every decision I made—we made—was for them. Only for them to turn their backs and blame me, when they knew it wasn’t my fault.”
