“Devyn? Is Lauren all right?”
Expelling a resigned breath, Devyn slouched lower on the bench. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. Philippe had a business dinner that ran ridiculously late, even by Paris standards. We just got home. Is there news on Lauren?”
“Yes. She’s waking up and talking. All the signs are encouraging, but we’ll know more in the next couple of days.”
“It’s fortunate your spring season is over and you can be therewith her. I would have had to rearrange dozens of commitments to make a trip over. In any case, I expect she’d rather have you there than me.”
Not necessarily, based on Lauren’s earlier rant.
But no need to share the details of that incident with their mother.
“She hasn’t kept in close touch with me, either, Mom.”
“Closer than she has with me.” A hint of annoyance colored her words. “Of course I’ll come if necessary—and if Lauren wants me to—but why don’t we see where we are in forty-eight hours and go from there?”
“That works.”
“Can you stay awhile if necessary?”
“Yes. I didn’t book any guest-artist gigs this summer.”
“That’s fortunate.”
True. Her sister was likely going to require assistance, at least in the beginning. And given Mom’s rocky relationship with her oldest daughter and her aversion to all things medical, an offer to play Florence Nightingale would have been too much to hope for.
“I’ll keep you in the loop, Mom.”
“Thanks. If Lauren is willing to talk to me, please ask her to call. Every time I try to reach out, she shuts down.” A protracted sigh came over the line. “I’m sure she thinks I abandoned her to be with you during your training, but I did the best I could. After all, what choice was there? A talent like yours had to be nurtured, and you couldn’t go off alone to San Francisco or New York at such a young age.”
Not quite accurate. While the company in San Francisco hadn’t had housing available for twelve-year-olds, in New York there’d been a residence hall for students fourteen and older.
But if she’d lived in the hall, Mom wouldn’t have had an excuse to leave Hope Harbor for life in the Big Apple. A choice that had taxed Dad’s limited income, despite the dance scholarships she’d won and the concierge jobs Mom had wrangled in both cities.
Devyn shifted on the bench as a familiar twinge of guilt nipped at her conscience for all the sacrifices Lauren and Dad had made to give her a career in the limelight far from Hope Harbor.
Another reason she felt compelled to offer Lauren whatever help she might require over the summer.
Not that Mom seemed to feel any such obligation.
“Devyn? Are you there?”
Stifling her negative thoughts, she stood as the farthest boats in the harbor began to disappear in the mist. “Yes. I’m at the wharf and it’s getting foggy. I want to stock up on groceries before I get socked in.”
“I hear you. I always hated that fog.”
“But there’s nowhere more beautiful than Hope Harbor on a sunny day.” She began walking toward her rental car.
Her mother gave a soft snort. “I’ll take the lights of Paris any day. You’ll stay in touch?”
“Yes.”
After they said their goodbyes, Devyn picked up her pace. Food first, then sleep.
And if her prayers were answered, by her next visit to the hospital tomorrow, Lauren would be fully alert—and in a far more welcoming mood.
4
