Chapter Nine
A couple of days after Astrid and her mother left for the world cruise, she sent Chase a text letting him know they’d arrived in Australia, and all was well. He hadn’t heard from her in the week since, which he supposed was on purpose.
Deep in thought, he didn’t hear Tristen, his assistant, enter his office with the morning mail. Included was a large manila envelope. He reached for it and recognized the return label was from the Seattle funeral home. The very one in which he’d made his mother’s burial arrangements.
He started to toss it in the garbage but stopped. It was thick. Thinking it might contain some overlooked paperwork, he set it aside and then later added it to his briefcase to take home. The only one in the office who knew anything about his mother’s death was his father. None of his staff was privy to his personal information. He didn’t want or need their sympathy.
—
Later that evening, Chase pulled the manila envelope from his briefcase, resenting the fact that something more might be required of him. To his surprise, sympathy cards spilled onto the kitchen countertop. Even more shocking was how many of them there were.
Chase picked up the first one and saw that it was in a child’s handwriting.
You were the best Sunday school teacher ever.
His mother attended church. That was almost laughable.
Chase couldn’t make himself stop reading the cards. One after another, all strangers, until he reached one with Maisy’s name on it, along with that of Eileen Gallagher. Maisy’s mother? Possibly the grandmother she’d mentioned.
His anger was immediate. Before he could think better of it, he searched until he found her contact information. He pushed the buttons so hard he nearly flipped the phone out of his hand.
“Hello?” she answered, sounding tentative.
“Why did you attend my mother’s services?” he demanded, his voice trembling with outrage. Not giving her time to respond, he said, “What business was this of yours?”
“Chase?”
“Who else do you think this is?”
“You’re right,” she said in a calming voice, “it wasn’t any of my business. I’d never met your mother and—”
“My point exactly,” he reiterated, barely able to contain his anger.
She didn’t say anything until the silence became uncomfortable.
“Answer me,” he insisted.
“I will, but first you answer me—are you angry because I was at her services, or because you weren’t?”
“No,” he nearly shouted.
“Are you sure?” she demanded.
“No,” he shouted back before he realized what he’d said. No one talked to him the way Maisy Gallagher did, and he didn’t like it. This woman confused him more than anyone he’d ever encountered. She had no idea of how lost he’d been when his mother had disappeared from his life. With her gone, his father became adrift himself, caught up in his own grief. As a result, Simon had abandoned Chase to a series of nannies and housekeepers until he was old enough to be sent to a boarding school. Only a boy, he’d often cried himself to sleep, feeling truly alone in a world that felt stark and empty.
“Are you finished yelling at me?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Chase didn’t realize he’d been shouting quite so loud. It took him a moment to understand he wasn’t angry with Maisy as much as himself. These cards, the genuine sense of loss conveyed in the comments, unsettled him. According to these cards, his mother had been a good friend, a mentor, and an AA sponsor. These notes proved that he knew next to nothing about the woman who’d been his mother. Worse, he had scorned every overture she’d made to reach him over the years, wanting nothing to do with her. Her first attempt came when he was living on the East Coast in a boarding school. He held on to that letter for a long time before he hardened his heart and tore it up. Over the years, there’d been intermittent attempts, all of which he’d ignored. He told himself he wanted nothing to do with her. Whathe really wanted, he acknowledged now, was to hurt her as badly as she’d hurt him, only to discover that he’d hurt and cheated himself just as much.
Taking in a deep, calming breath, he spoke again. “I apologize…I’m at a loss here.”
“A loss?” she asked.
“The funeral home mailed me an envelope filled with all the sympathy cards. I assumed Michelle didn’t have a friend in the world. Clearly, I was wrong.”
“And shocked,” Maisy added.
“True.” His hand relaxed. He’d been holding the phone so tightly that his fingers ached. “I still don’t understand what prompted you to attend.”
