Mom looked at me. “Well?”
“This is an inside kind of talk, Mom.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, wow. An inside kind of talk. All right.”
I let her walk first to the back door—like she’d taught me. She removed her clogs on the brick floor by her gardening sink and washed her hands, wiping them on the cloth she kept hung over the side. She continued across the hardwood threshold into her bright, modern kitchen.
“Would you like some lemonade? A drink?”
“Mom! Could you just sit down, please.”
She sighed and sat down on the banquette at the breakfast room table by the sunny window. She undid the ribbon on her hat and placed it on the table, running her fingers through her hair. How many times had we sat at this banquette to talk? I thought for a second about Daisy, about how she’d never gotten this with her mother, about how incredibly lucky I was that I had. She was here and she loved mefiercely and, even as an adult, I got to have this with her, see her most days. Sometimes I wondered if I’d stayed too close to home, to my parents, if maybe it wasn’t healthy. Yet I was seeing now that it was a gift. But I needed to focus. I wasmadat her.
“What in the world is going on, Mason? You’re making me nervous.”
“Mom, please tell me that you didn’t know about Robbie.”
She gasped and leaned toward me. “Know what about him? Is he sick?”
“No, Mom. He’s not sick.” I rolled the words around in my head for a second. Did this make any sense at all?
“Well then what, honey?”
I blew out my breath. “Mom, is he Tilley’s son?”
She furrowed her brow and reached over to take my hand. “Honey, are you feeling okay?”
I pulled my hand away, leaned back on the banquette, and crossed my arms. “Don’t do that, Mom. I know you know he’s Tilley’s son.”
She cocked her head, and a concerned look passed her face. For a moment, I wondered if I was crazy. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She looked me straight in the eyes. “Robbie is Elizabeth and Charles’s son. I was there when he was born too fast right there in Dogwood.”
“You were there when he was born right there in Dogwood,” I repeated.
“I certainly was.”
“So you watched Tilley give birth to him then.” I stated it like a fact, but I was starting to feel a little less certain. She was so steadfast. My mother was a woman who valued honesty—but she would lie like hell to protect the people she loved. She’d done it for me. And while, sure, shetechnicallyloved me more than Elizabeth, I knew Elizabeth was the closest person on the planet to her. She’d burn at the stakebefore she’d tell her secrets. I wasn’t even sure why I was here. I’d never get the truth out of her.
She sighed, but she didn’t argue with me, giving me the notion that maybe I was right. “Honey, where is this nonsense coming from?”
I knew better than to say what I said next. “It’s coming from Tilley, who just told me that Robbie is her son, and no one would let her keep him because she wasn’t married to Robert when he died.”
A flicker of recognition passed over Mom’s face, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, well, if Tilley says it, it must be true. I mean, last month she was dating the king, but for goodness’ sake, let’s put her on the witness stand.”
I leaned forward over the table, studying Mom’s face. “I don’t believe you,” I said. “I think this mock indignation is covering for Elizabeth, and I think Robbie deserves to know who his mother is.”
Mom smiled her smile reserved for something ironic. “Okay. Let’s just say—for argument’s sake—that Robbie is Tilley’s son. Which is ridiculous. But let’s play out this scenario.”
I smirked.
“So, Robbie is sitting down the street happily married to Trina with four rambunctious but lovely children. He talks to his mother every day; we all have dinner together once a week. Robbie has a great job and a wonderful life and has spent every day since he was born knowing that he was loved unconditionally by his well-respected, kind, good-natured parents.”
I knew where she was going with this, and it was annoying because I knew that she was about to make a good point.
“Okay, Mom. And?”
“And so let’s just pretend for argument’s sake again that Robbie is Tilley’s child. That Robbie, in real life, has a father who died before hewas born, who never knew he existed, and a mother who, when that happened, absolutely lost her damn mind.”
My mother never cussed, so it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Also, Mom and Elizabeth always insisted that when we talked about Tilley, we cited that she had “delusional disorder,” which was what her neurologist and psychiatrist had agreed was the most fitting diagnosis, although maybe not one hundred percent “it.”
