She bit her lip for a moment. “Before we got married, you never asked me about my finances. About why I didn’t have any money. Weren’t you concerned I was a spendthrift or a compulsive shopper or an online gambler?”
“Once I took the time to think about it, I was pretty sure I understood the situation.” He pressed a kiss on her furrowed forehead, because he was only human. “In-home nursing for an elderly woman with advanced dementia couldn’t have been cheap.”
“Mom…” She took a shuddering breath. “Her grandmother spent years in a nursing home. The conditions there were apparently terrible. Horrifying, actually. And as Mom got older and more confused, she would get hysterical at the thought of going to one. She’d sob and scream and promise to—” When Elizabeth’s breath hitched again, he ran a soothing hand down her back. “She’d promise to kill herself if we tried to take her to a group home.”
Another stroke of her back, and her breathing evened.
“But once the dementia got worse, it wasn’t safe for her to be in her house anymore. Too many steps. Too much risk of falling or fire. And all my siblings are across the country.”
“So you took her in and paid for nursing care during working hours.”
She nodded, her hair bunching against his chest. “I made a good living at the bakery. But not good enough for that. Not after a year or so. So…” A long, painful pause. “I sold the bakery and used the money to keep Mom home.”
The agony of the decision carved deep lines beside her mouth, and everything about this fucking situation, especially how he’d left her swinging alone in the cold breeze for so long, gutted him.
“What about your siblings? Couldn’t they contribute too?”
“They didn’t have the resources I did, but they gave what they could.”
He tried to remember the date of the funeral. “She passed away…two months ago?”
At that, her back began heaving with her renewed sobs, and he wanted to sew his own mouth shut. Why had he pushed her this way the night before her fucking biopsy, for Christ’s sake?
“I’m sorry.” He hugged her tighter, waiting for the gusts of grief to pass. “I shouldn’t have asked. It was such a short time ago, and it must still hurt so—”
She lifted her head, her lips puffy with tears. “No, James. That’s the worst part. Itdidn’thurt. Not really.” She hiccupped. Then, fisting her hands in his sweatshirt, she met his eyes. “When she died, I was…relieved. So relieved. I know that sounds monstrous, but I had no more money. I was out of options. And I loved her no matter what, but she deserved some peace, and I felt like I’d already lost my mom years ago.”
“No, honey, it doesn’t sound monstrous.” He rubbed her back. “It sounds human.”
More sobs, and no wonder. Between her guilt and worry and grief, he could hardly believe she’d still been functioning at all.
He held her for a long time after that. But just when he thought she’d fallen asleep, exhausted from her tears, her quiet voice drifted from his chest.
“Let’s talk about you.” She sounded hoarse but calm. “Do you like your work? Is it something you want to keep doing until retirement?”
“Yeah.” Reaching behind himself, he grabbed the fleece blanket draped over the back of the couch. Carefully, he covered them both, making sure to tuck the edges around her feet on the ottoman. “At some point in the next few years, though, I’ll probably want to go out on my own. Get my own crew and work for myself.”
She stiffened against him. “I’m delaying you. If you didn’t need to keep your current insurance—”
“I’m in no hurry. Like I just said, I enjoy my job. And I’d be a fool to open my own business without doing plenty of research and planning first.”
Maybe he’d thought about pulling the trigger next spring, but that could wait. Elizabeth was his priority, now and—if he had his way—forever.
Her frame hadn’t relaxed. “If you want to do it this year, I’ll figure out something.”
For a woman who’d sacrificed her savings, her business, and years of her life for her mom, she certainly had trouble accepting minor sacrifices made onherbehalf.
And they were through with this topic. He wanted her lax and warm against him once more.
“I’m not changing anything until I’m sure you’re taken care of.” When she started to say something, he shushed her. “That’s not negotiable, so don’t waste your breath arguing.”
“Stubborn son of a gun,” she muttered, her words muffled by his sweatshirt.
“Which I guess would make you a stubborn daughter of a gun.” He snorted. “Weird how that particular idiom never took hold.”
Her smile warmed her voice. “It never took hold because, compared to men, most women are fonts of sweet reason. Also, it doesn’t rhyme.”
“Good points.” He considered the matter. “Glad we’re putting our lit degrees to good use at long last.”
