Page 123 of A Matter of Time

“You are pretty,” Cretia agreed. “I wish I had your hair and your long eyelashes.”

“Such beautiful eyes.” Bette smiled warmly at me. “Like melted chocolate.”

“Oooh, Jory, you’ve got her waxing poetic.” Cretia giggled. “Better watch out, she’s gonna wanna adopt you.”

“That’d be all right,” I assured her.

“Why?” Bette was suddenly wary. “Where’s your mother, angel?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” I forced a smile. “I never met her.”

The gasp was followed by her hand clutching my knee. “What happened?”

I told her about how I’d been abandoned, left with my grandmother to raise, and Cretia stayed instead of leaving. When people came into the kitchen to say hello as more and more guests arrived, she shushed them and waved them away dismissively. I watched the sheepish looks on their faces, but I went on with my story because she was riveted. I spoke fast, in the same matter-of-fact way I had when I’d explained the circumstances to Dane years ago. Before him, Sam, and now Mrs. Ward, I hadn’t talked about my mother in ages. And all at once I realized that any sting that had been lingering from my childhood was gone. It was weird to think that I had ever felt sorry for myself because of her leaving. It seemed so insignificant a detail now. I had rich, warm memories of growing up with my grandmother. I wished I’d had more time with her; that was now my singular regret.

Bette Ward did not share my reaction. She leaned in close and put her arms around my waist. Cretia had tears in her eyes as I patted her mother’s back and rested my cheek in her hair.

“Jesus, what’s goin’ on in here?”

We all turned to the door, and there was a handsome man there looking at the three of us.

“Hi, Trip.” Cretia sniffled, smiling through her tears. “We’re just talking.”

“About what, Old Yeller? Watership Down?”

I chuckled and tipped Bette’s face up to me before I kissed her forehead. “You have a very soft heart, lady.”

She nodded before she let out a shaky breath. “Jump down and meet my son.”

I slid off the counter, and the man came forward to meet me. He had been looking at his mother and his sister, but finally I drew his attention.

“Hi,” he said softly, moving forward, holding out his hand for me to take.

I took his hand, liking the feel of the warm skin on mine. “Hey. I’m Jory.”

He nodded, and his gaze locked with mine. “Trip.”

“Really?”

He shrugged, still holding my hand. “What can I tell you? It’s a bad nickname that stuck. That’s why ya always gotta be careful with that kind of thing.”

“I’ll remember that.” I tried to release his hand. He tightened his hold, so I didn’t move.

“Are you the plastic surgeon or the tax attorney?”

His smile was broad, and his eyes crinkled. “You’ve been talking to my dad.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m going to be a surgeon, but as of right now, I’m still in the process.”

I nodded. “Well, he’s very proud of you.”

“I know he is,” he said, slipping his hand from mine, the other immediately going to my shoulder. “Did you get a drink?”

“No.”

“No?” He looked past me to his mother. “What is this, dehydrate-the-guest day? You have, like, eight other people without drinks out there, Mother. I told you before, you can’t be in here cooking—you must mingle. You’re the hostess.”