Page 19 of Windward Hearts

“Yes,” Hope agreed dryly. “I have so much medical expertise. So much. I am an expert.”

“Oh, hush,” Miriam said, bopping her on the nose. “There is one thing that it would be helpful if you could do for me, though…”

“Anything,” Hope said immediately. “You know that.”

That was a dangerous promise to make to Miriam Landers, but Hope stood by it. That was how much she adored her grandmother.

“Well,” Miriam said, tapping her fingertips together in a way that made Hope nervous. “You could go to book club in my place this week. I don’t think I’m going to be up for a whole evening out, but I don’t want to leave my seat empty. People rely on me to bring color to the party, you understand.”

Hope laughed, glad that her grandmother’s flair had come back… and glad that the request had been a simple one. You never did know with a spitfire like Miriam.

“Of course I can do that,” Hope said. “Your letters always made book club sound like a blast, so I would actually be delighted.”

“Oh, yay,” Miriam said, clapping her hands together in excitement. “I’ll read along with you, so that you can still tell me all about the discussion that happens.”

“I’ll take diligent notes,” Hope promised, laying her hand over her heart in a gesture of solemnity. “Although, you did make it sound rather like book club is a little more like a town gossip session than a long literary analysis.”

Miriam shot her a pert look. “Of course it is, darling. That’s what I need you to bring me home the discussion for. I can’t be left out of the loop on what happens around here! The horror!”

The kettle whistled at precisely that moment, as if to agree with Miriam’s fear of being left out. Hope rose to her feet to pull it off the stove, and the two women laughed, cheer encompassing them once again.

CHAPTER NINE

Cadence tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the music that was idly playing in the background as she waited in the line for school pick-up. No matter how many signs the school put out directing people where to go, there was always somebody who did the wrong thing and created a massive traffic jam that set the whole process back by several long minutes.

Cadence had long since learned not to sweat it. There was nowhere urgent she needed to be on a Friday afternoon, anyway.

Eventually, her car was the one in the front, and the teacher on pick-up duty waved and called out for Isabelle, who was standing in the cluster of kids waiting for their parents. Cadence watched as Izzy called something over her shoulder, then ran to the car, her backpack bouncing with each step.

“Hi, Mom,” Izzy said as she climbed into the back seat, struggled with her backpack for a moment, and then began buckling herself into her booster seat. Cadence watched in the rearview mirror, smiling as she so often did at how big and competent her child had become. It was almost hard to remember that this was the same person as the little baby who couldn’t do much of anything on her own, or the toddler who had been so resistant to potty training that it had nearly driven the whole family mad.

Now, there was this big kid, who could buckle herself in, who knew how to read on her own, who called Cadence Mom more often than Mommy.

Time really did fly.

Once Izzy was safely buckled, Cadence pulled out of the queue and down the long driveway that led away from the school.

“How was your day?” she asked, turning down the radio as her eyes flicked between her daughter in the back and the road ahead.

“Fine,” Izzy said vaguely, looking out the window at the familiar streets.

Cadence struggled not to react. This was one part of having a bigger kid that she didn’t love; every piece of information she had to practically pry out with a crowbar. What happened to the kid that told her every single thought in her head all the time?

“Did you learn anything interesting?” Cadence asked, trying not to sound too curious. She knew from experience that this was only likely to activate Izzy’s stubbornness.

“Not really,” Izzy said.

“Did… you have fun with your friends?” Cadence tried.

“I guess,” Izzy said.

“Can you tell me something that happened?” Cadence nudged.

Finally, Izzy looked away from the window, but there was a frustrated set to her brow that Cadence could relate to all too easily.

“Mom,” she said, exasperated. “It was fine. Just normal. Okay?”

“Okay, honey,” Cadence said, although something inside her said that things were anything but okay. These past few weeks, Izzy had stopped liking going to school, had started treating it like a chore. Cadence really wanted to believe that it was just a phase, but some deep-down maternal instinct told her to probe a little further.