Page 29

“I do hope you’re staying for lunch,” Mom says from the doorway.

I jump, startled at not hearing her come home. Her features are unreadable as I scramble to close my box of treasures. Before closing the notebook, I tuck the photo of me and Dad inside for Nora to have.

“I’ll be right down,” I murmur, voice hoarse with emotion.

Her soft footsteps fade as she gives me privacy to put away my things. With the notebook tucked under my arm, I make my way back to the foyer where I left my coat. After stowing my notebook with my coat, I find my mother in the kitchen unloading grocery sacks.

Without needing to speak, we work in tandem as we put everything away. Then, she instructs me to make our side salads while she cooks some chicken breasts.

“How is Sandy?” Mom asks, not looking my way.

I frown because she’s never cared before. “Well. So is Amos.”

“Good.” She glances over at me. “And my granddaughter?”

“Amazing,” I say, voice breathless. “What an incredible woman she’s become.”

Mom is quiet as she flips the chicken in the skillet. Then she says, “I’ve never seen eye-to-eye with Nora. So much like her grandma.”

It doesn’t sound confrontational. Just factual.

“The Everharts have a generational fiery spirit.”

She makes a chuffing sound. “You sound happy about that.”

“I am.”

We spend the next few moments plating our food and getting seated by the kitchen table by the big bay window. It’s lovely watching the snow fall peacefully just beyond the glass.

“Fiery is better than weak or meek,” Mom says as she cuts into her chicken. “Nora is neither weak nor meek. Perhaps she has a little Asbury blood running through her, too.”

“Best of both worlds.” I chuckle and then stab my fork into my salad. “I hope the two of you can get to know one another better. I think you’ll get along better than you realize.”

She nods but doesn’t say much else on the matter.

“Mom…” I trail off after I swallow a bite of my food. “I need to tell you something.”

Mom sets her fork and knife down to give me her undivided attention. There’s a lightness in her eyes I haven’t seen in some time. Reminds me of the years when Dad was still around.

“I love Sandy. A lot,” I admit, chest squeezing at the confession. “I’m going to marry her one day.”

My mother’s eyebrow arches up. “Only took you a quarter of a century to figure that one out.”

I grimace and then smirk when I see the smile tugging at her lips. “Turns out, I should have read Dad’s instructions a little more carefully. I’m a little slow on the uptake.”

She casts her gaze to the window, and a serene expression passes over her features. “He was always wise with ways of the heart. I shut mine closed again when he passed away.”

My chest tightens. “It was hard on us all. It’s okay, Mom.”

“No,” she chokes out, wrinkled bottom lip slightly wobbling. “It’s not okay. I nearly iced out my own children over a broken heart. I’m no better than Goldie and her obsession over finding Amos. Apparently, these husbands of ours consume us.”

Out of instinct, I reach over to take Mom’s hand in mine. Affection isn’t something we do. But I’m here holding the bony, arthritic hand of my cold mother, shocked at the warmth coming from her hand. Her eyes water and she gives my hand a squeeze.

“It was all my fault, you know,” she continues, tears now escaping. “I pushed you to be successful. I thought it was a better path. You could focus on your career and not the loss of your father.”

My throat aches with emotion and I’m afraid to say anything for fear of letting a sob escape. This is the first time my mother has ever confessed her deepest thoughts and feelings. I’m afraid to break the spell.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I manage to say, voice raspy. “I’m a revered, savvy businessman because of you, Mom. I’ve done great things in my life because of it.”