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“I would have been a journalist.”
She frowns, her gaze considering, and then shakes her head. “Forget that. I know you had that poison pen thing. Thank God you’ve stopped, but that’s not real experience, so the doors to traditional careers are closed to you. I suggest you start a podcast,” she declares.
“Do you even know what that is?” I ask.
She lifts her chin, her smile turning smug. “I’ll have you know that I listen to True Crime Daily regularly. It’s fascinating. And from what I understand, you can do it from anywhere. You can be home with the children and have something on your own. Even if you don’t need the money, you must have something that is completely yours. Do you concur?” She looks at me expectantly.
I gaze at her in amazement. I feel like I’ve learned more about her in the last few minutes than I did in the eighteen years I shared a home with her. “Okay, I’ll look into it.”
“Good. When you’ve done that, you must find a way to atone for the wrong you feel you’ve done.”
I raise an eyebrow at her choice of words. “The wrong I feel? Don’t you think it was wrong of me to turn Rebecca away?”
Her expression is as inscrutable as always. “It doesn’t matter what I think. If you think so, then make it right, as far as you can. Then, let go of the guilt and get on with your life.”
And find my way back to Stone.
The thought comes from out of nowhere but it’s not a surprise.
Stone said I ruined him. Well, turnabout is fair play.
“Oh, Regan.” Her words are choked by a sob, and her eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
It’s like watching a diamond shatter – terrifyingly wrong. I put an arm around her. “Mom?”
She shakes her head with sad, resigned eyes. She twists her lips in a bitter smile. “My mother used to say, “Bad luck wus dan obeah.” She strengthens her Jamaican accent.
“What does that mean?”
“It means some bad luck is worse than witchcraft…or death.” I’ve never heard her sound so dejected.
“No, that’s crazy. If you’re still alive, then you can try again. It’s not too late.”
“Isn’t it?” she groans, her composure crumbling. She runs a frustrated hand through the short crop of curls on her head.
“Hey, why are you falling apart now?” I ask.
“I’m sorry Regan. Because I know as much as you didn’t want to be…you’re so much like me. Constant, honest, committed – sacrificing. I didn’t want your tender heart to be trampled the way mine was. So, I did my best to steer you in a direction that I thought would prevent that, and all I’ve done is make all of you as lonely as I am.”
“Oh Mom…we all do the best we can.”
“No, we don’t, Regan, and that’s the problem. Liam didn’t. I didn’t. But you… You’re a good girl. Even though your husband cheats, you keep your dignity, and you have never stooped to his level.”
I squirm at the undeserved praise. “I would hate for my children to know that side of their parents. I understand why you didn’t want us to know. We aren’t anything like a family should be. But we’re some kind of family. It’s all my kids know. And…I don’t want to tell them that I don’t love their father.”
She shrugs. “You knew more than I told you as a child, right? Your daughter is smart, and mature. I bet she knows more than you think.”
I nod in grim agreement. She’s right. Eva is so observant.
Mother lets out a long-suffering sigh and sits back in the chair. “I wish that you’d found love. Maybe…you can, still. I know you’ve got this great big life and you’re comfortable—”
“I’m not comfortable.”
“Then why haven’t you left him?”
“I’ve been busy.”
She gives me a disbelieving look, and I sigh.
