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Beth bristled. “You don’t need to deprive yourself, Cindy.”
Nodding in agreement against the crook of Pierce’s neck, Bri offered, “I’ll give you a thin slice. You didn’t get to eat the potato salad you’d brought.”
Pierce and I shared guilty looks. It was the one thing Bri and Gavin hadn’t made.
Cindy waved her hand. “My friends in the dining staff at the Paloma showed me how to do it. I didn’t know how quick and easy it is to fix up,” she responded.
“It is,” Gavin concurred. “That’s why Bri and I eat it all the time.”
The ringer on my phone was on loud and it disrupted the flow of conversation. Seeing that the number was blocked, I immediately knew it was my mother’s number. I excused myself from the table. When I was in front of the house, I plopped down on the concrete steps, and answered her call.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I greeted her.
I heard a masculine voice clearing his throat and it put me on edge. “I wish I could say the same to you, Hunter.” An older voice as deep as my own said. And for seconds I was transported back to the time that I was five years old and had been caught drawing a little girl who was watching her mother garden in front of their house. Dad had given up the goal for both Chase and I to be star football players in the future. He’d then decided that I’d have success as a lawyer, since I most certainly didn’t have the natural talent for sports that Chase had.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Why are you calling me from my mother’s phone?”
He let out an audible breath and I was anticipating that he’d argued with mother about her talking to Chase and I again, when I knew he was the one who’d forbade her to talk to us years back. “Because she won’t be calling you anymore.” I thought he’d hung up, but then, after minutes of heavy silence, he continued. “She’s gone.”
“What do you mean? How? Is she sick?” I voiced the questions one after the other with one pause in between.
“She looked fine this morning, but when I went up to our room to see if she wanted to go out …” His voiced trailed off. “Doctors say that she’d had a stroke. It just….happened. She had a clear bill of health for her physical this year. I called Chase first, but he didn’t answer. Her wake will be Saturday and Sunday. Then we’re having her funeral on Tuesday.”
“You didn’t miss a beat planning everything,” I bit out, feeling scared and angry. All this time I thought I was doing her favor by staying out of her life.
Since she’d called me this summer, I’d secretly waited for a call from her, even a missed one. Or to hear from Chase that she’d asked about me. Now, I didn’t even have that.
“She’d arranged everything with the funeral home early this year. Your mother had her affairs in order,” Dad shouted into the phone, his words echoing into my ear. “So don’t you tell me that again!”
The sound of Gavin’s door opening brought me back to reality. I was in front of his house, so I had to keep the volume down. Beth walked with Cindy to her car and when Beth gazed at Cindy’s car driving farther and farther from here, she and floated over to me as soon saw she saw me. She joined me on the steps and, somehow, she understood that I had to tell her something. I didn’t want to break the news to Chase. Yeah, I was a chicken shit. I thought he’d handle it better if Beth told him. Telling him myself made my mother’s death true. I didn’t want it to be.
“I’ll book flights for you and Chase.”
“You don’t need to do that, Dad,” I said, heaving in a breath. “We’ll do that ourselves.”
“Okay. Then you guys will stay here. At the house.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.”
Chapter 22
Mariska
“ARE MOM AND DAD mad at us?” Pete asked me as I wiped down the table after our long and tense Thanksgiving dinner. I’d figured that he’d blame Mom’s scowl on her tiredness, but he was more perceptive or becoming more aware of social vibes than I’d given him credit for. Dad wasn’t a usual conversation starter, however, when he’d barely eaten the delicious turkey, stuffing, and the other side dishes that Mom and I had labored over—without having spoken a word to each other, thanks to years of carrying out the same exact process every year—it’d been impossible for Pete not to have caught on. Mom and dad had acted like I’d chosen to be with Hunter over them.
“They’re mad at me,” I corrected him. “And I am trying to make up with them, but sometimes resolving problems takes more than one night.”
“But what did you do?” He sounded puzzled as he reached out his hand to my wrist and I realized that I’d been cleaning the glass table until there were streaks on them. Stopping, I veered my eyes to him, unable to leave him hanging.
“I was dishonest and I did something they didn’t like,” I answered as simply as possible. I didn’t want him to worry about it any more, yet, I also knew that he’d ruminate over what could have caused a rift between Mom, Dad, and me. Before he could ask any more questions, I re-directed our conversation. “So, do you know what books you’re going to read to me tonight?”
“I read three stories to you last night,” he protested. “Besides, Mom said I could talk to Reid tonight, since I haven’t gone over my minutes.”
I nodded. “Go wash up now, or else your call will be cut short if you don’t do it before bed time.”
A distracted expression crossed his face. I laid the washcloth down with the others on the hanger, and heard Pete’s retreating footsteps.
