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That wasn’t it. That wasn’t it, at all.
Kathleen felt something flutter inside her.
Martha had no idea.
She didn’t understand that the reason she hadn’t opened those letters wasn’t out of some childish wish for revenge, or even a wish to keep the past in the past. It was because she’d been afraid of what they’d say.
She was still afraid.
Martha thought she should read the letters, but Martha knew only a tiny sliver of the story. That was all Kathleen had shared.
“I appreciate your concern.”
“But you want me to stop talking now.” Martha gave a good-natured smile. “I don’t want you worrying, that’s all. And I know you are worrying, even though you won’t admit it.”
“I don’t know why you would think that.”
“You’re quiet. And you’ve stopped actively trying to fix me up with Josh.”
“I consider my work in that area to be complete. If you can’t see what a perfect rebound experience he would provide, then I’m at a loss to know what more I can do to convince you.”
“I’m not going to have a rebound experience, Kathleen.” Martha finished her fries. “But I admit it’s good having him with us.”
Yesterday Martha had given Josh the silent treatment. Today she’d been chatting away, very much back to her usual self.
Sometimes it took a while to get used to an idea, Kathleen thought. You had to plant a seed, water it and let it grow.
Josh returned to the table and he and Martha promptly started arguing about dessert.
Adorable, Kathleen thought.
She tried to push thoughts of Ruth to the back of her mind, but her old friend hovered like a dark cloud on an otherwise bright day, her presence threatening change.
She could ignore those letters, Kathleen reminded herself. She didn’t have to read them.
But then Liza might read them.
Oh if only she knew what they said, she would know whether she needed to read them or not.
The ridiculousness of that thought made her laugh.
“What’s funny?” Martha glanced up from the menu with a smile.
“Nothing.”
Martha ordered ice cream, and Josh did the same. “What was Brian’s favorite food, Kathleen?” Martha handed the menu back. “Are you a good cook?”
“I’m an appalling cook. Brian wasn’t overflowing with talent in that area either. Liza was always the one who showed a skill in the kitchen. She still does. She treats food like art. Everything she puts on the plate looks pretty.” Had she ever praised her daughter for her cooking skills? That day she’d sped down to the West Country after Kathleen’s accident bearing a casserole, had Kathleen even thanked her? She had an uncomfortable feeling that she might have said something impatient.
Liza had probably thought her rude and ungrateful. It was only now with some distance that she could understand the reason for her less than admirable behavior. She’d been terrified. Terrified that they might persuade her to sell her home and move into residential accommodation. Terrified that it might, in fact, be the best decision for her.
The house had been the best gift Brian had ever given her, apart from love.
When she’d finally accepted his proposal, he’d taken her on a car ride to Oakwood and pulled into the curving drive.
I’ve found a house with nothing between you and the sea.
The fact that he’d understood her deep need for independence and freedom had cemented her decision to marry him.
