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“Yes, I told them. They thought redecorating was a great idea.”
Of course they did.They also thought sending their mother off to New York for her birthday was a great idea.
Callie wished she could think the same thing. But changing her convictions wasn’t as easy aswishing.
“You should have told me sooner,” she finally said. “I can come and help.”
Eleanor’s expression softened. “I know youcan, my love, but I wanted to do this on my own. It feels good to take charge, you know?”
Callie nodded, though she wasn’t sure she did know. She’d mastered the art of taking charge of her work and her students—and her family, even if they didn’t appreciate it—but had she “taken charge” of herself and her life? She was disciplined, an excellent scholar, dedicated to her career, but lately all of that had begun to seem very…unamazing.
“On second thought, I will take a cup of coffee.” She went into the kitchen and reached for the coffee carafe, then stopped to let her mother do the task. “Decaf, if you have it.”
A smile quirked Eleanor’s mouth as she picked up the carafe and began filling it with water. Restraining herself from putting out the mugs and spoons, Callie sat at the table and fiddled with the napkin holder.
“I haven’t seen you much this week.” Eleanor measured coffee into the basket and glanced at her daughter. “You’ve been busy with your book?”
“Yes.” Callie twisted her head to ease the tension in her neck.
She didn’t want her mother or sisters to think of her ascontrollingor uptight. She didn’t mean to be that way, but the vivid memories of the aftermath of her father’s death were still jagged and sharp. Then they’d been blindsided by Eleanor’s breast cancer scare that would remain a frightening specter for all of them.
Callie sighed. None of them would ever “get over” the concern or the loss of Gordon Prescott, but maybe Jake had been right. Somewhere along the way, Eleanor had discovered that she wanted to live fully again. She wanted to travel, visit old friends, redecorate her little house, laugh. Maybe she even wanted to fall in love again.
Callie’s throat tightened. She didn’t want her mother to think she was letting life pass her by.Shedidn’t want life to pass her by. But if she didn’t do something soon, she’d wake up fifty years from now in her beige house and put on her beige suit, and she’d tell her students exciting, powerful stories about historical figures and otherworldly beings…while she continued to live the same dull life.
“So tell me what you’re planning for the living room,” she said.
“I’m going with a French country theme.” Eleanor disappeared back into the other room and returned with the decorating books. “Toile upholstery, distressed tables, maybe a big antique clock over the mantel. I found this catalog of chinoiserie pottery that has some nice flower vases.”
“It sounds lovely.” Callie looked at the photos of the pottery. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to do this now?”
“Oh, it just seemed like a good time to brighten things up.” Eleanor returned to the kitchen to pour the coffee, but not before Callie caught a faint blush rising to her mother’s cheeks.
She tore a napkin into little pieces and called, “Does it have something to do with the man you’re seeing?”
Silence.
Callie’s heart pounded.
Eleanor rounded the corner and approached with two coffees, her expression closed. She set a mug in front of Callie and sat down. “The man I’m seeing?”
“I saw you at a restaurant in Rainwood.” Callie lowered her gaze to the mug.
“What were you doing in Rainwood?”
“I was with a friend.” She glanced at her mother with a slight frown. “But this isn’t about me.”
“Isn’t it?” Eleanor arched an eyebrow and took a sip of coffee.
“Mom.” Frustration simmered in her chest. She flattened a hand on the table and leaned forward. “Who were you with and how long have you been seeing him?”
Eleanor’s mouth tightened slightly. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but his name is Henry. We met at a volunteer event about two months ago. He lost his wife five years ago, and he’s a lovely, kind, funny gentleman who treats me incredibly well. And before you ask, I didn’t tell you because, to be frank, my social life is none of your business. I especially didn’t want to deal withyourdisapproval.”
“What makes you think I would automatically disapprove?”
“Honey.” Eleanor set down her mug and put her hand on Callie’s arm. “If you disapprove of me getting rid of your father’s old chair, it’s not a stretch to think you’d view my seeing Henry as a way of getting rid of your father.”
Shame rustled in Callie’s chest. She rubbed her finger over a crack in the table. Her mother’s grip tightened on her arm.
