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With that, she starts in the opposite direction, sashaying to the homeware aisles. I shake my head, chuckling as she disappears out of sight. The way she talks, you’d think she was fifty, not thirty-six. Strange woman.
By the time my cart is half full, I’m humming along to the radio that echoes overhead as I wander through the aisles, ticking Mom’s list off one item at a time. When I reach the wine section, my eyes narrow on the shelves, searching for the specific brand she wants.
Bingo. Reaching out, my fingers brush against it when another hand nudges mine, almost sending the bottle flying from my grip as I pull away. “Shit,” I hiss, turning to face the person with what I hope is a pleasant smile, only it freezes into what I can only imagine looks more like a grimace when I take in the familiar face before me.
“Beatrice?” Mrs. Brady whispers, her eyes wide as though she’s seen a ghost. I suppose she has. Me. I’m the ghost. The ghost of a past she probably longs to forget. Her hand crawls up to her mouth, covering her lips with a tremble as she breathes out. “Oh, God, look at you. You’re all grown up.”
My mouth gapes, but words fail me as I try to say something—anything—to make this less awkward. My heart races dangerously fast, my throat closing as darkness swims in my periphery. Sweat gathers in my palms, and the bottle smashes to the floor into a hundred shards.
The scent of wine is overwhelming as it floats through the air, seeping into my nostrils as I try to pull in air, but nothing happens. I can’t breathe. I swipe my palms over my thighs, trying to stem the rising attack, but it doesn’t stop.
“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping closer, but I pull away, taking step after step backward. Her mouth opens, but I hear nothing as blood rushes to my ears. A hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I spin quickly, sagging into my mom when she curls her arm around me.
“Beatrice,” Mom says, her arm running up and down my spine, centering me as she whispers in my ears. “You’re okay. You’re here, I’m here, and you’re okay. Five things you can see, Beatrice. Tell me five things you can see.”
She pushes at my shoulders, putting just enough distance between us so my eyes can flick over our surroundings. “Bottles of wine.” My breath shudders. “Carts.” Another inhale. “Lights flickering on the ceiling.” My lungs deflate. “Customers wandering.” My eyes flutter closed, my heart still trying to gallop out of my chest. “You.”
“Good girl,” she mutters, just for me. “Now four things you can touch.”
We run through the rest of the numbers, and with each one, I find my breath calming and my heart slowing to a reasonable pace. Mom schools her expression but concern lingers in her blue irises.
She thought the panic attacks had stopped . . . theyhadstopped—at least for a little while. But today, seeing Maverick and Willow’s mom, I feel like that girl who walked into that therapist’s office two years ago, a shadow of the person I once was.
“Oh, Hazel. I’m sorry,” Mrs. Brady says, coming up behind me. She keeps at a distance, Mom smiling softly at her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Beatrice. I was just shocked at seeing you here.”
“It’s all right, Em,” Mom placates, returning to running her hand up and down my spine as I sag against her.
“Is there anything I can do? I feel awful.”
Pulling in a shuddering breath. “It’s okay,” I whisper, squeezing Mom before pulling away from her hold. I steel myself, rolling my shoulders back as I spin slowly, taking in the woman who once upon a time I would have classed as a second mom. “I’m sorry I reacted so strongly.”
“Oh, you don’t have to apologize. It’s my fault.” She smiles at me, her eyes softening as she glances over me. “I just, you’re the same, but so different. It’s been so long since we saw you.”
Nodding awkwardly, I fiddle with sleeves over my sweater.
“I owe you more than an apology for today, and I hope one day you give me that chance.” The shock must be clear on my face as I glance at her. She frowns slightly, her forehead wrinkling, and it hits me just how much she’s aged in the two years since I’ve seen her. “I said some horrific things to you and about you, Beatrice. Things that you didn’t deserve, and I am truly sorry.”
I say nothing in response, just fiddle with the sleeves of my jumper as I turn back to face my mom.
“I should get off. But it was really good seeing you, Beatrice. And Hazel, did you want to rearrange tomorrow?”
My eyes widen, my gaze snapping up to Mom, who talks to her old friend. “No, you and James are still more than welcome. Lucas is looking forward to catching up with James and showing him the new records he’s managed to pick up while they’ve been on the road.
“Okay, then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, reaching out to me. Her hand almost touches my shoulder before she thinks better of it, instead moving to a wave. “Bye.”
“You’re having Maverick’s parents over for dinner tomorrow?” I ask Mom when we’re sitting down for dinner later in the evening. I’ve avoided the topic all afternoon, unable to find the right words, but as the hours dragged on, so has my anger at the whole situation. “I didn’t realize you guys were still friends, or friends again?”
Mom sighs, taking a sip of her water before answering me. “We weren’t for a while. After everything went down. But a couple months ago, she got back in touch with me, and we met up for a coffee. It’s been nice. We don’t talk about you kids or anything, I promise. We’re just working on our friendship again.”
“You didn’t think to tell me?” I ask, my fingers tapping against my thigh.
“I didn’t know how to.” She grabs my hand, squeezing lightly as I look down. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it, and I didn’t want to trigger something if you weren’t. We’ve only just started to get you back, and I didn’t want to lose you again. So we all decided it was best to not tell any of you.”
“You wouldn’t have lost me. Don’t you think I understand? You gave up everything for me, Mom. You deserve a life, and I can’t begrudge you that.”
Mom pushes away from the table, walking around it until she drops to her knees at my side. Grabbing my hands, she holds them over my bouncing thighs, stilling the movements as fog coils in my mind.
“I am sorry that we didn’t tell you,” she says, leaning forward so her eyes are locked onto mine. “I should have, but I was so afraid, Beatrice. I’ve wrestled with the decision to become her friend again so many times, wondering how you’d take it.”
