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Jenny couldn’t quite put her finger on why the panic, and maybe that was the most unnerving of all.
Something was up, and no one was talking. At least Fraser had stayed home, so maybe the sky wasn’t completely falling in, but still. Iris was probably just jetting around Europe and hadn’t had a chance to call.
Jenny ran water into the lasagna pan, then added soap to let it soak and walked over to the sofa. Pulling an afghan from the top, she sat down and spread it over her.
How she hated jet lag. Three weeks home and still every night she woke at three a.m., wide awake, restless, something dark nagging inside her she couldn’t put her finger on.
So she got up, came downstairs, grabbed her Bible, and prayed.
Now, she opened to the Psalms.
Listen to my words, O LORD, consider my lament.
Hear my cry for help, my King and my God, for to you I pray.
In the morning, LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectedly.
That’s what it was—a cry inside. One she didn’t want to name. But she had a request all the same, and now looked out the window, to the heavens.
Please. I need more time.
The after-midnight starlight fell into the windows of the family room, casting an ethereal glow across the old sofa, the overstuffed chair, the stack of pictures on the mantel.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe the fatigue reallywasjet lag.
Maybe she’d spent too much time on Google, on WebMD, and cancer-survivor boards.
Please.
A board creaked on the stairwell, and she looked up to see Pippa, royal bodyguard of the House of Blue from Lauchtenland, venturing down the stairs, wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her golden-brown eyes missing nothing. She came over to the sofa. “I thought I heard you down here.”
“Thinking about the boys,” Jenny said.
Pippa settled herself in an overstuffed chair. “They’ll be okay. And so will Iris. I don’t know your family well, but what I’ve seen of them, they’re not the kind to fold easily. I’ve never met Iris, but my guess is that she’s made of the same stern stuff.”
“She is. She’s a professional referee with the European League of Football—one of the few women, and she started as one of the few women in the NCAA, so she’s not easily pushed around.” Jenny smiled at Pippa. “Reminds me of you.”
Pippa leaned back, folded her arms. “And you. What’s going on? I heard you a couple of nights ago, in the bathroom. Were you sick?”
“Oh. I’m sorry I woke you. I used the hall bathroom because I didn’t want to wake Garrett. The chicken casserole didn’t sit well with me.”
Pippa made a face, nodded. “That was the third time in two weeks.”
Jenny arranged the blanket on her legs. They’d been so restless lately, and occasionally her hands too. “I’m fine. I might have picked up a bug overseas. And when I’m worried, I don’t eat well.”
“I’ll make you some tea.” Pippa got up and headed to the kitchen.
“Oh, no, Pippa, it’s okay.”
“My mother used to make it for my father when he’d come home on leave. He was so used to night shifts that he’d prowl the house. I bought some for Imani when we first arrived, but she prefers hot cocoa. Such an American.”
Jenny laughed. “I don’t know how you put up with us Yanks. And especially Fraser.” It wasn’t lost on her that her oldest son had a terrible crush on Pippa. Probably more, the way they spent long hours walking the perimeter of the security area. Jenny hadn’t been a fan when she returned to discover that Fraser had turned the winery-slash-farm into a top-secret bunker for a runaway princess, but she was hardly going to turn Imani and Pippa out into the street. Besides, she liked the way Fraser had softened, laughed more, become less dark, angry.
“It’s easy, ma’am. Frankly, I’ve never been around a family like this before. I was an only child, so this is a little…”
“Overwhelming?”
“Comforting.” Pippa set the pot on the stove to boil.
