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The thought of it still kept her staring at her popcorn ceiling sometimes.
“Mostly worried about Imani.”
Jenny sat in the wingback chair. “You really like her, huh?”
Creed was darker than her other children—darker skin, darker hair, darker eyes, and sometimes darker demeanor. But Imani had brought a lightness to his countenance—so many times Jenny heard them laughing together as they played video games or even stayed up late engrossed in a board game.
“I do. But you know, she’s a princess, so…” He lifted a shoulder.
“And that means?”
“I’m not a knight or anything. I don’t think I qualify.”
“I think you’re a knight.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, all this sitting on the sofa, playing video games, and praying my leg heals is getting old. And Dad’s winterizing the vines alone…it’s getting under my skin. I can’t just sit here much longer.”
“Physical therapy will start soon, and then you’ll wish you were sitting on the sofa.”
“No. PT means I’m that much closer to walking again. And then, maybe, running.”
She nodded but didn’t comment. With a pin in his femur, the idea of him running again, at least competitively… But then again, he was a Marshall. And Creed didn’t have much quit in him, so… She got up and tousled his hair, even though he was twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. “Tea?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She’d never get tired of hearing her adopted son call herMom.
She was pouring water into the teacup when her phone vibrated on the counter. Unknown number. Still, she scooped it up, a feeling cementing inside her. “Iris?”
“Hey, Mom. Sorry it’s been so long.”
She closed her eyes, something unleashing inside her.
“Is that Iris?” Creed said.
She nodded. “I’ve been…we’ve all been a little concerned.”
Maybe that was an understatement given the search party landing on European soil.
“I know. It’s a long story, but I’m fine. But I lost my phone, and it took me a few days to get another one. Sorry.”
“Where have you been?”
A beat. “I was in Greece. With…um, anyway, I’m in Paris. It’s so terrible, Mom. Abe Bartmann, our ump, dropped dead during a football game. No one knows why.”
“Abe. He was the American from Georgia Tech, right? Has a daughter?”
“Yeah. And now I’m headed to the funeral. I just…I don’t even know what to…say. Or do or—”
“Take a breath, Iris. You just say you’re sorry. And you listen. And you help. And you remember that you can’t fix it. Only God can. But you can offer compassion.”
Pippa had walked out of the room, was now standing at the end of the counter.
Iris was crying, maybe, by the sound of her voice.
“Honey, are you going to be okay?”
Another beat, and this time it stuck inside Jenny.
