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This was the wrong thing to say. A wrinkle formed between Katrina’s eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I just mean,” Sophie began, already in over her head, “that, you know, maybe we could keep the house in the family? It’s so gorgeous. It’s filled with memories.”
Katrina’s jaw was tight. “Mom can’t live there alone.”
“I know! I know. But what if, I don’t know, Patrick and I move in?” Sophie clasped her hands. “What if we raise our family there?”
Katrina reared back and gaped at Sophie. “Your family?”
Sophie’s heart pounded. All at once, she was taken back to the first time she’d told her mother about her pregnancy—twenty-two years ago. How joyful Katrina had been. How sure of the future she’d said she was. How they’d wrapped their arms around each other, both certain of the glorious forgiveness that awaited them in the future.
It had been wrong to hope. It had been wrong to dream.
But was it wrong, now?
“I’m pregnant,” Sophie breathed, not loud enough for anyone to hear but Katrina.
Katrina’s cheek twitched. For a long, horrible minute, nothing else happened. It was as though time had stopped. As though they were frozen.
And then, Katrina said, “Not this again.” She turned on her heel and stormed down the hallway, turning out of sight. She left Sophie impossibly alone, both hands over her abdomen. Onlywhen Patrick came out a few minutes later did Sophie remember where she was.
“Come on,” Patrick urged. “Let’s get you home.”
Chapter Thirteen
Agatha’s doctor set her release date for February 14th, Valentine’s Day. The hallways were decorated with paper and plastic hearts, all shimmering, and nurses and family members carried bouquets down the hallways. Katrina reached for Grant’s hand as they neared Agatha’s hospital room, and he laced his fingers through hers. “It’s going to be great,” Grant assured her.
“I hope you’re right,” Katrina breathed.
Already, Agatha was dressed, her makeup perfected, her hair in perfectly kept curls in a sort of dome around her head. She sat in her wheelchair, chatting amicably with one of the nurses as though they’d known one another all their lives. It took Agatha a good thirty seconds to turn her head and acknowledge Katrina at all.
“This is my daughter,” Agatha said to the nurse.
“We’ve met many times, Mrs. Whittaker,” the nurse reminded her. “Katrina has been here almost every day since you came! What a wonderful daughter she is.”
Katrina’s stomach tightened into knots as the nurse said goodbye to Agatha and retreated back on her rotation. Agathacrossed her hands in her lap and said, “She’s a very kind woman.” She said it distractedly, her eyes to the window.
The doctor appeared a few minutes later to say goodbye and shake Katrina’s and Grant’s hands.
“We’re going to miss you around here,” he said to Agatha. “But don’t come back soon, okay?”
Agatha giggled flirtatiously. “I’m off to the old folks’ home, Doctor. Did you hear?”
“They won’t know what to do with you there!” the doctor said.
Katrina gripped the back of the wheelchair, anxious to get out of there as soon as possible. “Thank you for all your help, Doctor,” she chimed in. “We’re so grateful she’s out of the woods.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she caught Agatha rolling her eyes.
Grant hurried out in front of them to grab the car and pick them up. Agatha sniffed and said, “Terrible day, isn’t it?” And it was. The temperature was twenty-two, but the wind chill made it feel like fifteen. Snow was coming sideways from an ominous stretch of dark clouds. “But I imagine the old folks will have a Valentine’s celebration? A silly one, surely.” Agatha sniffed. “I wonder if they’ll even give us food we have to chew.”
Katrina sighed. “Mom. The food there is divine. Grant and I tried it out a few weeks ago to make sure. You know we’re watching out for you. Right?”
Delicately, Agatha reached up behind her and patted Katrina’s hand on the handle of the wheelchair. It was such a subtle act of love, one that Katrina hadn’t anticipated. She felt a sudden urge to burst into tears.
With Agatha seated comfortably in the passenger seat of the car, Katrina rode in back and watched the snow. Agatha flickedthrough radio stations, displeased with the selection and eager to tell Grant how horrible she thought modern music was.
“Music was the best when I was young,” Agatha said. “The fifties! When Elvis was still something special!”
