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“Is that so?” Katrina couldn’t care less. She plopped tea bags into the mugs and passed two to Ida.
“Mom,” Ida groaned. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I have a million things on my mind, Ida,” Katrina said, walking swiftly past her with two steaming mugs. “I can’t get into it with your sister. Not now. Not again.”
Chapter Four
Sophie drove up the long, winding driveway toward The Jessabelle House, watching the sun dim to soft pinks and purples over the bluffs. It was the last light of the year—a year that had been especially invigorating for her—and she wanted to soak up every last bit of it.
Sophie parked next to Sam’s SUV just as Sam trounced across the veranda in her snow boots and a thick winter coat, waving. “Hello, gorgeous!”
Sophie threw back her head, cackling, and hurried toward the veranda steps. Many years ago, as children at their great-aunt Jessabelle’s, she and Sam had run amok, screaming out across the bluffs, feeling like the most powerful people in the world. When they’d gotten a little bit older, Great-Aunt Jessabelle had gotten more reserved and only invited Sam over rather than the rest of her great-nephews and great-nieces. Sophie had felt it like an emotional bruise.
“Where were you?” Sophie asked, assessing Sam’s thick winter garb.
“I just went for a walk along the shore,” Sam explained, opening the door from the veranda and guiding her into the warm indoors. “The sea looks incredible in this cold. It’s like thewaves want to freeze, but they just can’t, and they’re shimmering against the air.”
“You’re a poet, Sam,” Sophie said as she removed her coat.
“I’m just in love with everything right now,” Sam said. “I can’t help it.”
Sam took Sophie’s winter clothing and hung everything over the radiators, then led her downstairs to the kitchen. She served her hot cider and Christmas cookies, gabbing away about some drama at Rachelle’s restaurant in the Historic District.
“That chef is the most arrogant man alive,” Sam said, her face cherry red. “The things he’s said to Rachelle have made me want to storm down there and give him a piece of my mind.” She raised her hands. “But I won’t. Because I respect that Rachelle is now a young woman in the world, and she has to handle all this herself.” She said it slowly, as though it were her mantra.
Sophie giggled and touched her stomach under the table. Would she one day feel the same about her child’s boss? Would she feel so passionate? So domineering?
Sam snapped her fingers. “I can’t believe it. I haven’t even asked you how your grandmother is doing. I’m so sorry.” She placed her hands on either side of her face. “I feel so rude.”
“No. Don’t worry about it.” Sophie gave her a soft smile. “I went to see her this morning. Miraculously, my mother wasn’t there, so I was able to sit by Grandma Agatha in peace.”
Sam furrowed her brow. “Can she hear when you talk to her?”
“I’m not sure,” Sophie admitted. “But I talk to her, anyway. I probably sound silly speaking to a mostly empty room like that. But it’s kind of soothing. I tell her about Patrick. About how much I want to move in with him next year. And about sobriety.” Sophie laughed. “I tell her a lot of stuff I would never say if she was awake. If she wakes up tomorrow and starts screaming at me, I guess I know why.”
Sam shook her head, seemingly at a loss.
Sophie hurried to ease the tension. “I’m just chatty about everything these days. NA has made me vocal about my feelings and my backstory. It’s healthy, you know? But not everyone wants to hear it all the time. Least of all, my mother.”
Sam broke a Christmas cookie in half and gazed out the window. Huge, wet chunks of snow spit down, and pink-tinged clouds hung low, thick as a milkshake. Once upon a time, when Sophie had been using, the low-hanging clouds had made her feel suffocated. She’d thought she suffered from claustrophobia. In actuality, addiction had led to anxiety, which had pushed her to use even more. An endless, nasty cycle.
“How are things with Aunt Katrina?” Sam asked quietly, her eyes knowing.
Sophie’s cheeks burned. This was a topic she and Sam had never touched on before.
“I’m sorry to ask like that,” Sam said, stretching her hand across the table to touch Sophie’s. “You’ve been hinting lately that things aren’t great between you two. And it’s surprised me. That’s all.”
Sophie sipped her hot cider and rolled her shoulders back. “My mother and I have never had the best relationship. Everyone knows that, I guess, even from a distance. Ida’s the golden daughter, and I’m the black sheep. But our secret is that Mom has known about my addiction since I was a teenager. And had it ever gotten out, the embarrassment would have killed her.”
Sam’s lips parted with surprise. Sophie felt the ache in her heart slowly bleed away.
“I always wondered if someone else knew,” Sam breathed.
“I was a secretive teenager,” Sophie went on. “I fooled just about everyone except my mother. No rumors were circulating at the high school. Even Ida didn’t know.”
Sam’s face was ashen. “And Aunt Katrina didn’t try to help you?”
“Reaching out for help meant admitting there was a problem,” Sophie explained. “I think she assumed the problem would go away on its own. And it did. For a little while.”
