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ChapterThree
Jo felt the first rays of sun stream through her window and cast their shadow through her closed eyelids. She groaned as she slowly opened her eyes but quickly shut them from the intensity with which the beams fell on her retinas. Her head felt as though a million tiny balls were being volleyed back and forth in it. She felt sluggish as she tried to haul herself off her bed, and a wave of nausea suddenly hit her the minute she managed to stand to her feet. Jo hurriedly held on to the wall for support as she leaned slightly forward, willing the feeling away.
“Ugh, why did I drink so much wine?” she lamented after her nausea had subsided. Gingerly she made her way through her bedroom door and headed for the bathroom across from it. Jo splashed cold water on her face as she stood by the sink. She cast her gaze to the mirror behind the sink to look at her appearance. Her face was pallid, and there were circles under her eyes from how little sleep she got. Alcohol and insomnia were not a good mix.
She would have to make something that could alleviate the queasiness in her stomach and go for a run to get her heart rate up and her blood pumping to rid herself of the remaining toxins from the wine and the fatigue her body was feeling.
After taking a quick shower, she put on her running gear and headed downstairs.
The rich aroma of fermented yeast, burnt sugar, and cinnamon wafted to her nostrils before she even entered the kitchen. She wondered if either of her sisters had actually gotten up before her.
“Morning, Mom. You’re up early,” she greeted Becky, surprised to find her sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and two baskets of freshly baked croissants and cinnamon rolls.
Her mother looked over and gave her a warm smile. “Good morning, sweetie. I’m usually up by this time so that I can get some crocheting done.”
Jo looked down at her mother’s hands to see her holding a beautiful, multicolored, patterned piece in one hand while her other fed intricate loops with a needle to the continued growth of the piece.
“Wow, Mom. I didn’t know you crocheted,” Jo spoke, surprised as she reached for a mug from the cabinet above the sink. She then reached over to turn on the kettle.
“I’ve always loved crocheting and knitting,” Becky informed her. “I just didn’t get around to doing it until recently.” She put the needle down to take a sip of the coffee that sat on the table beside her. “Plus, it helps in keeping my hands steady,” she finished.
Jo nodded her understanding and pushed away from the sink to get a lemon and ginger from the refrigerator.
“That’s great, Mom. I’m happy you have something that keeps you occupied and helps with the other thing,” she expressed, not comfortable enough to address her mother’s illness by name. It felt as if it would become even more real than it already was, and she wasn’t prepared to deal with what that truly meant.
After adding the ginger and a squeeze of lemon juice to the hot water she’d poured into the mug, she sweetened the mixture with honey before taking a few sips. She’d loved this remedy. It had always brought relief when she’d had a little too much alcohol. She sat on a stool at the island across from her mother and chanced taking a freshly baked croissant from the basket, praying that it wouldn’t cause her stomach further unease.
“So why are you up so early?” Becky asked, starting up the conversation once more.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Jo answered, bringing the hot liquid to her lips. “I think I drank a little too much last night.”
Her mother’s brown eyes looked over at her with understanding, but she also noticed the look of concern in them as well.
“I got comfortable… too comfortable it seems, and I drank a little bit more than I normally would. It isn’t something I practice,” she rushed to further explain and hopefully alleviate her mother’s worry and questions.
Becky nodded. “So, how is my lovely granddaughter doing?” she asked as if sensing it would be better to keep the questions away from delving to much into her daughter’s own well-being.
“Tracy’s great. She’s finally starting college in the fall, and she and Josh are doing really well,” Jo expressed with a small smile of relief.
“That’s wonderful, sweetie,” her mother said, pleased. “Have they set a date?”
“No, not yet,” Jo answered. “I just know it won’t be this year because Tracy wants to focus on her studies, seeing that she didn’t start when she was supposed to,” she continued to explain.
Becky nodded. “There’s no rush. They’re still young, and they have a lifetime to do it right.”
“That’s true,” Jo agreed, taking a bite of the bread and reveling in the crisp, slightly sweet and savory taste. “Mmm, this is really good, Mom,” she gushed. “There’s something in this that I have never tasted before. It is so distinct, but I can’t put my finger on it,” she murmured in thought.
“Thank you, sweetie. It’s my own special touch,” Becky informed her.
“You have got to teach me the recipe and all the others you’ve kept to yourself all these years,” Jo requested.
“When the time is right,” Becky replied with a twinkle in her dark brown eyes, which only her youngest daughter had inherited.
Jo raised the cup to her lips and took a sip before responding, “I will hold you to that, Mom.”
Becky stared back at her daughter, a small smile embedded on her lips.
“What?” Jo asked, disconcerted by her mother’s unwavering gaze. She could see the sadness, the regret behind those dark brown irises.
