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“Whatever it is,” my mother soothed, ‘it’ll be okay.”
“I can’t talk about it right now,” I croaked. I drew in a shuddering breath then brayed like a donkey.
My dad’s alarmed voice came from the family room. “Is Hope crying?”
I huffed out a snort.
I laughed like a hyena and cried like a donkey.
She rubbed her hand firmly over my back, chuckling softly. “You always did hate to cry. It’s okay, peaches. I won’t tell anyone.”
Exactly what she used to say to me as a kid.
Every scraped knee.
Every failed project.
Every slip-up on stage.
Every broken friendship. And there were many. I held back the tears. And she held me, with the promise not to tell.
Just like then, I relaxed into her arms.
My dad rounded the corner, his heart in his eyes. “You have her, Maureen?”
“I’ve got her,” she assured him. “I’ll settle her upstairs and then fill you in.” Turning her attention back to me, she urged me upstairs. “Come on. You’re dead on your feet. You can have a nap and then we’ll talk.”
After giving up the bare bones, I lay face-down on my bed. Her gentle hand rubbed my back until I fell into a deep sleep.
What seemed like hours later, I woke alone, covered in the quilt from her bed. Another item she seemed to buy in bulk.
Maybe I’d steal this one for my bed at home.
Giovanni’s words came back to me again and again.
There was something more to them, but it eluded me.
You’ve got to take the good with the bad, heavenly Hope, or you’ll be left with nothing but a bitter taste in your mouth.
Take the good with the bad, not take the bad with the good.
Somehow, I’d twisted his message.
Endure the bad for the bit of good that came with it.
Tolerate the long hours in exchange for the money.
Cope with Ratcliffe in exchange for the promotion.
Accept missing half of Brayleigh’s life in exchange for excitement in mine.
Suffer my mother’s disappointment in exchange for a relationship with her.
But the word was take, not endure.
Lay hold of the good.
Seize the good.
