I still really hadn’t come to terms with what was going on inside me.
Friday night I texted and told Roxy I wouldn’t be able to do breakfast on Sunday because I wouldn’t be in town, which was true. Early Saturday morning I left my apartment and drove the three hours to my mom’s house. She was expecting me, but she didn’t know why I was coming down.
I needed . . . I needed my mama, and this conversation I had to have with her couldn’t be done over the phone. There was no way.
My mom lived in the same house I grew up in, and I knew she would never leave the two-story colonial-style home on Red Hill in Martinsburg. There were too many memories.
It was close to eleven when I pulled into the driveway. The asphalt was cracked, like it had been for the last three years. Mom kept saying she was going to get it repaved, but I didn’t see it happening in the near future.
Swallowing hard, I sat in the car, letting the engine idle as my gaze roamed over the front of the house. An autumn wreath hung from the front door. When I was younger, this close to Halloween, she used to put those ghost and witch stickers in the front windows.
But I wasn’t a little girl anymore.
Obviously.
I turned off the ignition and grabbed my purse and the overnight bag I’d packed. I planned on staying the night. Climbing out into the bright sun, I walked up the pathway obscured by thick holly bushes.
The door opened before I knocked, and despite the rapid anxiety building in my system, a wide smile broke out across my face. “Mom.”
She stood in the doorway, holding a white and brown ball of absolute terror who was doing everything in its little dog power to get down. Around her neck was a silver chain that hadn’t been removed in years. My father’s dog tags. “I was wondering if you were going to come in or sit outside all morning.”
Laughing, I stepped inside and gave her and the dog a one-arm hug that warmed my chilled skin. “I wasn’t out there that long.”
She arched a dark brow as she let the dog down. “Uh-huh.”
Dropping my bag and purse on the floor, I swooped down and scooped up my mom’s Jack Russell terrier, which she had appropriately named Loki. The little dog squirmed in my arms as it bathed my face in kisses for about three seconds and then whipped itself around in my arms until I placed it back down.
Loki tore off through the foyer and into the den before dashing back into the room. The dog ran a circle around me and then darted off down the hall, returning with an orange and black striped, stuffed tiger in its jaws. I shook my head.
“I baked your favorite.” Mom started toward the kitchen.
I followed her, inhaling the familiar apple and cinnamon scent that was faintly shadowed by something that reminded me of vanilla. “Pound cake?”
She glanced over her shoulder, winking. “You bet.”
My stomach grumbled happily.
Mom always walked fast, like there weren’t enough minutes in a day, and most certainly did not look like she was a few years shy of fifty as she moved through the house. She had me and married young, at age twenty-four. Thinking that drove home the fact that I was twenty-three and I—
My mouth dried as I shook the thought out of my head. I looked like my mom. Her black hair was cut shorter, though, brushing her shoulders, and there were more fine, delicate lines at the corners of cornflower blue eyes and near her lips. She wasn’t as tall as I was, as my height was something I’d picked up from my father, but my mom was beautiful.
And I knew she had to have guys lining up to be with her, both those younger and older than her, but she didn’t date, and I knew she never would.
The kind of love my parents had felt for each other defied reality.
A pound cake was cooling on a rack near the stove, and I could practically feel my mouth starting to water as Mom picked up a knife. “How was the drive?” she asked, slicing into the cake. “Did you have any trouble?”
“Not bad.” I sat at the same kitchen table where I’d grown up eating evening meals. “It probably would’ve been under three hours if I hadn’t hit traffic.”
Mom placed a plate in front of me, along with a fork. A second later a glass of milk appeared, and I was suddenly thrust back into a time when there was so very little to worry about. Tears burned the back of my throat, and I blinked my eyes rapidly as I cut into the cake.
She sat down beside me, a cup of coffee in her hands. Within a heartbeat, Loki jumped up into her lap. “I was surprised when you said you were coming home. I wasn’t expecting to see you until Thanksgiving.”
With my mouth full with buttery goodness, I raised a shoulder in a shrug.
Mom eyed me as she sipped her coffee, careful not to disturb the dog curled in her lap. As I concentrated on finishing off the pound cake, I knew my mom was figuring me out just by watching me. She could read me like I had all my secrets written on my forehead. She knew something was up, and I also knew she wouldn’t beat around the bush, waste time with banal conversation.
And she didn’t.
“You look really tired, honey.” She lowered her cup. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”
Sleeping this past week had been hard. I’d go to bed with my thoughts in so many different places that I’d wake up several times throughout the night, my mind racing as if I hadn’t been asleep at all.
“Is it work?” she asked.
I placed the fork on the empty plate. “Work is fine, perfect actually. It’s a good job, and I’m happy with it.”
“Then what’s going on?” Mom’s lips curved slightly. “I know something is. The moment you called me, I did. You don’t live in a different time zone, but a three hour drive isn’t a walk in the park.”