I had to crush an urgent need to hug her. There was something strange in the air, and it was making me feel like I might burst out crying at any moment. She was so small and tired, and yet even now, there was a constant ripple of strength in her. Strength for me. Strength I wanted her to keep for herself.
Get a grip, Soph.
‘I’m fine, Mom.’ There was a short silence. The pillow hung limply at my side. I debated doing an elaborate twirl, and decided that might be overkill. Instead, I lightened my voice. ‘Everything is fine … except of course for this pillow, which, unfortunately, is not. I think it’s time we put it out to pasture.’
She stared at the pillow, mock-frowning. ‘Poor little guy.’
I held it up for examination. ‘I’ll miss him.’
‘We’ll get you a better one,’ she stage-whispered, pretending to block her mouth with her hand. ‘Bigger and puffier.’
I drew my eyes wide. ‘Mother,’ I chastised. ‘Have some respect. He can hear you.’
We laughed, and for a moment it felt real. She followed me into the kitchen, where I threw the pillow in the trash. ‘Sayonara,’ I declared, stuffing it into the can. I turned back to my mother. ‘In the interest of honesty, I feel I should tell you I’ll be stealing a pillow from your room in the next three minutes or so.’
She smiled even brighter that time. ‘What’s mine is yours.’
‘In that case, I might also commandeer that tear-drop necklace with the emerald stone.’
‘Except my jewellery, clothes, make-up and everything else I consider valuable,’ she added with a wink. ‘You may, however, help yourself to a small handful of my potpourri.’
‘Wow.’ I blew out an exhale. ‘You generous lady.’
She picked up a mug from the table. The moment felt so wonderfully normal. I wished I could have wrapped myself inside it and forced everything else from my mind, but like all good things, it faded too quickly. I turned to go, and she gripped my arm, squeezing it just above the elbow. She eyed me over the rim of her mug, peppermint on her breath as she said softly, ‘You know you don’t have to pretend, sweetheart. Not with me.’
We watched each other in silence, the bloodied pillow just a couple of feet away, my father’s absence filling up the space between us.
‘Neither do you,’ I said quietly.
Her gaze turned quizzical but she kept the mug high. ‘I’m not pretending.’
‘OK,’ I conceded. ‘If you say so.’
I left her nursing her tea, staring at something far beyond the kitchen window. Another life, maybe. One before my father, before me, when she was a budding designer in a city far away, with high hopes and big dreams. Not this small town, this stifled life, these blood-red memories pressing down on us.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EDEN
When I told my mother I was staying the night at Millie’s, she nearly fainted with relief. Every step I took outside our front door was a small victory for her, and an entire night spent with my best friend was music to her ears. In her mind, I was coasting back to normality, and it didn’t matter that I was leaving her behind. She pressed a twenty into my hand, ‘for pizza, ice cream, whatever you girls need. It’s on me.’ I tried to give it back, but she clasped her hands behind her back and shook her head. ‘You deserve to treat yourself!’
Oh, if only she knew. I swallowed my guilt – it was getting easier to stomach these days. I consoled myself with the knowledge that meeting Jack head-on would keep him from showing up unannounced at my house at some point in the future, which would be so much worse for both of us.
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK here by yourself?’ I asked instead.
Her laugh was a short tinkle. ‘Of course, sweetheart. I have plenty to keep me occupied. I’m putting up that new trellis at the back of the garden. I’m planting wallflowers!’
My mind flicked to her unfinished dressmaking projects, now long overdue. ‘A trellis, eh? Cool …’
She swatted my arm. ‘I don’t just sit around and stare listlessly into the distance when you’re not here, you know.’
‘What? So you don’t spend all your free time thinking about how much you miss me?’
‘I replace my affection for you with my beautiful new plants,’ she said, her voice teasing. ‘They’re much less sarcastic.’
‘Just wait till they’re teenagers.’
‘Have fun,’ she said, pulling me in for a hug. ‘Talk about boys. Plan some adventures!’
When she pulled back, she was beaming so hard her lips were twitching. I grabbed my purse and tried to act like I really was going to an innocent sleepover at my best friend’s house and not a Mafia den in the middle of the city.