“You’re table is ready,” the hostess called out to us. We let each other go so we could follow her into the crowded restaurant.
Once we were seated and I’d answered questions about my drive thus far, tactfully leaving out the parts that would have caused them to worry, I turned to Consuela and inquired, “How’s everything with you and Mark?”
My mother in law’s lips pursed, and Con shook her head sadly.
“It’s over,” she told me, and I reached my hand out to cover hers consolingly. “I moved out about three months ago. I’m living with Momma until I can find a place with rent that I can afford. Mark sold the house and moved to Texas. He said he needed a fresh start.”
“I’m so sorry, Con. I wish you would have called me so I could help you.”
Consuela looked at me sadly and squeezed my hand.
“You have enough on your plate, Bells. I didn’t want to worry you. Things are going great.” She tried to put on a brave face, but she wasn’t fooling me.
I hated that she hadn’t felt she could come to me when she was hurting, and I wondered what else the people in my life had sheltered me from in the last year.
We kept the conversation light and generic throughout the meal, and for the first time in my life, I felt like a stranger with my husband’s family. It wasn’t that they were treating me badly, just … differently.
My mother-in-law didn’t drink, and she didn’t like other people drinking either, so although I watched the tables around us being served alcohol, I couldn’t have a drink myself. The need for a drink, paired with the awkwardness of the evening, was wearing on me, and by the time we paid our bill, my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.
I had a bottle in the trunk, I’d just have to smuggle it in to the house.
Con told her mom that she wanted to ride back to the house with me, so I wouldn’t have to be alone, but I could tell that she wanted to talk to me without her mother present.
My suspicions were confirmed when we pulled out onto the main road.
“I wanted to tell you about the room before we get to the house.”
“What, the guest room?” I asked. Ricky and I stayed in his old room every time we came to visit. After Ricky joined the military, his mom had put his things into the attic and converted it into a pretty, frilly guest room. Ricky hated it, but I’d always thought it was homey.
Con nodded then worried her lower lip before saying, “After we got home from the funeral, Mama had been really distraught. She’d ended up going up into the attic and going through Ricky’s stuff.”
I’d been a mess, but even in my state, I could see how hard Ricky’s mom had taken his death when they came out to San Diego for the funeral. Unfortunately, I’d been so caught up in my own grief that I hadn’t been able to console anyone else.
“That’s understandable,” I offered.
“Yeah, it was, but then she brought everything down and redecorated the guest room. She basically recreated Ricky’s bedroom from high school.”
My stomach dropped at Con’s words. Not just because my mother-in-law was obviously having a harder time copping with Ricky’s death than I thought, but because she expected me to sleep in a bedroom surrounded by memento’s from Ricky’s childhood.
“I wanted to let you know before you walked in there unaware,” Consuela added, her hand coming to land on my shoulder and squeeze it gently.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I replied softly, my throat closing tightly and the need for a drink causing me to feel panicky.
When we parked and got out of the car, I grabbed my overnight bag from the back as Con looked on and waited. Therefore there was no way for me to rummage through my luggage to get out the bottle of vodka. Grudgingly, I closed my trunk and followed Con into the house.
I made my way toward Ricky’s bedroom, my legs heavy as if I were walking through quicksand, and schooled my features so I wouldn’t offend Ricky’s mom when I entered the room behind her.
She turned on the light and I looked around, wondering how in the hell I was going to make it through the night without falling apart.
Chapter 14
“What all’s in there?” Ginger asked, her voice comforting me like a soft blanket after being out in the cold night.
I looked around the room for the hundredth time since I’d excused myself to go to bed.
“Trophies, pictures from high school, his basic training graduation photo, Star Wars action figures, even his old New Orleans Saints bedding,” I told her, running my hand across the bed. “I’m laying on Saints sheets right now.”