The Good Wife(65)
“So it’s just going to be us for Mother’s Day with Dad, then?” Sarah asked, turning to look at Brianna as she braked at a traffic light.
“No. It’s the whole family. All of us kids. Meg and her crew, Kit and Jude, Tommy, Cass, you, me.”
Sarah rubbed at her temple. “So even though no one’s getting along we’re all still getting together?”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh God.”
Brianna grinned. “And best of all, we’re cooking!”
“Who is cooking?”
“We, us, the girls.”
Sarah closed her eyes, counted to five, and then to ten. “Why can’t we just go out to eat?”
“Because Dad wanted brunch at the house. Wants to see us all around the table. Thinks it’s a good way to honor Mom.”
Sarah understood that. “So it’s brunch?”
“Yep.”
“What are we making?”
“Kit and Cass put together the menu and have assigned something to everyone.” She glanced at Sarah, lips pursing. “I have a big job.”
Sarah’s eyebrows arched. That was interesting. Brianna was a terrible cook. “What is it?”
“Orange juice.”
Sarah choked back laughter. Clearly, no one trusted Brianna in the kitchen.
* * *
Saturday morning, Sarah wandered restlessly around the house, climbing upstairs to what used to be Tommy’s room and was now a playroom for the grandkids. She opened the doors to the deck to let the sunshine in, needing light and warmth.
The house felt so different without Mom. It was empty, hollow, like a Hollywood set . . . the facade of a house without real people inside.
How did Dad stand it?
Sarah stepped outside, crossing the deck to lean on the railing and lift her face to the sun. She’d gotten here just yesterday, but she missed her kids, missed Boone, and was already wanting to go home.
Where are you, Mom? Are you there, Mom? Can you hear me?
“There you are,” a voice said from the doorway.
Sarah opened her eyes, glanced over her shoulder at Bree, on the threshold, looking lost in her shapeless gray sweatpants and burgundy T-shirt emblazoned with the word ANARCHY in antique gold. “Is someone looking for me?”
“Me,” Brianna answered, stepping outside and stretching. “Beautiful day.”
“It is,” Sarah agreed, watching Bree cross to one of the pine Adirondack chairs and sit down, curling her legs up under her. “Where have you been all morning?”
“Sleeping.”
“But you went to bed so early.”
Bree shrugged. “I like sleeping.”
Sarah watched as her sister tipped her head back, eyes closing, letting the sunshine play on her face. She looked relaxed, but also small and pale and shockingly fragile.
She was just a ghost of her former self.
Sarah knew then, definitively, that something was wrong with Brianna. Brianna was sick.
“How about you?” she asked, sitting down in the chair next to Brianna’s. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.”
Sarah didn’t believe it. But she wasn’t going to push Brianna. Between the Kit and Jude stuff and the Tommy and Cass stuff, there was just way too much tension. She didn’t want to add to it. In fact, all she wanted was to know that someone was good. “You said that Meg has been keeping to herself?” she asked, looking at Bree. “You think she’s okay . . . or not?”
Brianna sighed. “I’d have to go with not okay. She’s really torn up about Jack.”
“She loved him.”
“She wasn’t happy with him, though. She was staying out of a sense of duty. Everybody knew it, too.”
“But that’s Meg. Meg is, always has been, so very responsible.”
“And being so wedded to responsibility was killing her.” Brianna tipped her head back, looked up at the blue sky with the wispy clouds. “I think she loved Chad.”
“She didn’t.”
“I think she did. But she wasn’t going to admit it. Not to us. Maybe not even to herself, because it was the wrong thing to do . . . to love someone who wasn’t your husband. To love someone so physically, passionately. Meg is all about control, but Chad made her lose control, so guilt and fear and shame surrounded her feelings, tainting the relationship. So if she renounced Chad, and her feelings, then she could forgive herself.”
Sarah needed a moment to take this all in, and she nodded, thinking about it, thinking Brianna might have actually nailed it. “I think you might be right.”
“I know I’m right.”
Sarah fought the urge to smile. “What makes you so sure? You’ve detested her most of her life.”