She drove past Grandma’s house, slowing down to get a look at the charming yellow Victorian with glossy white trim. All the bakery signs were gone now, the big front porch just a porch again. The house was back to being a home.
Her home. Her and Blake’s home. They’d lived there for a little over twelve years, from the time he was three and a half until he was seventeen. But she hadn’t been inside the house for months. Not since September when she moved to Alameda.
One day she’d go inside again. She’d walk around, maybe sit on her couch or sleep in her bed. But that time wasn’t now. Better to avoid the house than see Blake’s room, still full of all his things. Things he’d never want or need again.
Lauren didn’t go into her house, but she did stop at one of the little gift stores farther down on First, running in to see if there was anything pretty for her mom for Mother’s Day, and fell in love with a hand-blown vase made by a local glassblower. The vase was tall and narrow with yellow, orange, and pink starbursts inside the thick, bubbled glass. It would look beautiful holding Mom’s roses and dahlias.
As the girl behind the counter wrapped it for her, Lauren picked out a card and wrote a note for her mom. Thank you for always being there for me, Mom. I have always appreciated everything you’ve done for me. I know I wouldn’t have been able to do anything if it hadn’t been for you. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Love you always, Lauren.
With the gift inside a shopping bag, Lauren stepped back outside and was walking to her car when an older woman walking her dog stopped her. “Lauren! My goodness, dear, it’s good to see you. How are you?”
It was Diane Dieter, a woman who’d been her neighbor when Lauren had lived here on First Street in Grandma’s house. Lauren shifted the shopping bag to her other hand to hug her old neighbor. “Mrs. Dieter! How are you?”
“I’m so glad to see you. I think about you all the time.” Her expression changed, delight giving away to concern. “Are you okay?”
Lauren forced a smile, knowing exactly what Diane was asking. “Yes.”
“It’s almost a year, isn’t it?”
For a moment Lauren couldn’t breathe, the air trapped in her throat. Her eyes stung, prickling, and then she nodded once. “It’ll be eleven months tomorrow.”
“Such a shame. We miss him. And you. Neighborhood’s too quiet without you two.”
“Everything looks good around here, though,” Lauren said, determined to shift the conversation away from Blake. “Nothing’s for sale either.”
“Neighborhood’s holding its value,” Diane agreed. “Although I heard talk that you’ll soon be selling.”
“Selling Grandma’s house? No. Not even considering it. Who told you that?”
Diane gestured vaguely behind her. “Someone . . . somewhere.”
“Well, it’s not true. I couldn’t sell Grandma’s. That’s home.” And suddenly her eyes stung and burned, and she thought she would cry right then and there on the sidewalk in front of the boutique. She lifted her shopping bag. “I better go. Mom’s waiting for me.”
“Okay. You go. Give your mom by best. And Happy Mother’s Day, Lauren.”
It was still light when Lauren reached her parents’ house and her dad was out on the tractor, working. She set the present and card on the kitchen counter. “For you, Mom, for Mother’s Day.”
“Thank you. How sweet of you,” her mom said, pouring two glasses of iced tea. “Are you going to be here Sunday for Mother’s Day?”
“I guess that depends on Lisa,” Lauren answered, following her mom back outside.
“Could be days before she has that baby,” Candy warned, taking a rocker and sighing with pleasure that she was finally off her feet. “This is nice.”
“I don’t think it’ll be days,” Lauren answered, trying to sit but unable to get comfortable, and so she got up again and walked the length of the rustic wooden porch. Their house was simple, but her dad liked his Western touches—big porch, rock-lined driveway, the old fire pit replaced by an outdoor rock fireplace. “I think it’s going to be soon.”
“First babies can take days.” Candy sipped her iced tea and watched Lauren pace. “But I can’t watch you do this. You’re exhausting me. Stop pacing this porch like a caged tiger.”
Lauren glanced at her mom, smiled ruefully. “Sorry. I feel a bit like one. I just keep thinking that the phone will ring any minute and it’ll be Lisa, and I just want to be ready.”