Till Death(43)

“Honey, I know that.” Reaching across the table, she folded her hand over mine. “But I am worried about you.”

“I’m okay.” I was unsettled. Freaked out. Worried about the whole deer thing and my car, but I was fine even though I sounded a little desperate when I asked, “Do you think Angela will turn up?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping and praying that’s the case. Angela could be flighty, but she never missed work. She wouldn’t just run away.” She squeezed my hand. “But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

I didn’t need to take a wild guess to figure that out. “Cole?”

A soft smile appeared on her face. “His truck was outside this morning when I got home.”

Oh geez. I was so hoping he’d managed to leave before she woke up.

“Now, I’m not looking for details, but I’m guessing something good went down between you two based on the way he was acting this afternoon.”

Was that just last night? Felt like an eternity ago. “He drove me home and then he stayed the night—on the couch,” I added. “It was late.”

Her head tilted to the side. “I don’t know if I should be proud of you or disappointed that you had that fine-looking man sleeping on your couch when I know that bed of yours is more than big enough.”

My mouth dropped open and I gasped, “Mom.”

“What?” she laughed. “I may be getting up there in years, but I can still fully appreciate a good-looking man.” She sat back. “Especially a man who cared for my daughter once before and seems like he still does, and I also know you cared for him deeply once before too. What I want to know is if you care about him still.”

I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling lights until the brightness was burned into my retina. “It’s . . . I don’t know how I feel.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

Sighing, I lowered my chin and rubbed my eyes until the burn went away. Mom knew me too well sometimes. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m of the mind that anything worth a damn in life, anything fun and joyous, will always be complicated,” she said. “If it’s easy, it’s probably not exactly worth it.”

“True, but I think . . .”

“Spit it out, honey.”

“Fine,” I groaned. “I think he feels sorry for me and he came back here out of some messed-up, twisted sense of obligation.”

Mom’s brows inched up her forehead and several moments passed before she spoke. “And what exactly has he done that would make you think that? Not what you think he has done, but what has he done?”

I opened my mouth, prepared to point out the reasons why I believed this based on our few times together since I returned, and I couldn’t find anything actually concrete—anything that wasn’t my perception of what he’d done. I snapped my mouth shut.

“I’m going to be honest with you, honey, like I’ve always been.”

Mom’s brand of honesty and truth could either be really hilarious or downright awkward. I had no idea which way she was going to go with this.

“You’ve been through things that no woman should ever have to go through. You’ve survived things that no one should ever have to face. You are strong. You have the real strength that’s important. Up here.” She tapped on her head and then her chest. “And here. You picked your life up and pieced it back together. I’m proud of you, honey, so damn proud.”

The back of my eyes burned as I listened to her.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re seeing everything right. People are going to feel bad for you. I feel bad for you. It’s human nature for others to feel that way, and I bet Cole does feel that way,” she explained gently. “But that doesn’t mean that’s driving his actions. That doesn’t mean he asked you out to dinner, drove you home, and stayed on your couch because he pities you or feels like he had to.”

I stared at her.

“All I’m saying, maybe even asking, is that you judge him based on what he is doing,” she finished. “Not on what you think he’s doing. Okay?”

“Okay, Mom,” I whispered.

Her smile reached her tired eyes. “Good to hear that.” She rose. “Now I’m going up to bed. If you happen to hear anything about Angela, please let me know.”

“I will.”

Mom headed upstairs from the in-house stairs, and I double-checked the doors again. As I did so, something occurred to me. Heading back into the kitchen, I walked into the old room, and flipped on the overhead light. I walked over to the corkboard, searching out the keys until I found the one Mom had mentioned before.

Angela’s house key.

Hers hung at the bottom, next to an extra set of keys to Mom’s truck. Her key had one of those pink caps, and a black marker had etched AR on it. I reached out, running my fingers over the key, hoping that it would be reused again by Angela.

Sighing, I turned around, hit the light, and then entered the stairwell, making my way up to my apartment. Since it was almost ten, I washed my face and pulled my hair up in a bun. Then I changed into a pair of flannel pants that were nowhere near as sexy as the nightie I’d grabbed the night before.

My gaze zeroed in on the bed as I pulled a pale blue cami on. What Mom asked of me replayed over and over in my head.