If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(61)

I grabbed piles of clothes from the box and stuffed them into the drawers to distract myself. The dividers Amanda had eventually inserted to keep her side of each drawer organized made me snort. Her side had always held neatly folded items, while mine had mingled socks and pajamas and shorts without care. If she could’ve divided our entire room, she would’ve. Admittedly, I’d taken full advantage of her willingness to clean up, make my bed, and put away my laundry. These days I’d be on my own.

Fifteen minutes later, my mother knocked on the door.

“Come in.” I leaned against the headboard, sitting cross-legged. Mo climbed into my lap, his little face perched on one knee, staring out the window.

Mom wandered over to sit at the foot of my bed. I braced for a lecture, so I was stunned when she quietly said, “I came to check in. You seemed rattled.”

“I’m fine.” A white lie, but seeing as how I didn’t understand my own thoughts, I could hardly explain them to her. She wasn’t the parent I’d ever poured my heart out to, and now wasn’t the time to begin. “What about you?”

Mom pressed her hand to her chest, a childlike smile appearing. “I know you’re concerned, but I’m heartened. Nancy got a message to your friend, which makes me confident that we’ll hear from your father, especially if you and your sister help.” Given the breakdown Amanda had last night, asking her to participate in this farce seemed unwise. Yet how could I snuff out the little bit of joy and hope now reflected in Mom’s eyes? For the first time, I felt selfish for processing only my own grief this past year when I might’ve helped her with hers, too. “If we’re all together with Nancy, William will have to show up.”

Her whole face softened after mentioning my dad’s name.

For all our differences, we’d both adored him. Yet as much as I’d loved my father, it wasn’t the same as losing a spouse.

Parents and children don’t share the same intimacies that couples do. They don’t wake up together. They don’t make major life decisions as one. They don’t create new life together. They don’t even live in the same house after a period of time.

Yes, I loved my father, but I’d had my own life, too—jobs, hobbies, boyfriends, and friends. On the other hand, my mother had built her whole life around my father. Truly, she started forty-two years ago, when she’d first comforted him in the wake of a bad breakup with some other woman at college. No wonder she was frantic to turn to him now—to get his advice about how to help Amanda and what to do about Lyle.

And Amanda had been right about the fact that I couldn’t relate to her pain. I’d yet to love a man other than my father with my whole heart and soul. Losing a spouse had broken something different in Mom and my sister than losing Dad had in me. They might never be whole again. Nor would Eli.

“That’s a beautiful wish, Mom, but I don’t share your faith in Nancy.”

Her forlorn expression made me feel like an ogre. “Not even after what happened today?”

“I can’t explain today . . .” Reiterating my license plate theory would earn me only an eye roll and a dismissive wave of the hands, and also make me feel like a shit. “But even if it was one hundred percent authentic, would you actually want to hear from Dad through that woman? It’s freaky, and we’d have no way to verify the truth of anything she’d tell us.” As gently as I could muster, I added, “Given our other priorities, ghost hunting doesn’t seem like the best use of time or money.”

She stiffened. “Well, I’ve got plenty of time, and it is my money, so I’ll use it however I please.”

I raised my hands in surrender, now defeated and drained. Not good, because I had even less of a filter under these conditions. “Okay, but if you go broke, we’ll both be living in my crummy old apartment.”

“Psh.” She fell silent, her lips twisted. I petted Mo, wishing Mom would leave me alone to think, but the way she picked at the quilt warned me the conversation was about to take a turn. “So is this Eli someone special?”

“He’s the guy who bought Dad’s albums from Max.”

Her stricken expression implied that she’d misinterpreted me.

“He didn’t know Max had stolen them,” I hastened to add. “He handed them over immediately upon finding out. He’s a good guy. A songwriter.”

“You like him.” She raised a brow.

“What little I know, I like.” I snuggled Mo closer, as if he could protect me from her probing.

“It’s a little soon after breaking things off with Max to throw yourself into something new, isn’t it?”

As if anyone’s heart could be bound by so-called rules of propriety. “I’m not throwing myself at him. I merely offered him some free classes because Max cost him so much money.”

Not entirely the truth, but close enough. She didn’t need to know the effort it took to repress the urge to jump his bones.

“Good, because whoever Karen is, he still loves her. That much is plain as the nose on your face.”

That ice water took a minute to shake off. My mom had this way of saying things—honest, true things—that hurt even when she didn’t mean them to. This was one of those times, and as usual, she wasn’t wrong.

Everything about Eli’s earlier expression and voice had dripped with longing for his wife. He hadn’t said how long ago she’d died, but he’d previously mentioned not writing for a couple of years. A long time to remain withdrawn from the world. “If you believe Nancy actually spoke with her, then she told him to move on.”