A Mother's Homecoming(44)
“You know any who work for free?”
“Ah, so it’s a financial issue. It’s possible, if Ed and Julia were willing to co-sign, that you might be able to get a small improvement loan against the projected sale price. Although loans aren’t as easy to secure as they used to be in Mimosa.”
Was this all off the top of his head, or had he given her predicament some thought? No doubt he’d made the logical deduction that the sooner the house was taken care of, the sooner she would get the hell out of Dodge.
She brought him the freshly washed leaves to be tossed with diced cucumbers, avocados and tomatoes. “My sticking with the house instead of dumping the whole mess on someone else isn’t just about the money. It’s also cathartic. I’m never going to get the chance …”
Her throat closed around a lump of emotion, Mae’s face flashing in her memory. That was the downside of relaxing—you lowered your guard. In this domestic setting, her mother’s death hit her anew. Pam would never share a peaceful moment with Mae as the two of them prepared a meal and simply chatted.
She swallowed, embarrassed that her vision was suddenly blurred and hoping Nick didn’t notice her glistening eyes. “I’ll never get to repair my relationship with her. Repairing the house is as close as I can get.”
Nick brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. The gentleness of the gesture made her eyes and throat burn all the worse. “She loved you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if it helps, after everything that happened, to believe that, but she did.”
Pam bit the inside of her cheek. Despite what filmmakers and greeting card companies would have an audience think, maybe there were some things love couldn’t overcome.
“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked, his voice still feather-soft. The tenderness was too familiar, bringing to mind so many past conversations and caresses. Her skin heated and she tried not to breathe in how good he smelled.
“S-sure.” Pam made herself focus on his words rather than his nearness. “But if it’s good advice, I can’t promise I’ll take it. That’s not always been my strong point.”
His lips quirked in homage to a smile, but his blue eyes were serious. “You sound like you regret the missed opportunities with your mother. And you’re right, it’s too late to do anything about them. So maybe keep your eyes open for future opportunities with other people.”
Like you? She wanted to ask. Like Faith? She was here now, wasn’t she? She was taking the opportunity—she just wasn’t sure how far to take it. At what fork in the road did courageous wisdom become risky stupidity? Her gaze held his, broadcasting the questions she was afraid to put into words.
But apparently Nick didn’t have the answers, either.
Stepping back, he cleared his throat. “We should eat. You can’t properly reprimand a sullen tween on an empty stomach. Eating at the counter okay with you, or should we be fancy and have lunch at the table?”
“In the last week, I’ve eaten half my meals either in the storage closet at a salon or sitting on an upturned crate in a living room that’s between floor treatments. The counter is plenty fancy for me. Actually, it might be too fancy. I’d feel more at home if we put a plastic drop cloth down and scattered some sawdust.”
He laughed, and she grinned back at him, relieved at the lighter mood. As long as they stayed away from combustible topics like Faith and Mae, she was free to concentrate on a tasty lunch and undemanding conversation. They chatted about their favorite reality cooking show and who they thought should win. Eventually they even got brave enough to skirt the past and discuss people they’d gone to school with. Nick filled her in on details of who had ended up where, from those still in Mimosa to one who’d joined the military and was, as far as anyone had last heard, living in Alaska.
“I think I’d like to live in the north,” Pam mused, “where there’s snow. Sunny L.A. was not for me. I’d rather be somewhere cozy, wearing lots of sweaters and eating lots of soup.”
Nick grinned at her. “They don’t have soup in California?”
She rolled her eyes, not dignifying his smart-ass comment with a response.
“So that’s the plan?” he asked. “To trek to the great white north after you leave Mimosa?”
“No firm plan.” That was an understatement—she barely had a gelatinous plan. “I’m taking things one day at a time. Occasionally one hour at a time. Speaking of which, shouldn’t Faith be home from school about now?”