Much Ado About You(92)

He hurried down the porch steps, and as I got out of the car, he met me with a bear hug.

That’s all it took in my fragile state for me to burst into tears.

I’d emailed him with a heads-up about the broken engagement.

His arms tightened around me, and I inhaled the familiar scent of the laundry detergent he and Mom used as I soaked his shirt with the apparently never-ending supply of water my eyes produced.

“There, there,” he said gruffly.

I felt his hold ease, and as I looked up, surprised he was pushing me away, I saw the reason why. Mom stood, tears in the hazel eyes I’d inherited from her, holding her arms up to take me into them.

And I went.

Collapsing into her and crying now for so much more than what I’d lost in England.



* * *



? ? ?

Sitting in my parents’ air-conditioned living room on a hot day in Indiana, holding a glass of iced tea, I told myself at least there was AC in the States.

Phil had grabbed my luggage and brought it into the house as Mom and I took our reunion inside. My stepfather had left soon after with some excuse about buying groceries, but I knew he was getting out of the way so Mom and I could talk.

We’d filled the time so far with wiping our eyes and making small talk while Mom brought a jug of iced tea into the living room with a plate of homemade cookies.

“I’ve really gotten into baking since I’ve come home,” she said, offering me a cookie.

Not hungry, I promised I’d try one later.

Homemade baking just made me think of Caro.

To distract me, I blurted, “I’m angry at you.”

Mom flinched, tensed, but gave me a tight nod. “I know.”

“I’ve tried not to be. But I’m angry that your addiction was stronger than your love for me.”

“Oh, Evie, that’s not true.” Her eyes filled with fresh tears.

“I know that rationally. I know that’s not how addiction works. But it felt like that. I can’t change what it felt like. Especially when you lied all the time about it and stole from me. And how do I know that this time it’ll stick?”

“You don’t. I don’t.” She shook her head. “Honestly, I can’t worry about that because it’s counterproductive to fighting addiction. I know that now. I can only try and I am trying.” She shifted forward on her seat, expression filled with remorse. “If you can’t forgive me, I understand.”

I shook my head, my gut roiling at the idea of losing my mom for good now that she was in front of me. “I love you. You’re not your addiction, Mom. I love you. And despite everything I will always forgive you.”

When she broke into hard, shuddering sobs, I wondered how much more I could take. Holding her as she clung to me, I couldn’t remember a time more emotionally wrought than this past week.

I felt like I’d cried a lifetime’s worth of tears.



* * *



? ? ?

A while later, we moved to the porch swing. It was a typically humid day, but we had the iced tea in our hands as a coolant.

“Has it rained much?” I asked. It usually rained a fair bit in Carmel during the summers. Hence the humidity.

“Actually, we’re having a pretty hot, dry summer. Climate change, I guess.” She shot me a semi-amused look. “Are we really going to talk about the weather? Am I allowed to broach the subject of your engagement? Is it my place?”

“Honestly, I’m all talked out. I could sleep for days. But you’re my mom. It’s always your place,” I assured her.

She smiled gratefully and I noticed how well she really did look. Alcoholism had taken a toll on Mom’s skin. She had more wrinkles than some women her age, but the yellow tinge to her skin tone was gone. She looked healthy and glowing. My pretty, shiny-eyed mom from when she first met Phil was back. Hope, despite all my best attempts to stifle it, flickered to life inside me.

I guess I always would hope for the best when it came to the people I loved.

Roane’s face flashed before my eyes, and those doubts Greer had breathed life into caused a stomach cramp.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I read all the emails you sent Phil, and he’d tell me about your phone conversations too when you were over there.”

“I don’t mind.” I’d assumed as much.

“Your young man . . . Roane . . . he sounds like a good man.”

“He lied to me,” I replied automatically. “And anyway, I didn’t go there to fall in love with some guy.” God, did I sound bitter. “I went over there, telling myself from the start not to get involved with him, because I was there to find myself, to find out what I wanted from life. Not to find a man. I didn’t listen! I didn’t listen to myself and look where it got me. I lost the bookstore and a life that should have been my home. Because of him. Because I gave up my independence for him.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got it all wrong.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Love isn’t about giving up your independence, and I doubt very much that you of all people gave it up for a man.”

I made a face but she was right. With the exception of not learning to drive there, I’d refused Roane’s help buying the store, wanting to do that for myself. I ran the store by myself with no help from anyone else. “Okay, maybe I didn’t. Entirely. But I still didn’t listen to my good sense.”