One More for Christmas(62)

Ella thought of the number of times she’d begged to learn ballet. “I wanted to dance.”

“I couldn’t afford ballet and martial arts. I chose the one I thought might be most useful. No one ever danced their way out of trouble.” Her mother stirred. “I wasn’t afraid of you being a teacher. I was afraid of you giving it up and moving on to the next thing. Sampling, and not sticking. I needed you to stick. I wanted you to be able to always support yourself.”

“I was trying to find a job that made me happy.”

“Happiness doesn’t pay the bills.”

“Life has to be about more than paying the bills, but I understand that being widowed so young must have been frightening.”

“It was. I relied on your father financially. That was a mistake.”

“You never talk about him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Dad. You never talk about him. You never talk about your marriage. Until last night Sam and I had no idea that you’d come here on your honeymoon.”

“Why would you?”

Did she really need to spell it out? “I would have thought that might be something you might have mentioned before.” Ella put her hand on her mother’s arm. “Is being here difficult for you?”

“Difficult?”

“The place must have memories.” Because her mother was contributing nothing to the conversation, she made a guess. “It must have been a special time.”

Her mother stared into the distance. “I try not to think about it.”

“Because it hurts so much?”

“Because thinking about it is a reminder of how very foolish I was.” Her mother extracted herself from Ella’s grip and continued toward the house.

Foolish?

“There’s nothing foolish about love, Mom.” She hurried to catch up. “Love is the most important thing there is.”

“Oh Eleanor—” her mother turned “—I had hoped that age and maturity might have made you less romantic and more practical, but it seems that hasn’t happened.”

Eight minutes, Ella thought. Eight minutes of conversation and they were locking horns again. She felt small and insignificant, as if her opinions didn’t matter. Her mother wasn’t telling her that they thought differently. She was telling her that she was wrong.

There was no discussion. No acceptance of a differing point of view. Just judgment.

Her instinct was to stalk off, to protect herself, to accept that this relationship was never going to change.

But then she remembered the look on her mother’s face when she’d seen Tab with Michael. She’d been feeling something, even if it was something she denied and wouldn’t talk about.

It was like following a few bread crumbs and hoping they’d lead you out of the forest. She wasn’t sure where that information would lead, but she felt that it had to lead somewhere. She wanted to follow it right to a dead end if necessary.

“It must have been terrible for you, being widowed so young and raising two young children alone. But losing someone doesn’t mean that loving them was wrong.”

“Please stop, Ella—” her mother looked tired “—you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

An hour earlier she’d thought this was a whole new start. And now it seemed they were back at the beginning.

“Not all relationships go wrong, Mom. And even when a relationship does go wrong, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth having.”

Gayle stopped again. “I don’t want you to have to struggle, Ella, that’s all. I don’t want you ever to lie there wondering how you’re going to support yourself and your baby. I’m sure that by the time you’ve paid for childcare, there isn’t much of a teacher’s salary left. But at least you’re still part of the workforce, maintaining your skills in case you should ever need them.”

She should confess that she wasn’t paying for childcare. That she’d chosen to stay at home. But even if she’d chosen to go back to work and have most of her salary eaten by childcare, that would have been her decision, too. She hadn’t because she didn’t want to miss a single moment of these early years with Tab. Why would she give that precious gift to a stranger? The atmosphere was already so fragile it was like stepping onto the frozen surface of a pond, knowing that the ice could crack at any moment. “Life isn’t all about money, Mom.” It was a limp version of what she should have said.

“Life is never about money until you don’t have any. Then it becomes a rather glaring priority.” Gayle took a breath. “You think I’m boring, don’t you? That my focus is in the wrong place. That all I think about is work and self-improvement. But love doesn’t provide any of the practical things you need in life. And it can blind you to reality. Tempt you to make yourself vulnerable.”

Was there any point in confessing that love was the only thing she truly needed in her life?

No. Her mother’s comment was so obviously driven by personal pain, and Ella was trying to learn more about her, not alienate her. “It must have been very hard for you when Dad died. We were so young. And you were on your own. I can’t even imagine.”

“I don’t suppose you can. And that’s my fault because I always tried to protect you from it.”