Season of Gifts (Neighborly Affection #8)

53. Alice

Chapter fifty-three

Alice

A lice rapped lightly and cracked open the bedroom door. A halo of light spilled from inside. “Mother?”

“Alice, come in.” Reclining against an enormous stack of pillows, Mother laid a book aside and patted the quilt. “Sit, please. I thought you might be Henry come to take up his nightly watch. But you’ve dissuaded him, wonderful. The two of you must have talked through everything? I admit, it’s been weighing on me.”

“Ollie told you?” Cold gripped her, made moving toward the bed and the offered seat impossible. The worst had happened. Ollie had heard from Mom about Alice’s visit, and then she’d gone to Henry’s mom for advice or to vent, and Henry’s mom had asked Henry. No wonder Henry had been so distant with her. He was waiting for her to come to him with what she’d done to herself. Had been waiting. Hours, at least, but maybe days.

“Darling, you’re whiter than Old Man Winter himself. Sit, sit.” Mother patted the bedspread with more vigor and stretched her hand out to Alice. “I haven’t heard from Olivia yet today, though she sometimes sends things in the middle of the night. Her schedule is simply awful. Natalie mentioned the favor you asked, and I think that’s a lovely idea. I can help you with things for Henry as well.”

Alice’s joints awkwardly carried her to the bed. She folded herself beside Mother’s knees, taking the hand on offer. A wedding band rolled loosely around Mother’s finger. Her own fit snugly, a constant reminder of the promises they’d made. That she had made. Honesty. Letting go of fear.

“I’m sorry. That would be great, thank you.” Henry hadn’t wanted details about Nat’s mission. Which was fine; he was busy with other mental loads. Explaining what she’d asked and why, and how she’d left a key with Emma to facilitate, wouldn’t make any difference to the outcome. “It feels like I’ve been running all week, and I’m still trying to catch my breath.”

Mother hummed with wry amusement, so much like Henry—the real Henry, the Henry who didn’t seem to be living behind his eyes right now—that a catch snagged Alice’s throat. “Yes, I may understand how that feels.”

Like, literally. Shit. Thinking before speaking would be a fantastic habit to cultivate.

“I’m so sorry, Mother. I wasn’t thinking—”

“Do you know how wonderful it is to hear you call me that, Alice?” Mother tucked her shoulders tight and squeezed her eyes shut, held in an invisible hug. Sighing, she unveiled a green gaze that warmed Alice to her toes, like standing barefoot in a sun-drenched garden bed. “Robert’s wife is a gracious woman, and I adore her, but they’ve been married nearly two decades, and she still calls me Mrs. Webb. Helen, in rare moments. ‘Mother’ simply won’t roll off her tongue.”

“She sounds…” The woman in the photo in the music room, a sister-in-law she hadn’t even met. Just a few months ago, Henry had joked with Alice about his brother the Fourth and his nephew the Fifth. “Formal.”

Mother nodded, her gaze distracted. The wide king-size pillows stuffed behind her engulfed her slender frame “By your answers, I’m supposing you and Henry have not yet talked this evening.”

“Not really.” If Mother hadn’t been referring to Alice’s secret visit home, then some significant topic existed that Alice didn’t know about either. A secret Henry was keeping. News from the doctor? Henry’s distance might be trying to shear off avenues to more pain if he knew he’d need to stay longer. Weeks. Months. Maybe he meant to give them this weekend and Christmas before he told them. Her chest ached, her lungs harder to inflate. “I, uh, I came to get the walkie-talkie. He was worried about not being able to hear if you needed us.”

“And that is my fault.” Mother’s whisper barely left her lips. She plucked at the quilt and firmly smoothed it flat. “I’m afraid my illness has reawakened painful memories for us both. Do you have time to talk, Alice?”

Icy tendrils wove into her spine. The problem went beyond stress. Beyond exhaustion. She’d given Henry the best of her support tactics learned from helping Mom, and they weren’t working, because he wasn’t her mom, and the challenges he grappled with were different. Whatever Henry wasn’t saying, she wouldn’t leave this room without answers. “Tell me what’s wrong with him?”