Chapter 6 #2
Mads glared at the dark screen. “Why those little shits.”
I chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss.
He cupped my face. “Are you ready?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Nope. Not one little bit.”
Mads glanced over my shoulder and said, “She’s watching from the window.”
I spun in my seat, and there she was, less than fifteen metres away, standing in the bay window of the townhouse.
My mother.
I was pretty sure my heart stopped in my chest.
Forty-seven years since I’d last seen her, she was obviously older, but recognisable just the same.
With grey hair, a fuller face, a rounder body than I remembered, but still tiny, sporting those killer cheekbones, I’d have known her anywhere.
I knew that face like I’d seen it yesterday.
Yearned for it, even. And I wondered what that said about me.
Chloe gave a hesitant wave and I returned it. Then I turned and kissed Mads one more time, much to his surprise.
“I gather you’re making a statement?” he said, pulling away with a smile.
“Damn right I am.” I looked back at my mother. “If she’s even remotely offended, this is going to be a very short reunion.” I rounded the car to open Mads’ door.
He shot me a wicked grin, then accepted my hand. “Why thank you, kind sir. I could get used to all this statement-making.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled, locking the car before grabbing his hand.
Mads gave a soft snort. “Another statement? You’re not generally so handsy, although that’s been changing. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“Not a statement.” I took the time to meet his eyes so he’d know I was serious. “I like holding your hand. It’s . . . reassuring, and . . . nice. And it makes me feel I can handle anything.”
He blinked slowly, his breath coming out in a slow sigh. “I feel the same way, just so you know.”
I squeezed his hand, then gave it a tug. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
The front door was open by the time we reached it, but my, m—Chloe was nowhere to be seen.
“Come in,” a small voice drifted from the room to the right. “And please shut the door after you.”
We exchanged a look, then stepped inside.
Mads held back to let me go first. I did, keeping a firm hold on his hand.
My heart thundered like a shotgun in my chest, my mouth suddenly dry as dust. One foot after the other, I told myself.
She’s just an old woman. If you don’t like what you hear, you can leave.
Which was true, but it still felt like the only thing keeping me moving forward was Mads’ warm hand wrapped in mine.
As we stepped into the room, he whispered, “I’ve got you, love.”
And just like that, with four tiny words, I knew everything would be all right. My feet picked up and my heart along with it.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, but a cheerful lounge dressed in pale yellow and blue and smelling of sugar and cinnamon wasn’t it.
It was so at odds with the drab house I’d lived in as a child, it was jarring.
She looked so much more at home in this place than she ever had in our old house, and I realised it was because this place reflected her, something she’d never had the opportunity to show when I’d been young.
I was meeting a part of her I’d never known, and it was a strange feeling.
There’d never been enough money to make our old house look more than it was—a three-bedroom low-income fixer-upper that had never been fixed.
My father had handled all the finances, which meant most was squandered on booze, gambling, and other women.
My mother received just enough to keep us fed and presentable, provided my dad didn’t blow it all before he got home on payday.
I hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but taking a quick look around at the room, it struck me that my mother actually possessed a good eye, if a little too country for me.
A cream leather sofa lined with pale blue cushions took up one wall.
On the opposite wall sat two matching chairs, one holding Chloe, positioned either side of the bay window that faced the drive.
Between the sofa and chairs, a sizeable light oak coffee table held neat piles of cooking and garden magazines, a box of Kleenex, and a large vase of flowers that looked like they’d come from the garden out front.
At one end of the coffee table, a large slate hearth framed a quietly burning gas fire, and a small marmalade cat was stretched on a mat in front, enjoying the heat.
The wall opposite the fire sported a closed door to who knew where, and the rest was given over to floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, every one of them overflowing.
I knew without looking that Mads would approve.
He’d already be checking the genres and titles to get a feel for the woman who sat quietly watching us, an unreadable expression on her face.
It occurred to me, it would’ve been nice to grow up in this house and with this woman who’d made it feel so homely. But that hadn’t been my destiny, and the reminder cut deep.