Chapter 19
19
CATHERINE
J acob’s mother, Margaret, isn’t the only one to show up for our weird pre-dawn holiday reunion.
My mother is here, too.
Gabriel probably planned it. He pushes Lydia and Elise into the villa, closes the door behind us, and disappears.
Then it’s like the welcome we got at Gabriel’s brownstone, only my mother manages to hug tight enough for an entire family. She gathers all three of us in her arms and kisses our hair and apologizes until Lydia lets out a little shriek.
“Mom!” My little sister sounds so much like Elise. “It’s, like, over now. You don’t have to keep apologizing. Dad was the worst, and he was awful to you, too.”
“I should’ve done better.” My mother’s eyes are dry, but I can hear the quaver in her voice. “I should have done everything differently. I don’t expect your forgiveness, and I won’t—I won’t force myself on you. But I had to see you with my own eyes. I’m sorry.”
“Mom, shh. It’s okay,” Elise says.
“We are okay.” I’m going to be okay any day now. “We’re here, and we’re together, and it’s all going to be fine. You really don’t have to worry.”
The four of us—my sisters, my mother, me—have a lot to talk about. It’s too much for one morning, especially after a long flight.
At sunrise, my mom gets up from the kitchen table where we’ve gathered, gives us all one more tight hug, and kisses our cheeks.
“I’ll be nearby if you need me. And if you don’t, that’s all right, my darlings. I love you.”
We wave at her from the window while her driver steers her SUV away.
Jacob was right. It’s a cold, rainy day. Nothing like it will be in the summer. But it’s nice here. There are no reminders of the plane crash or Raymond Harris or even Christmas, which is on purpose. Gabriel told me Jacob would be stressed out by the decorations. Then he waved his hands in a big circle and sang and all the holiday things, too.
So the villa is its usual, non-holiday self, clean and comfortable and lovely.
While my sisters make more coffee and laugh at each other in the kitchen, I move through the house to find Jacob.
He’s upstairs in one of the bedrooms, sprawled on one of the beds, asleep with his head on his mother’s shoulder.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so young.
I wave at Margaret Chambers from the door. She looks so much like Jacob. The cautious smile she gives me is very familiar.
Margaret waves back. I can tell from how her smile fades that she expects me to throw her out. To make her leave in payment for what her husband did.
Part of me thinks I should. The wives of the members of the consortium weren’t innocent. They might not have known all the details, but they knew enough. They could have done things differently, just like my mother said.
But what would be the point in punishing each other?
That’s just more of what my dad would want. He’d want us to be at each other’s throats, suspicious of each other, writing each other off. And that wouldn’t help anyone but the kinds of people who’d want to take advantage of our past as leverage for their own futures.
My passionate hobby isn’t going to be revenge.
I smile back at Margaret Chambers, then reach in and pull the door closed so nothing disturbs her son.
It’s more than just Christmas. It’s more than the new year.
The rest of the Hills go back to New York on the tenth of January, leaving me and Jacob with my sisters, Nate, and Gabriel.
And Gabriel?—
He’s a living example of not punishing someone for what their father did or didn’t do.
I’m not new to living with Jacob, but I didn’t understand how much he needs to be cuddled. He calls it being coddled, and I get the impression—from the way he was with his mother when she visited—that cuddling wasn’t allowed where his father could see.
I learn from Gabriel’s stories that the Hills tried to make up for that while their parents were alive.
Gabriel isn’t trying now. He’s effortless.
He sits close to Jacob on the couch with me on Jacob’s other side. He leans his shoulder against Jacob’s and pats his hand and never shies away from casual touch. And Jacob leans into it every time. I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it.
Gabriel’s also the one who gets Jacob to eat again. He doesn’t succeed by cajoling him into it or making a big production of mealtimes. He does it by appearing with a plate of food for himself, sitting down next to Jacob, and handing him bites while they watch French TV or work on a puzzle or get into debates about art with Nate and Lydia.
This seems to be the only way to give Jacob what he needs—cuddling and food—without embarrassing him, because Jacob never complains. After a while, I think it must be because the choice, and therefore the stress, is out of his hands. My husband doesn’t have to worry about what to eat or when to eat it. Gabriel only eats things Jacob likes and never gives him too much and is faultlessly, flawlessly patient.
He’s so patient that Nate and Lydia finish the school year online. Jacob feels so awful that they’re finishing high school in another country that he almost has another breakdown, but Nate and Lydia sit him down and tell him the friends they’ve made in France are way cooler than the people at their school in New York, so they don’t mind. Like, at all .
It takes until the spring for Jacob to reach over and take food off Gabriel’s plate, and it takes until the middle of June to reach the next phase.
It’s a warm, sunny day—the kind of honeymoon weather I dreamed of on the island—and we’re going to swim in the pool, so I’ve put on my bikini and a flowing cover-up. I’m about to step outside when it happens:
My husband comes out of the kitchen with a plate of his own, arrayed with cheese and crackers and sausage that he got for himself.
I stand there, blinking at him, trying not to cry and make a scene, for so long that he gives me a cocky grin and sways his hips a little to show off his swim trunks.
“See something you like, kitten?”
“Not just something,” I tell him as soon as I have control of my voice. “Everything.”