Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The cell phone on the bedside table vibrated and woke Raven.
She lay a moment longer, reveling in the weight of Lance’s arm across her stomach, and stared at the offending device.
Though they’d spent several hours together in the past, this was the first time he’d stayed here, in her bed.
The first time a man had stayed in her bed in years.
Before she had time to consider what that meant, the phone vibrated again and she heard a soft groan.
Quickly she reached over to grab the phone and saw it was a text from Wren.
Carefully, she pulled Lance’s arm away from her torso and climbed out of bed, stopping only to throw on her summer robe.
The embroidery her mother had lovingly stitched into the robe was fading, and in some places the stitches needed to be replaced, but she still kept it.
It was a reminder that someone cared enough to spend hours creating this whimsical garment with her in mind.
A reminder of a mother–daughter bond that was still strong, though she’d lost her mother to the next life years ago.
She softly closed the door to the bedroom and went to her favorite chair in the sitting room, curling up to read the texts and reply.
Wren: I don’t know what Mac told you, but I’m fine.
The second message said, I have a job at a pub here in Calgary for the summer.
Why did Wren always feel the need to go on the defensive? Wouldn’t a simple “Hi, Mom, how are you?” have been a better way to start?
She read the text again and considered her reply. Her daughter was still online. Her heart beat faster. Maybe today she would solve the mystery of why Wren hadn’t reached out to her.
Raven: How are you?
Wren: Fine. Busy.
Raven: Are you planning to come out for a visit at all this summer?
Wren: Dunno. I’ve got a job.
Raven: Are you planning to go back to school in the fall?
Wren: Don’t worry about me. I’m a big girl now.
Raven: Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.
Before she pressed send, she added, And sometimes even big girls have problems that they need help facing.
Wren: You never needed help.
To that Raven almost laughed out loud, before remembering Lance still snoozing in the other room. If only Wren knew how untrue that was. How many nights had she lain awake, wondering what she would do next? How many times had it just been sheer stubbornness that held her together?
Raven: Rosalyn helped me. Mal helps me. And others. Everyone needs help, Wren. In fact, it’s too bad you’re there. We’re planning to expand. If you decide you want to work with animals this summer instead of pulling pints…
Wren: Can I live at Roslyn’s place?
The question felt like a door closing in her face.
Raven’s face fell, and tears welled. How was it this girl she loved so much, had done so much for, could hurt her so easily?
Raven: Well, Mal and Daisy are renting it now. But your room is still here. If you ever want to visit.
She read the message again. Wren might take it the wrong way if she called it a visit. Like she wouldn’t be welcome. So she added, Even if your visit lasts months or years.
Wren: Gotta go. Don’t worry. I’m fine.
Raven saw Wren’s online status go off, and Raven felt like crying.
How had they become so distant? Wren hadn’t even asked how Raven was doing.
What if she was sick or in trouble? How had Wren become so self-involved?
So guarded? Sighing, Raven added one more text to the long thread of disappointing discourse.
Raven: I love you, Wren.
There was no answer, so she set the phone down on the coffee table and went over to the kitchen to start the coffee.
When she headed back to the bedroom, Lance lying on his back with an arm casually flung above his head, staring at the ceiling. What was he seeing up there? Hopefully no cobwebs. Or spiders. She almost looked up to follow his gaze, but noticed he was now looking at her.
“Good morning.” He smiled widely. “You’re up early.”
“Well, I look after cats, not books,” she said.
He chuckled. “But I do have customers, and I’ll need to head into town soon. Ahmed will open today, but I need to be in by eleven.”
“I’ve put the coffee on,” said Raven, walking over to the bed to bend over and give him a kiss.
“Come here,” he said, pulling her off-balance so she fell onto him.
“I have to get up,” she said, after they’d shared several kisses. “Must feed the animals.” She tried to lever herself away, but he laughed and pulled her back again.
“If you stay here a bit longer, I’ll make it worth your while.” He rubbed his hand along her back, his fingers doing their best to convince her to stay. “And I’ll help you with the cats.”
“Promise?” she asked, pulling herself away long enough to unfasten her robe.
Loving him felt dangerous.
But not loving anyone felt worse.
He chuckled as he helped her take off her garment, smiled at what he found underneath, and pulled her back onto the mattress.
And proceeded to make it worth her while to delay her departure.
Three quarters of an hour later, Raven, showered and dressed, piled her hair into a messy bun and went to feed Jackie.
“I’ll be right there,” said Lance.
“Don’t worry, I was only teasing. We only have seventeen cats right now, and four of them are still nursing. It won’t take me long to feed them. I’ll clean after breakfast.”
“Take your time. I’ll make breakfast.” He padded out of the bedroom in his bare feet and walked over to the fridge. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Any way they come,” she said. Especially if she didn’t have to cook them. That was what she missed most about living with Roz. She was a great cook.
“Well, I make a pretty good omelet.” He pulled out the carton of eggs and opened a loaf of bread. “I’ll see you soon.”
She slipped her feet into cotton summer shoes and headed out to the Cat’s Meow to see how fast she could feed seventeen cats. Because this morning she had someone to hurry back to, someone very special.
She walked along the cattery, greeting and feeding her feline company, and considered Lance, now cooking in the kitchen where no one else had cooked since Wren had left home. She stopped short.
Had it actually happened?
She reached into one of the enclosures and petted a small tortoiseshell cat they’d rescued two days earlier. “You’ll be okay,” she murmured. “You just have to trust things will work out.”
And it was true. Though she never thought it would happen to her. She had avoided any situation where she might get hurt because getting hurt was, well, painful. And hadn’t she had enough pain in her life?
But she stroked the cat a few more times, telling it that things would be okay, and the cat stepped closer, leaned into her hand, and purred.
“There you go,” she said, smiling. Maybe everything would work out after all. All she had to do was trust.
Which was good, because in that moment she realized that she, Raven Windsong Johnson, at the ripe old age of fifty-five, had finally, impossibly, fallen in love.