Page 32 of Conail

"As long as he's no longer shouting." With that, she turned and walked away, with him moving a few steps towards her.

"She should not have come downstairs." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he went to watch as she ascended the stairs.

"She'll be fine." Brushing past him, she made her way to the kitchen with him following.

"I think we should have a talk with the doctor."

"Charlene has prescribed something to counter the worst of the nausea." She searched for a can of soup and decided to add some vegetables for volume.

"I am talking about terminating the pregnancy." He said stiffly. "We should at least consider the possibility—"

"No." He jumped when she slammed the saucepan down on the marble countertop. "You're talking about my grandchild, and I will not stand here and listen to you discussing terminating his or her life. Yasmine will get through it. In a few months she will be okay—"

"And the months in between that?" He asked tightly. "The suffering, the inability to keep anything down? Being in bed for the duration? What if something else happens?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know mother. Anything."

"Then we deal with it. She's not complaining."

"She should."

Eleanor touched the button to light the flame and started to chop vegetables. "You're being unreasonable and letting your past color your attitude." She did not have to look up to know that he had turned rigid with anger.

"My past has nothing to do with it."

"Doesn't it?" She asked mildly as she dumped celery and carrots into the pot. Grabbing an apron as she remembered that she was wearing a five-thousand-dollar designer dress, she tied it around her waist. Plunking the kettle on, she searched for a pouch with the intention of making tea. "That woman and the man you considered your best friend are winning the battle. While you're stuck in the past, they're moving on with their lives. Think about that."

Instead of responding, he just turned around and left the room.

Leaning against the counter, Eleanor heaved out a breath. When she came home and saw him prowling the living room restlessly, she had felt the hope blossoming. And she had seen the way he came to attention when Yasmine came into the room. But her son was stubborn and what had happened to him was still eating away at him and it was killing her.

She wanted him to find happiness and her instinct was telling her that he could find it with Yasmine. He was battling something. The first step was his concern for her. He had seen what the pregnancy was doing, and he was moved by it. She only had to get him to become more involved, and he would never have the heart to leave.

She was placing the soup and tea on the tray along with napkins when he walked back in.

"I thought you'd left."

"You would have heard the alarm chiming. Is it ready?"

"Yes. I can take it—"

"No. I'll do it." He picked up the tray. "And I'll be staying the night."

She hid her surprise and joy with difficulty.

"I'll get the guest room ready."

He shook his head. "I'll stay in the adjoining room. I want to keep an eye on her in case—" He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "In case of anything."

"All right."

"Well, let me get this to her. She must be starving."

"Hopefully it will stay down this time."

He went a little pale at that.

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