Page 75 of Until Summer Ends

“I think this might have been a mistake,” he says with humor.

“Why?” His hair is soft against my forehead.

“Because now that I know what your mouth feels like, I may never say yes to going in to work again.”

“Mission accomplished.”

I catch his laughter between my lips.

Chapter 30

“Can I do something?” I ask Mom for the tenth time. Dottie’s sitting at my feet, looking up like she clearly wants food. I pick a piece of cheese and give it to her. Poor girl deserves it.

“I’m fine. Sit, please.”

“I’ve been sitting all this time. I want to help.”

I hesitated last night when Mom asked me if I wanted to join them at crochet club again, mostly because I still don’t particularly enjoy being in this house. However, she sounded so hesitant over the phone, and I hate that I’ve become someone my own mother should walk on eggshells around. Granted, I haven’t made it easy for her not to, but my anger reflexes are hard to tame. I felt like agreeing to this was a small step in that direction.

Without anything to do while waiting for people to arrive, I walk into the living room, where the same pictures from my childhood hang on the wall. One in particular has always annoyed me; the four of us are standing in front of a sunset at the Kennebunkport marina, smiling like we don’t have a care in the world. Dad had called Mom some name a few seconds before, and Keira had comforted me after I’d started crying because he’d shouted. My eyes arestill red-rimmed in the picture if you look closely. The picture is the definition of a lie. A moment that looks happy but was anything but.

Something clatters in the kitchen, and I’m there before Mom has even had the time to bend to pick up the spoon on the ground.

“I’ve got it.”

She stops me with a hand on my arm, then leans to pick it up, except it takes her so long to get back up, for a moment I think she’s stuck in a squat. Finally, her hand reaches for the spoon and her knees crack as she starts straightening and tries to find hold on the counter. To hell with her order. I grab her waist and pull her up, her entire weight suddenly resting on me.

When she’s upright, she sighs deeply, then puts the spoon down. “I had it.” She goes back to sprinkling paprika over the deviled eggs.

“Did you?”

She doesn’t answer and finishes making her cheese platter like nothing happened, but it feels like a blinder has been pulled off my eyes. I take in everything in the house, details that had escaped me when I was here last. All the pots and utensils at arms’ reach, the lower cabinets seemingly empty. The pillows piled on the back of the rocking chair. The furniture moved to rest against each wall, so the walking space is larger. The cane leaned against the wall, by the bathroom. She didn’t use one when I was here before, but she clearly needed it.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me it was this bad?” I ask, cracking the knuckles on my index finger. “I would’ve wanted to know.”

Mom stops moving, her face turning soft. “My baby was out there living the life she deserved. What kind of mother would I have been to call her back here?”

“Mom…”

She takes a stiff step my way, then puts her hand on mine, so familiar in its warmth, and squeezes. She’s never been the type to hold a grudge, but in this moment, I feel like I deserve it. It would probably make me feel better to feel her anger instead of her support.

“You were exactly where I wanted you to be.”

“Well, I’m here now.” At least, for the moment, I am.

“And I’m happy you are, but I don’t want you to be my caregiver. I just need you to be my daughter.”

I blink fast, but don’t have time to answer before the doorbell rings.

I take a second to collect myself before I stand and open to Eileen, who gasps and jumps into my arms like we’re long-lost lovers. “Oh, Cassie, sweetie, I’m so happy to see you again!”

After a moment, I hug her back.

“Oh, you have to come by the flower shop when you can! I’ll make you a nice bouquet, on the house.”

“If you’re into weird arrangements, you found your woman,” Gertrude says as she moves past us to walk in.

Eileen tuts. “You wouldn’t know style if it hit you in the face.”

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