Page 43 of Everything We Left Behind

He stops by the trash bin and tosses the oatmeal bowl, then launches into his mother. His teeth are gritted to keep his voice low and somewhat under control. “We might have had some messed-up friendship thing going on in Mexico, but fact is fact. You took advantage of my memory loss. Do ... not ... expect us to pick up where we left off.”

“Watch your tone with me.” Her eyes arrow left, then right, concerned they were making a spectacle of themselves.

James loosens his grip and lets his arm fall to his side. “Why are you here?”

Her polished nails flutter to the pearl button at her neck. “Thomas told me you were leaving. He thought I’d want to know.” Her face softens. “You can use my help. The boys know me.”

“As Señora Carla. I thought you weren’t speaking with Thomas.”

She grimaces. “We talk only when necessary. James, darling, please. You weren’t home nearly long enough and Thomas didn’t know when you’d be back.” She glances around James. “I miss them. I haven’t seen them since last December.”

A chill rappels down his spine like a rock climber on a cliff face. “You were in Mexico last December?”

She looks surprised. “Of course I was. I went every year right after Thanksgiving. I’d stay through the Christmas holiday.”

But he hadn’t seen her. Which only meant one thing in James’s mind. She’d known he surfaced and had left the country.

Over the speaker the attendant announces boarding for first-class passengers. Claire opens her purse and retrieves her ticket. “You aren’t the only parent in this family worried about their children’s welfare.”

Since when had she cared about him? “A box of expensive paintbrushes doesn’t make up for years of ignoring something I used to be extremely passionate about.”

Claire snaps shut her purse. She frowns. “What do you mean ‘used to be’?”

“You finally got what you wanted, Mother. I stopped painting.”

She tucks her purse under her arm and averts her face. She watches the luggage being loaded onto the plane. “I’m still going. I have a ticket and a hotel reservation.”

The gate attendant announces the next boarding group and passengers mill toward the gate. Julian looks impatiently at him and mouthsLet’s go. James holds up a finger, a signal he’ll be there in a second, then turns back to his mother. “I can’t stop you. I can, and I will, determine when and how you interact with my sons.”

“When do you plan to tell them about me?”

“I’m not sure I will.”

“But I’m their grandmother. You have no right keeping me from them.”

“Are you kidding me?” A short laugh rumbles from his chest. He gives his mother a look of disgust. “I have every right.” He shakes his head, still laughing at her audacity, and returns to his sons.

Their row block is announced. “Grab your stuff, kids. Time to go.”

“Where are you sitting, Señora Carla?” Marc asks once they’re in line.

“I’m in the very front.”

“Of course you are.” James fumbles with the zippers on his pack, searching for their tickets.

Julian gives him a weird look. “What’s your deal?”

“Life, Julian.” He gives his son his ticket. “Don’t lose it.”

“Seriously?” he balks. “What do you think I’m going to do? Drop it between here and the gate?” A woman with a toddler rushes forward, bumping Julian’s shoulder, knocking the ticket from his hand. It floats to the floor.

James snorts a laugh. He can’t help it.

“Shut up,” Julian mumbles. But his mouth twitches into a smile when he picks up the ticket.

James pats Julian’s shoulder, leaving his hand there to rest as they inch toward the gate. To his amazement, his son doesn’t shrug him off.

CHAPTER 12

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