Page 87 of Rebel Secrets
But then she turned to me, and I felt myself put on that fake smile I always used around her.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Rebel’s gaze narrow, like he knew I was faking it.I watched him turn from the counter, walk over to Granddad’s table and set his coffee and plate down.
“Pammie,” Granddad said, “I want you to meet Rebel Lawrence.Rebel, my daughter, Pamela Wright.”
My mom turned to Rebel, in his t-shirt and track pants, and I braced for her to dismiss him with barely a look.Instead, she took his hand.
“Reston Lawrence’s son, yes?”
Oh my god.Rebel smiled at her.Like, flat-out smiled, and it was glorious.I had the insane urge to tell my mom that I’d slept with him, twice, as if that might give me a little more standing in her eyes.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Jesus, you need to get a grip.
The world felt out of whack today.Rebel wasn’t supposed to be here.He wasn’t supposed to be talking to my mom.I still didn’t know why he wasn’t at practice.Had something happened?
And my mom was here, and she and Granddad had hugged.Actually embraced.I couldn’t remember the last time they’d done that.Then again, I couldn’t remember the last time they’d been in the same room together since I’d moved here almost five years ago.
Okay, that was an exaggeration.Granddad and I had gone home to the Hamptons for Christmas last year.And he and Mom had seemed on much better terms then, though I hadn’t really noticed.I’d been caught up in my own drama.Like always.
“Erin, honey, your bakery looks charming.”Now the world tilted on its side.My mom had just given me a compliment.“Is it a slow time?”
She looked around, assessing everything, and I wanted to rush to tell her that it wasn’t always this quiet, that she’d just missed the morning rush and lunch rush wouldn’t start for another hour and a half.I felt the need to justify everything.
Instead, I took a deep breath and nodded.“Yes, it is.”
“Good.Then you have time to talk.”
I didn’t really.I needed to get started on to-go sandwiches, and I had rolls and bread in the ovens.
“Actually, I have some things to do in the back.You can come with me, if you want.”
Her brows arched, the only outward sign of her surprise.“Of course.I’d love to see the kitchen.”
Since I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere, I nodded and turned to lead her into the back.
“I’ve got to prep for lunch, so we can talk back here.”
Checking the bread, I pulled it out just before the buzzer was ready to do off.My mom walked over to the racks where I stored the bread and drew in a deep breath.
“Oh, that smells amazing.I’d love to try some, but gluten doesn’t agree with me anymore.”
Since she sounded sincere, I pushed down the hurt that she didn’t want to try my bread and asked, “I’m sorry.Is that a new issue?”
She hummed an acknowledgement.“I was diagnosed as gluten intolerant about a year ago.It’s definitely taken some getting used to.”
I froze.“I didn’t know that.”
Mom looked me in the eye.“You haven’t been around to tell.”
While I looked at her with my mouth hanging open, she strolled around the room, looking at everything.The ovens were well used, and the outside could do with a little polish, but everything was clean.Sure, there were crumbs everywhere and my decorating tools sat in the sink to be washed along with several muffin tins and cake pans.The hockey camp lunches lay unconstructed but ready to be put together on the prep table on the far side of the room.
“How are you making out with your businesses?”she said.“Are they doing well?The town seems pretty small to support both.”
Like my therapist suggested, I took a few seconds to think about my response, to not react out of hurt or anger.Mom hadn’t really said anything that I hadn’t considered myself, hadn’t questioned my judgement.She’d asked a question.
“Actually, we’re doing well.The bakery is growing every month, and we just hired a full-time employee at the bookstore.”
