Page 5 of My Mountain Man Boss
“Thank you.”
I frown. “I don’t mean it as a compliment. You don’t look great, Mom.”
She smiles wryly at me. “Still as direct as ever, Amy.”
She’s trying to brush it off, but I don’t need to be a nurse to know something’s up. It’s been eighteen months since I was last back, and the last time Mom was dancing around the kitchen, moving her substantial ass to Beyonce. Now she hasn’t been near the dance floor, and I’ve barely seen her talk to anyone apart from Rodney, the old fire chief.
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
She sits up and shakes her head quickly. “Nothing love.”
But she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Mom, tell me what’s going on. You haven’t danced once, even though they’ve played three Abba songs. You’re usually up and talking to everyone, but instead you’re sitting here sipping champagne with shaky hands.”
She doesn’t answer, and my chest tightens with panic. “Are you dying?”
She chuckles, and her hand reaches out to clasp mine. “I didn’t want to tell you today. You’re having such a lovely time with Izzie.”
The skin’s loose on her hand, and there are more wrinkles than I remember. At least the burgundy nail polish is the same.
“Mom. Just tell me what’s going on. Are you dying?”
“No love.”
I take a deep breath as the panic subsides.
“Not yet.” She takes another sip of champagne. “I’ve got damaged kidneys.”
I frown. I don’t know anything about kidneys or how bad that is.
“I was feeling a bit off so I went to the doctor, and I’ve got CKD, Chronic Kidney Disease.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have to monitor my diet, not eat too much protein or salt, and cut back on alcohol.” She takes a sip of champagne, frowns at the glass, and sets it down on the table.
I nod my head as I process what she’s telling me. It doesn’t sound too bad. “Okay, that sounds manageable.”
“And I’ll be starting dialysis next week.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “What?”
Mom squeezes my hand. “It’s all right, love. It’s just a trial run to see if it helps.”
I stare at my mother. She’s always been so full of life, so positive about every damn thing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shrugs. “You were enjoying yourself. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Of course I’m worried.”
I run a hand through my hair. I can’t let Mom go through this on her own. “I’m not going back to France.”
Her face falls. “No love. All you ever wanted to do was get out of here. I won’t clip your wings.”
“You’re not clipping my wings, Mom.”
Everyone has this idea of how fantastic my life in France must be. But the truth is it kind of sucks. It was great at first, moving to the little village where Dad retreated after the divorce. I moved into his caravan on the vineyard where he works and started working with him.
