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She’s put the ring back on her finger and it looks damn good.
“Neither do businessmen,” she teases, sliding her hand in mine once more as we head for the stairs.
“You’re right, I make a terrible businessman. I’m pretending at that too.”
She giggles, and for a second, I forget we’re heading off to be roasted and fawned over by my mother.
“You sure this is the best place for you?” I ask as we step around the glass on the stairs. “You ever thought about something newer?”
Something saferis what I really mean.
Her face screws up. “I’ve been surviving off discount soup for the past three months. What area do you suggest that’s better and still affordable?”
“You’re the owner of a successful bakery. You shouldn’t settle for—”
“Look, I told you before,” she interrupts. “The kind of orders we’ve had the last few weeks are new to me. So is having money. Until now, we weren’t exactly thriving. I need to make sure my people get paid and equipment works before I dive into any personal improvements.”
Of course.
Selfless to a fault.
“I’m putting a real lock on your door, at least,” I bite off as we reach the door outside. “Are you ready?”
“To deceive your entire family today? I can’t wait! But yeah. Let’s get this done.” There’s something hard in her eyes as she glances up at me.
At least she hates this shit as much as I do.
* * *
Mom commandeersthe whole park for her art show, letting local artists rent booths for a token fee and encouraging everyone to buy their wares. Junie’s eyes are wide as we arrive, darting from one booth to the next.
“Wow. It’s like its own little market,” she breathes. “Your mom organizes all this?”
“That’s right. She’s hopelessly in love with art.”
“Does she sell her own stuff too?”
“She considers herself more of a patron. She’s been known to show off her creations every so often, though.” Just like Archer and Colt, though they’re more into woodwork than painting.
The creative gene skipped me and I envy it sometimes, but I suppose I make up for it by being more grounded, more focused on hard numbers that make or break the future.
After sampling some Danish meatballs from a food truck—frikadeller—we wander across to Mother’s command post at a long table advertising the event and taking donations.
Patton’s already there, no doubt buttering her up, and he raises a hand in greeting as we approach.
Like always, her table looks subtle. She’s offering a few small watercolors of cardinals, the bright-red birds glowing like blood on sunlit branches and rural winter scenes.
“These are pretty!” Junie gasps at the sight.
I suppress a smile.
Hard to believe there was a time when I used to feel like that, too, when I was a kid. Like my mother was this superwoman, a force of nature capable of anything and totally invincible.
Now, her cardinals are bittersweet, knowing they damn well might’ve saved her life. I’ve also seen my mother break and plummet down an abyss, barely finding her way back from the bottom.
That’s what love does.
That’s what happens when the tether you’ve made to one person suddenly gets clipped, and I’d do well to remember it.
