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My mom finally has her dream.
Yet ...
We pull apart and she studies my expression. She catches the wobble in my lip.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I’m just really, really happy to see you.”
She smiles, the wind blowing her short, curly hair about. “I’d hug you again, but I’d probably fall over. These crutches aren’t as easy as they look.”
At that I wave to Max and Emme and then usher my mom back inside to find somewhere for her to elevate her ankle.
“I tripped, slipped, fell backward off a boulder, and landed in a patch of prickly pear,” my mom says once she’s settled on a padded chair on the balcony, her foot raised on an ottoman. “I’m more embarrassed about the prickly pear than the broken leg. Did you know, the nurse had to remove thirty-two prickers from my derriere?”
I restrain a smile.
“Thirty-two,” she reiterates. “And then, bless him, he asked me out for a glass of wine.”
I snort. “Love is in the air.”
She waves that away. Then she looks out over the cove, where Emme is directing Max in building a sandcastle with a moat. He’s pulled off his shoes and rolled up his jeans, but even so, the bottoms of his jeans are soaked with seawater.
When he sees me looking he holds a hand up in a wave. Emme shields her eyes with her hand, squinting through the sun, and then she jumps up and down and points to the sandcastle. I hold up both hands in a thumbs-up.
“So,” my mom says, picking up a glass of iced fizzy water.
I do the same. The glass is cold and the condensation runs in rivulets over my fingers. The fizz hisses and sparkles and little bits of peach and raspberry float in the water, mixing with mint sprigs. I take a drink, and the sweet of the fruit and the bite of the mint perfectly match the smooth sea breaking against the rocky shoreline.
The cold drink bubbles over my tongue, and then I swallow the sweet juice.
“So?” I ask, smiling.
“What’s happened with you and Max?” my mom asks, setting her glass back on the little balcony table.
I nearly drop my own glass, but then, after giving my mom a quick look and clutching the glass more tightly, I carefully set it on the table.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice a little too high.
My mom gives me a considering look. She’s in the sun. It splashes over her and paints her in bright Mediterranean colors. I hold still under her inspection, but every now and then I glance back toward the beach, where Max is piling sand in a barricade to stop the sea from destroying their fledgling sandcastle.
“You forget I’m an expert in marital discord and marital harmony. I’ve had both. There’s something worrying you. And it’s not something small. I know marriage, and I know you.”
“Mom—” I shake my head.
“I thought you were too young when you got married. I was proven wrong. I thought you were from two different worlds and that it would never work. I was proven wrong again. I thought he didn’t truly love you, that you were just a fling. I was proven wrong again and again. You’ve had your share of rough patches, but you two have always made it through.” She nods, a firm jerk of her chin. “You have what your dad called a true connection. So”—she turns to me—“what is it? What’s bothering you? Whatever it is, you’ll work it out.”
My face goes cold even with the sun beating down on me. What’s wrong? That’s easy.
“He loves me,” I say, my voice coming out in a rough whisper. “That’s what wrong. He really, really loves me.”
My mom frowns, and over the water a lone white gull lets out a harsh cry. “And you don’t love him anymore?”
“I do,” I say. “I love him too.”
She gives me a look then—one that tells me I’m not making any sense. I rub my hand along the rim of my cup, my finger sliding over the cold, wet surface. A bit of ice clinks as it shifts in the sparkling water.
“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”
