Blackberry Winter. Cheryl Reavis
afford to or not. They’d help when you were so tired you thought you weren’t going to make it, and if your mouth was full of sand. I used to give them to the kids sometimes—they were scared of us, and maybe it helped. I don’t know. I liked to think even if they hated the taste of them, they could still appreciate the effort.”
She glanced at him, not certain if he meant some foreign child or if he meant her.
“All right,” she said impulsively. He was trying to be kind when he didn’t have to.
“All right what?”
“All right, give me the peppermint. Please,” she added, letting him make her work for it.
He smiled slightly and handed it over. She unwrapped it carefully and popped it into her mouth. It was rather good, actually. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten this kind of candy.
He stood quietly, with his hands in his pockets. She glanced at him, but she was afraid she was going to cry again.
“Okay, then. I’m just going to go do what I’m supposed to be doing,” he said. “You ought to sit out here for a while. Give that peppermint a chance to work. Admire the view. You ought to enjoy nature every chance you get—that’s what it’s there for—especially when you’re going through a rough patch. Everything’s going to be all right,” he added in a quieter voice, as if his impertinence might offend her if he said it too loudly. “You’ll see.”
She tried to take offense at his unwelcome reassurances, but he didn’t give her the chance. He turned and walked away toward the woods beyond the gazebo.
“Hey!” she called after him. “Oscar!”
He looked around.
“Thanks.”
He gave her a thumbs-up and walked on.
She sat down on the steps again. She was a grown-up, independent woman. She had a high-paying job with a lot of responsibility. She had a house and an expensive vehicle she’d bought for no reason other than the fact that she could. And—incredibly—a piece of peppermint candy was making her feel better.
She cried a little anyway. She didn’t want her mother to die. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want strange women to answer her telephone at her house.
Damn it!
It was some comfort knowing that she wasn’t really in love with Kent. But in love or not, she still wanted his head on a stick.
In love.
She would be forty years old on her next birthday, and she still wasn’t sure what the term meant. She had tried more than once to identify the elusive emotion she associated with Kent. A certain pride, she supposed. She was proud to be seen with him, to have people know that they were a couple. He mirrored her own accomplishments. Like her, he had an intense drive to get ahead and stay there, so intense that she couldn’t let herself trust the regard he said he had for her. She had never told him about her illegitimacy, for one thing. She didn’t talk about it as a matter of course, but she wasn’t ashamed of it, either. She didn’t mind people knowing that she had been brought up by an unwed mother, not when that mother had been Maddie Kimball, who was dedicated enough and strong enough for the both of them. Even so, she’d let Kent assume that her parents had divorced when she was very young—because she wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t matter to him. All she knew for certain was that he would never have tried to give her solace with a piece of peppermint candy. He would never have noticed that she was feeling “down and misplaced,” much less have any inclination whatsoever to do something about it.
No, that wasn’t quite true. To be fair, if she’d been obvious enough, she might have gotten some all-purpose flowers from him, the ordering of which he would have delegated to an underling. Loran would repay him for his thoughtfulness by willingly and enthusiastically offering him access to her body, and afterward she would lie in the dark not feeling nearly as “cheered up” as she did right at this moment.
Incredible, she thought. She was by no means happy, but she did feel a little less…forlorn. Maybe there was something to the peppermint, after all.
Or maybe it was having someone offer his own unique brand of commiseration—a simple act of kindness—even if he was paid to do it.
She gave a sharp sigh. She would have to admit he was rather good at it.
The wind grew colder suddenly. She needed to go back to the house and find out where the nearest town was so she could buy the things she needed. And she needed to see what in this world was going on with Maddie.
Maddie’s doctor had warned Loran what to expect as the illness progressed. Frailness, fatigue, a gradual fading away. Maddie would begin to lose her interests and her appetite. And there would be pain, the kind of pain the two of them couldn’t begin to imagine. Indeed, he’d said, she should be suffering already, and why she wasn’t, he really couldn’t explain. Maddie’s X-rays showed significant metastasis to the bones. She should be in pain all the time, but obviously she wasn’t—not yet.
Not yet.
Loran had never seen anyone in the process of dying before, and having to watch Maddie do it was more than she could bear to even think about. She couldn’t imagine a world without Maddie in it.
What will I do without her?
But Maddie was definitely getting around at the moment, and whatever interests she might have lost, she’d clearly replaced with new ones—like surprise jaunts down the Blue Ridge Parkway.
In spite of her worry, Loran made a mild attempt at taking Meyer’s advice. She stayed put for a few moments longer and looked at the surrounding mountains. Coming here was a crazy notion for her mother to have, but Meyer was right. The place was beautiful.
She heard a burst of laughter and a slamming door. A teenaged boy and girl came out of the house carrying a large, green plastic garbage can. They were having to fight the wind to keep it upright, but eventually, they reached the Dumpster and emptied the bagged contents into it. The girl squealed suddenly as the wind shifted and snatched the can out of their grasp. It bounced and rolled down the hill. Still laughing, they chased after it, scuffling to see who would claim it—but only for a short distance. The garbage can banged into the side of a pickup truck, and the boy and girl suddenly stopped chasing it and went into each other’s arms, the embrace they shared so joyful and so unlike anything Loran had ever experienced that it made her catch her breath. The sheer spontaneity of it spoke volumes about the love and the delight they inspired in each other—maybe because they were so young.
Loran wondered suddenly if Maddie and the unnamed male who had been Loran’s father had been like these two, if she, Loran, had been a “love” child.
Love child.
Love.
She had never felt anything even remotely like what she’d just witnessed, and it was somehow more than disconcerting to think that her mother might have enjoyed that kind of bond with another person—a man—when she herself had not.
Someone in the house suddenly began playing a piano with great flair. After a few false starts, Loran could recognize something classical—and melancholy—Mendelssohn, she thought.
The boy and girl stepped apart, but not before he kissed her lovingly on the forehead. Watching, Loran could almost feel the pressure of the lips that must be firm and warm on her own forehead.
She abruptly looked in the direction Meyer had gone, wondering if that was his first name or his last. Not that it mattered. She wouldn’t be here long enough to call him anything.
The unwelcome memory of Kent’s irate voice slid into her mind.
Don’t answer the phone!
How was she supposed to get through this? Maddie was the only person she had in the world. She couldn’t rely on Kent now, couldn’t have relied on him even if Celia hadn’t answered the telephone.
She