Stonechild and Rouleau Mysteries 4-Book Bundle. Brenda Chapman
of snow that sparkled in the brilliant sunshine. Two chickadees played on the railing of the deck, landing and taking off and sending sprays of snow into the air. She didn’t know when blue sky had replaced the grey clouds, but the sudden brightness was a welcome relief. It felt like the snow had been coming down forever.
She set the second half of her sandwich onto the plate and pushed it away. She thought about taking a nap, but a nap would take her upstairs to the bottles she’d hidden in the cupboard. So far she’d managed not to give in to the need for a drink, but today she felt closer to the edge than ever before. She closed her eyes and imagined unscrewing one of the bottles and lifting it to her lips. The wine would be sunshine warm but tart like apples and sweet like peaches. She circled her tongue across her lips as if licking stray drops. What could it hurt, really? The baby was nearly formed. She’d allow herself one swallow … just one little taste to slack her thirst … and that was when she opened her eyes and cut off the daydream. The truth was that she would never stop at one swallow, or even one bottle. The urge to drink and drink until she filled the gaping hole inside of herself was like a monster begging to be fed. Once she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She knew this with the certainty of her whole being. She looked down and patted her stomach. “You owe me big time, little one,” she said. “Let’s get our big ugly coat on and go visit Grandma.”
Her mother was unexpectedly home. Pauline hugged Geraldine and helped her out of her winter coat, then sat her in a chair while she bent down to pull off her boots. She looked up at her daughter from where she knelt on the rug.
“Your feet are swollen. I hope you’ve been resting enough.”
“I do nothing but rest. A month to go and it feels like an eternity.”
“Enjoy these last days to yourself. It’ll change very soon. Come, prop yourself up on the couch and I’ll brew a pot of decaffeinated coffee. Are you hungry?”
“Not really, unless you have cake.” Geraldine imagined Max’s disapproving face and added, “With ice cream would be nice.” She was tough all right, defying Max when he was nowhere in sight. “I’m okay to sit at the kitchen table.” She followed her mom and gingerly lowered her bulk onto a chair while Pauline brewed coffee and cut a thick slice of gingerbread.
“I hope this cake and chocolate ice cream will do. It’s all I have left from Christmas dinner.” Pauline set the plate in front of Geraldine. “Cream in your coffee?”
“Mmm,” said Geraldine.
Pauline returned with two mugs and sat down across from her. “Aren’t you eating?” asked Geraldine.
Pauline shook her head and sipped from her mug. “I … ate earlier.” She avoided meeting Geraldine’s eyes.
Geraldine looked more closely at her mother. She’d turned into the workout queen in recent years but had appeared to be keeping her exercise sessions under control. If she’d gone off food again, they’d have to convince her to go talk to somebody. After their dad left, she’d been diagnosed as obsessive compulsive and had been in counselling up until a few years ago. Before that, she’d spent most of the day cleaning the house, but when that ended she had declared herself cured. Her cheeks were looking more gaunt than normal. Geraldine didn’t remember her mother eating much at Christmas. She sighed. One more thing to worry about.
Geraldine ate the dessert slowly while she thought about how to bring up the subject of her father. Her mother hadn’t said anything at all about his death, and that wasn’t healthy. In fact, it was damn strange. She tuned in to her mother’s monologue.
“So, I spent yesterday afternoon at Holt Renfrew looking for something decent to wear for New Year’s. I finally found the perfect pant suit. It’s silk and a winter white with silver beading. They’re taking in the sleeves and waist. I pick it up tomorrow.” Pauline turned her head toward the front door. “Was that the doorbell?”
“Yes,” said Geraldine. “Were you expecting company?”
“No.” Pauline stood but made no move toward the door.
“Should I get it?” asked Geraldine.
“If you wouldn’t mind. I have to go to the washroom.”
Geraldine pushed away her plate and got to her feet. So much for the motherly concern about her swollen ankles. She reached the door as someone banged the knocker hard three times. When she pushed the door open, Susan Halliday was standing on the landing. Without saying a word, Susan took Geraldine into her arms and hugged her gently before stepping inside. Susan linked her arm through Geraldine’s as they started back toward the kitchen.
“I hope you aren’t missing your dad too much,” Susan said.
“I’m okay. You look tired though.”
“I’ve had the flu but am definitely on the mend.” Susan’s voice was drained of energy and Geraldine wondered if she really was better.
“Mom’s just gone upstairs for a minute. I’ll get you some coffee.”
“You sit,” said Susan. “I can get my own cup.”
Susan slid into the seat next to Geraldine after filling a mug from the cupboard. “This has been such a sad time with your father’s death. How are you doing really?”
“Not so good.” Geraldine took a deep breath. “I just can’t believe he’s gone, and what makes it worse is that Mom’s acting like nothing happened. She won’t even mention his name.”
“Oh, dear,” said Susan. “It sounds like she’s taking it hard.”
“Really? It seems to me that she’s put it out of her mind completely.”
“Your mother has a difficult time with loss. She’s grieving in her own way.”
“You’re probably right. My only experience was when Dad left, and that was horrible. She pretended like he’d never existed, hosting parties and happy all the time. We didn’t dare mention his name or let on that we missed him.”
“She was trying to keep everything normal for you. It was very draining for her to put up that front.”
“I guess. Maybe I should be more understanding. Has Clinton gone back to the base?”
“Yes. He left at lunchtime. He’ll be back before New Year’s.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “He’ll have the whole week off.”
“Are you going to the same party as Mom?”
“At the Hunt Club, yes, with the same old crowd. I’m not in a party mood, but Clinton insists I keep busy.”
“He’s probably right.”
Susan covered Geraldine’s hand with her own. “I really am sorry about your dad. We’ll miss him.”
“Mom was happier lately … you know, before this happened. She told me last week that Dad would probably be leaving Laurel soon and she seemed … hopeful. I think she believed they stood a chance of getting back together. You’re probably right about her grieving, but maybe she’s just in denial. I’m worried about when she crashes.”
Susan stood and turned to look out the window. When she turned back, her eyes were wet. “Don’t worry, Geraldine. I’ll be here for your mom. We’ve been friends a long, long time, and I won’t let her go through this alone. I’m here for you too.”
Geraldine stood and they hugged. She stepped back and said, “I wonder who told Laurel about Dad. I keep thinking that she won’t be all that devastated by his death.”
“Probably the police. She’ll be planning his funeral I expect.”
“The funeral. Damn. Will you go?”
“Of course. We should all go.”
Geraldine glanced toward the door. “I’m not sure about my mother. It’ll be awkward.”
Susan