Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) (3 page)

I look over at my mother before I head back inside.  Her attention is focused on something in the distance.  It strikes me how she looks exactly like she used to at home—physically sitting in our family room but mentally a world away.  I wonder why I thought that just because she was able to say a few words, she would turn back into the woman she was before.  It’s been so long since I’ve seen that person, I wonder if I would even recognize her if she did ever reappear.

“Lunch’ll be ready soon Mom,” I say softly, at a loss of what else to communicate to her. She makes no move to show that she’s understood or even heard me—she just keeps on looking at some fixed point, far away from here.  I suppose that’s where she’s been trying to get to all these years. Anywhere but here.

I hurry back inside and hand the mint I’ve gathered wordlessly to Sally, who manages to read the expression on my face.  “She’s doing well. She’s getting better… slowly.” She grasps my hand reassuringly as I pass her the herbs.

I sit down on one of the mismatched chairs at the table with a heavy
thud
.  “I feel like such an idiot.” I put my head in my hands miserably.  “I thought that I was going to come here and she was going to be like herself, how she was before,” I clarify, speaking from behind my hands.

I feel rather than see Sally take a seat next to me, and she puts her hand on my shoulder.  “It was never going to be an overnight fix, sweetie.”

“I get that Sal,” I say, lifting my face up. “But she still seems like she’s barely there. One minute she knows who I am, but the next minute she doesn’t have any clue what’s going around her,” I explain.  “She didn’t even know who
you
were,” I say, flinging my hand out in the general direction of the deck where my mom is probably still sitting staring out at the sky.

“She has good moments and bad moments,” Sally explains matter-of-factly, and suddenly she looks tired, like the weight of the world has just fallen on her shoulders.  Sally would never be described as traditionally pretty. Not like my mother, who was apparently the belle of the town.  But it’s Sally’s sunny disposition and easy smile that makes her beautiful.  She’ll help anyone that she can and, in this case, she’s helping my mom and me.  “She’s talking. That’s a huge step forward,” Sally notes encouragingly.

I nod along with her. It’s not something I can deny.  “I guess I just thought, after all the drama of the other night and her ‘awakening’ or whatever you want to call it…” I peter out, not knowing how to continue.

“You thought you’d have your mom back,” Sally finishes for me with trademark intuition.

I nod sadly. “I know it sounds crazy, but I thought I’d finally be able to talk to her and tell her what she’s been missing all these years. Maybe have it out with her.” I shrug. 

“Have it out with her?” Sally asks, clearly confused.

“I’ve been so angry at her for so long for not being around when I needed her,” I explain, and Sally’s eyes soften in understanding.  “She’s my mom, and of course I love her. But I lost someone too that day. It’s not just her that misses him.” My voice rises a little too loudly.  I quickly glance over to the closed door to the deck in case I’ve been overheard.  I shake my head at myself almost immediately—it’s not like my mother would have understood what I was saying even if she had heard.

“I know sweetie, and I’m pretty sure that deep down, somewhere, your mom knows that too.” She squeezes my hand with feeling.  “Just give her some time.”

“I know. I will.” I try to keep the tightness out of my smile as I think to myself that time is the one thing we’re running out of fast. 

“Your mom loves you, Aimee. Don’t ever forget that,” Sally tells me.  “Mothers love their kids over and above everything else. It’s just how we’re built,” she says, shrugging as she stands.  She turns back to the stove, finishing off the food she’s cooking, which looks like it might be enough to feed the five thousand.

Sally’s words echo in my head and I think back to that photograph that I found—the one of her and Travis, before he was Scar, at Jake’s birthday party.  I haven’t asked her about it yet. Partly because I’m afraid to, and partly because I don’t know if anything other than bad things can come from it. 
Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie
, I tell myself.  But sometimes it’s not.

“Sally,” I open with, after a moment. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” I get up and joining her by the stove so I can gauge her reaction. 

“Oh?” she asks, looking indifferent enough. But I think I catch a tone in her voice that I can’t quite place.

“That day that I came to the post office, when I told you what was going to happen.  What was going to happen to Jake,” I remind her.  I try to suppress the feeling of panic that courses through me whenever I think about it.

“I try not to think too much about that day,” Sally says quietly. 

I suppose that should have been my signal to stop talking and to leave things be.  But I’ve never been very good at holding back when I have something to say.

“I know, but there was something you said that I didn’t understand.” I spread my hands out in confusion.  “How did you know that the Angels wouldn’t come for you and your family if Jake and I got out of town?” I ask, choosing my words as carefully as I can.  But clearly not carefully enough.

Sally doesn’t say anything, and the seconds stretch out to feel like minutes.  She looks like a deer caught in headlights and, immediately, I regret having asked the question.  She doesn’t deserve me interrogating her after everything she’s already been through. 
Real sensitive, Aimee
, I berate myself.

“There are some things that it’s best not to understand,” Sally says eventually, her voice colder than I’ve ever heard it, making me shiver in spite of myself.

“I’m sorry, Sal. You’re right, it’s none of my business,” I tell her, cursing myself for having been so insensitive.

“Momma, I’m hungry!” Jonah’s plaintive whine from behind me breaks the tension of the moment.

“Well what a good thing, because lunch is ready.” Sally laughs as she sweeps her little son up in her arms and kisses him all over his face while he giggles like a maniac.

“Would you mind calling the boys, Aimee?” she asks, her voice back to normal, but she doesn’t turn to look at me.

“No problem,” I reply, striding out of the room as fast as my legs will carry me.

I find Jake and his dad still playing around with whatever engine part is taking up most of the coffee table.

“How’s it going?” I ask, inspecting the greasy mess.  I try to push the conversation I’ve just had with Sally to the back of my head.

“We’ll get there,” Bill replies, still staring at the table like it’s a puzzle he has to solve.  “There’s nothing the Summers men can’t fix if they put their mind to it, right son?” he asks, nudging Jake on the arm. 

“Well that’s great, but lunch is ready, so you two might want to wash up. “You know how Sally is about grease-stains in her kitchen,” I say in a stage whisper.

The men laugh and head off to the bathroom to do as instructed, and I take a deep breath before heading back into the kitchen and the potential wrath of Sally.

But there is no wrath to be found.  In fact, it’s as if our conversation had never happened.  All things between the two of us are as they ever have been.  There’s no hint of the coldness that I had heard in her voice when I asked the question that should never have been voiced.  It’s enough to make me think I’d imagined the whole thing.  Almost enough, but not quite.

We sit around the table, join hands, and say grace. It’s one of the many Summers rituals that I find so soothing.  Conversation flows as we all talk about anything but the Angels and the fact that Jake’s on borrowed time.  The food, as usual, is the best kind of comfort possible, and Sally hasn’t failed to make enough for the entire street, as she always does.   There’s an empty seat that I suppose is for my mother, but she doesn’t make an appearance. 

“Sometimes she prefers to sit outside,” Sally explains when she sees me steal another glance at the seat.  “She’ll come inside when she’s ready,” she assures me.  I nod, quickly looking down at my plate in embarrassment.

Lunches at the Summers’ are a pretty democratic affair.  It’s always been understood that when Sally cooks, it’s up to the boys to clean up.  It had always seemed like a reasonable division of labor to me.  So, after lunch, that left Sally and I in the family room, sipping the scalding coffee that she had made in an effort to fend off the food coma she was sending us all into.

Sally’s telling me a funny story about one of the girls at the Post Office and a date she’d been on recently that had gone horribly wrong, but I’m only half-listening.  There’s something I have to say.

“Sal,” I interrupt her. “I just want to apologize for what I said earlier.” I set my coffee mug down.

“Aimee, it’s fine,” she waves away my words.

“No, it’s not,” I tell her firmly.  “After everything that you’ve done for me and for my mom, I have no right to bring up things that don’t concern me,” I admit.  “Sometimes there’s not a lot of communication between here—” I point to my forehead, “—and here.” I finish by pointing to my mouth.

“Aimee, it’s fine,” Sally repeats, and there’s an intensity in her eyes telling me that she wants to move on from this as quickly as possible.  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about as well,” she says slowly, looking a little uncomfortable as she fiddles with a strand of thread on her skirt.

“I know; I figured this was coming. And I promise, as soon as I can find a room to rent somewhere, I’ll take mom and we will be out of your hair.  You guys have done so much for us already, I don’t know how I’d ever begin to repay you,” I say, my voice wavering as I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

“That’s not what I was driving at,” Sally says calmly, setting her own coffee cup down and turning towards me.  “I wanted to tell you that I think your mom is doing really well here. Jonah adores her—he can talk her ear off without her losing interest!  I’d really like her to stay with us a while longer if that’s okay with you.”

I’m completely thrown. This is the last thing that I expected her to say.  “What?” I try to organize my thoughts.  “Really?” I ask, somewhat dubiously.  “Are you sure?”

“You’ve got enough going on right now.  Let us take care of her until things settle down.  There’s no rush,” Sally says, patting my hand reassuringly.  “She seems happy here.” I don’t ask how she can tell.  At that moment I’m so grateful that I could kiss her.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, refusing to cry any more tears.

“No thanks necessary.” Sally smiles as she kisses me on the forehead.  “That’s what families are for.”

A family
, I think to myself, and I like the sound of it.

“Now let me get you some of that cake to take home, seeing as Jake doesn’t seem to be feeding you properly,” Sally says, giving me a mischievous wink as she disappears back into the kitchen. Her place on the couch is quickly filled by Jake. 

“Careful. If we stay here much longer she’ll just keep giving us food.  It’s a unique Summers form of torture,” Jake jokes, his eyes twinkling.

“Could be worse,” I banter back, forcing myself to not think who those eyes remind me of. 

“Winters, this is Painted Rock,” Jake replies in mock-seriousness.  “It can always be worse.” Although we both know it’s true, there’s only so much despair that you can wring out of the truth. 

“Dad’s got something he wants me to do at the shop,” Jake tells me, and he almost looks like he’s asking for permission.  “Will you be alright?” He looks genuinely concerned.

“Oh, I’ll muddle through,” I sigh theatrically.  “You know, I
did
find ways to fill my time before we were together.”

“Yeah but as I recall you seemed to enjoy filling it ‘just dropping by’ the shop pretty much every day of the week,” he replies, giving me a knowing look.