But that was where it stopped. If Angela attempted to discuss anything personal with Jules, she’d stiffen and change the topic. And if Angela attempted to revisit that topic at any time, Jules would simply stand and leave, her silence deafening.
Jules never confided in her mother, never asked her advice, never shared a thought or a fear. They were pleasant acquaintances and nothing more. Jules had made sure of that by refusing to discuss the big events in her life. She rarely spoke about her husband’s death all those years ago, never shared her hopes for her children or her fears as an adult, and she’d never once mentioned her boyfriend of the past dozen years, a certain gentleman by the name of Joe Kavanaugh whom Angela had once run into as he was leaving the house. Gray and Mark laughed whenever Angela brought him up, saying everyone in town knew about their mother and Joe, but that Mom “liked her privacy.” It seemed that, over the years, secrecy itself had become a habit for Jules. Angela wasn’t sure how, but she was certain that was her fault, too.
Thus was her complicated relationship with her daughter. It was a testament to the strength of that tiny blue pill Angela had taken that she could convince herself that one long, honest conversation—just one, mind you—would permanently change the trajectory of her and Jules’s tangled relationship. In fact, while sitting in the back of the taxi in a half doze, Angela worked up a brilliant, Churchill-level speech for her daughter. The moment demanded no less.
It was almost ten at night when Angela and her luggage finally arrived at the Stewart house. She didn’t even try to lug her luggage up the stone stairs that led to the porch but instead left her suitcase with her tote at the side of the driveway and tottered up the stairs, swaying in place as she rang the bell.
She waited, but no one came. So she rang it again.
Then again.
And aga—
The door opened and there stood Jules, the light from the foyer making her brown hair gleam golden like an angel’s.
Jules’s eyes widened. “Mom?”
Angela nodded. She was the mom. That was correct.
Confusion flickered over Jules’s face. “What are you doing here?”
Later on, Angela would wonder why that short sentence triggered her, but it did. Suddenly too tired to think, she felt her grand speech fly out of her befuddled mind with a resounding whoosh, leaving nothing behind but tears and regrets. Angela was left facing her daughter without a thing to say.
And so, she promptly burst into tears.
“Oh, Mom!” Looking both alarmed and confused, Jules pulled Angela inside and awkwardly helped her onto a plump, flowered sofa in the middle of the living room.
By now, Angela was sobbing hysterically. All she wanted was for her child to love her. Was that too much to ask?
“What’s going on?” Jules pressed tissues into Angela’s hands, worry in her voice. “Has something happened? When I saw you at John’s funeral a few weeks ago, you seemed fine. I mean, you were sad, of course, but… Mom, what’s happened?”
Hiccupping, Angela blew her nose, took a deep breath, and attempted to remember her brilliant speech.
It started out well enough. She explained that she was newly aware of her own mortality now in ways she never had been before. That death had made her more cognizant of her own responsibilities. She remembered thinking at that point, So far so good.
But as she spoke, it suddenly occurred to her that Jules didn’t look the least convinced. Indeed, her touching concern seemed to be fading with each word that fell from Angela’s lips, which made her falter.
Didn’t Jules understand that her mother had come all this way to take the blame for their complicated relationship? That, after years of misunderstandings and hurt feelings and unspoken words, Angela wanted to make things right?
And yet Jules’s expression grew more distant as Angela continued, and Angela, still fighting the lingering effects of pill-fog, forced herself to listen to her carefully thought-out speech. She was horrified when, instead of the brilliantly lucid sentences she’d thought she’d been uttering, she heard herself rambling incoherently, randomly spouting phrases like “life is too short” and “death awaits us all.”
Embarrassed, she stumbled into silence, which she broke with an awkward laugh that was more of a sob. “This isn’t going the way I wanted it to. I thought— My doctor didn’t want me to travel right now, but I—” She stopped, realizing she’d wandered off her subject again, and tried to regain control once more.
While she struggled, she absently rubbed at the tightness in her chest caused by her overwhelming emotions. She just wanted to sink into a bed and sleep for days and days and—
Jules grabbed Angela’s hand. “Mom? Why didn’t Dr. Hodges want you to travel?”
The brittleness in Jules’s voice had made Angela blink. I wish I could think more clearly. Why did he not want me to travel? “He said I should stay home and rest, but I couldn’t. I had to see you. I had to tell you that in person since—” Emotion overcame Angela, and another sob choked her.
Jules sucked in her breath. “Mom, are you saying—” She gripped Angela’s hand more tightly. “Are you ill?”
Having a broken heart qualified as being “ill,” so she nodded.
“Oh, Mom,” Jules breathed, looking stricken. “How long do you have? Did the doctor say?”
Angela blinked rapidly. How long did she have? What an odd thing to say. That made it sound as if she was— No, no, no! She wasn’t sick like that. Where had Jules gotten that idea? Confused, Angela pulled free from Jules and pressed her hands over her eyes, struggling to remember her own words. It finally dawned on her that when she had mentioned death making her more aware of her responsibilities, she’d meant John’s death, not her own.
Oh no. Angela dropped her hands from her face. “I didn’t mean to tell you that!”
“I’m glad you did.” Jules recaptured Angela’s hand and held it between her own. “You shouldn’t keep things like that a secret. Mom, I’m—I’m here for you.”
Angela looked into her daughter’s brown eyes and saw nothing but genuine concern, an emotion Jules hadn’t shown her mother in years. Angela suddenly realized she didn’t want this moment to pass. She wanted her daughter to care about her. Deeply.
And so, instead of explaining how Jules had misunderstood all Angela was trying to say, she had nodded slowly, absently rubbing her chest where her guilt pressed.
“It’s your heart, isn’t it? We have a family history of— Why didn’t you tell me about this at the funeral?”
Goodness! Why hadn’t she? “I… You… There were a lot of things I wanted to say to you at the funeral, but… there were a lot of people there.” Yes, that was true. And it made sense, too. There had been too many visitors to allow for a private talk. “John had a lot of friends. Too many, and they all wanted to talk and talk. Well, you were there. You know how it was.” There. That was better. “Plus, you and the boys were only there for one night.”
Jules flushed. “We should have stayed longer. Mom, I’m so sorry.”
To Angela’s astonishment, she was engulfed in a warm hug. It had been over twelve years since Jules had hugged her, so Angela leaned in, wrapped her arms around her daughter, and hugged her back.