This. This was what Angela had wanted for the longest time. John, you were so right. I should have done this a long time ago.
Finally, Jules released her and pulled away, her eyes shiny with tears. “Let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow, when you’re more rested, we’ll figure things out. You’ll stay here, of course. You can’t be by yourself right now. I’ll go get your things from the driveway, and in the morning I’ll call your doctor—”
“No!”
Jules looked confused. “Don’t call him? Why not?”
“I—I just hate to bother him. Besides, why do you need to talk to him?”
Jules frowned. “I’d like to transfer your medical records here so Doc Bolton can continue your care.”
“Oh, no, no.” Angela waved her hand and said vaguely, “Dr. Hodges already took care of that and— Please, Jules. I’m exhausted. Can we talk about all of that tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Jules stood. “Come. Let’s get you to bed.”
A scant ten minutes later, Angela found herself in her pajamas and tucked into bed in the downstairs guest room. Mumbling good night to Jules, she let her heavy eyelids slide shut and immediately fell into a deep, deep sleep.
The next morning, she awoke and, while Angela was no longer under the confusing effects of that dratted pill, Jules was so gentle, so kind, and so understanding that Angela couldn’t bring herself to utter the truth.
That was two weeks ago. Now, here she was, still snug in Jules’s guest room, fully rested, and things were… well, not perfect, of course, but so much better than they had been.
So far, Angela’s unplanned deception had proven remarkably easy. Whenever Jules asked questions about her health, Angela would just look sad until Jules changed the topic. Plus, it wasn’t hard for her to seem less robust than her usual self. She’d lost a lot of weight during those final few weeks with John, whom she missed every minute of every day. And although there were still awkward moments, Jules was showering her mother with thoughtfulness. And Angela was reciprocating in kind.
So far, they’d had several pleasant conversations, and although they hadn’t yet gathered the courage to address the many misunderstandings that had torn them asunder over the years, Angela thought it was just a matter of time before they would be able to do just that. And find some peace at last.
Or so she hoped.
As far as she could tell, the only problem was that their reconciliation was based on what many would consider a lie caused by exhaustion combined with medication. Technically, it wasn’t a lie, Angela told herself. I never said I was dying. Jules assumed that. I merely allowed her to do so. Therefore, Angela was guilty of nothing more than caring too much and, perhaps, of committing the sin of omission. But no more than that.
Besides, she couldn’t regret the questionable decisions on her part that had led to this moment, as she and Jules were growing closer by the day. And it was lovely that she got to spend time with her grandsons, too. Mark still lived here, while Gray was temporarily staying in the apartment over the garage. All in all, things were nice. Nicer than nice. Still, Angela was aware that all the goodness was overshadowed by a faint but growing fear of being found out.
If only she could tell Jules the truth—that she wasn’t actually dying; not yet anyway—without losing some of the precious, hard-fought-for progress they were making. But how? Admitting her pill-induced deceit would just raise Jules’s ire, and Angela was already too familiar with her daughter’s deeply stubborn nature. I can’t lose Jules’s goodwill. I just can’t. Not until we’ve made some real progress. It will take time to heal the wounds of our past. But once we’ve reached that point, I’ll confess everything.
A soft morning breeze lifted the white curtains from where they draped beside the bedroom windows, sending the hems dancing across the golden pine floor. It was late summer, and the mornings were comfortably cool, just beginning to carry a hint of the coming fall. She looked forward to spending the season in the mountains, with its refreshing temperatures and bright leaves. Oh John, you always loved this time of the year.
Angela sighed. She used to think death was the worst thing that could happen to a person, but now she thought it was being left behind. She was deeply lonely, and had she stayed in New York, she was certain that loneliness would have killed her.
Voices from the kitchen caught her attention and she leaned a little in the direction of the open door, smiling when she heard Jules’s laugh. That was the beauty of old houses: since they didn’t have insulation in the walls, you could hear every word that was said from end to end. Right now, Mark and Jules were putting together a shopping list for the Moonlight Café.
Angela remembered when she and her ex-husband Don, Jules’s father, had run the Moonlight together for all those years. Of course, the menu had been different then, although a few of her carefully curated recipes were still featured. She listened as Mark and Jules discussed the weekend specials, the organic spinach order, and whether they needed to make more bacon aioli. There was such a quiet understanding between them, such a casual closeness, that Angela was hit with an unexpected twinge of jealousy.
She turned away from the doorway, catching sight of herself in the gold-framed mirror over the antique mahogany secretary. She looked a fright. What she wouldn’t give to be able to get her hair done, add a delicate waft of blush to her too-pallid cheeks, apply a careful swipe of lipstick—things she rarely went without and now missed.
“Good morning!” Jules came in carrying a breakfast tray. She was dressed in jeans and a pink button-down shirt, only a smidgen of gray in her brown hair. She looked far younger than her fifty-seven years.
Good genes, Angela thought approvingly. Her gaze moved past Jules to a wedding picture hanging on the wall beside the wardrobe. The portrait was of Jules and Liam on their wedding day all those years ago. They’d been such a cute couple and he’d been a devoted husband and father. It still made Angela sad to think of how suddenly he’d died when the boys were in middle school.
Jules’s gaze followed Angela’s. “Whoever thought perms were a good idea should be shot. An entire decade of photos ruined.”
“You did love your perms. And you have curly hair, so you didn’t even need them.”
“I was young and dumb.” Jules put the tray on a table next to the bed.
“You didn’t need to bring this. I can eat with you and Mark in the kitchen.”
“You could, but then you’d miss this.” Jules looked out the window at the view. “I know how much you like it.”
“You don’t need to coddle me. I’d be just as happy eating with you two.”
Jules smiled. “You can eat with us in the kitchen tomorrow if you’d like.” She looked like Don when she smiled, but then, she’d always favored him, as did Mark. They both moved with steady purpose, and had brown hair and brown eyes.
That last was a pity. Gray had Angela’s pale blue eyes and thick black lashes, which gave him an intense, striking air. Like grandmother, like grandson, Angela thought with satisfaction. That was the one thing Angela had inherited from her mother that she didn’t hate: the Colewell women all had those same startlingly blue eyes.