She very honestly told Evangeline that of course she hurt and of course she was devastated. She loved Drake and that didn’t go away in an hour, a day, a week or even a month. That it would be a slow process and all she could do was take it one day at a time and never look beyond the next day or push herself to “get over” losing someone she loved with all her heart and soul.
She adored her mother and her infinite wisdom. Wisdom that only a mother had, gleaned from years of experience and honed by loving and protecting the child she’d carried for nine months and then nurtured through the formative years. It didn’t matter that Evangeline was grown. No one ever outgrew their need for a mother.
Her mom had quietly told Evangeline that she needed time to grieve. That in a lot of ways, it was the same as a loved one dying, only in some ways worse because that person was still alive, out there, but Evangeline could ever only look but not touch. In a figurative manner of speaking. With death came finality. The knowledge that you had lost that person forever. In a situation such as Evangeline’s, no matter that Evangeline was hurt and devastated and didn’t want Drake back, she still loved him, missed him, and in the most hidden, secret parts of her heart was a flicker of hope that somehow things would work out and they could be together again. And so every day they remained apart was its own sort of hell.
Evangeline was in awe of how well her mother knew her, how intuitive she was, because wow, she had Evangeline dead to rights. Yes, she did secretly harbor hope, stupid, naïve hope, that by some miracle of fate, she and Drake would live happily ever after and her child would have his or her father. And every single day that she awoke, alone, in an empty bed missing Drake with every breath in her body, she buried her face in her pillow and wept.
Irritated at how much Drake occupied her thoughts, despite her effort to banish him and distract herself with marathon cooking sessions—as if that did any good—she got up, tossing down the towel she’d wiped her hands on, and attacked cleanup, squeezing the last of the prepared meals into the already overloaded freezer.
She cleaned, scrubbed, polished and then mopped until the kitchen sparkled. When she was done, she leaned briefly on the mop handle and blew a stray piece of hair from her eyes as she surveyed her handiwork. Her parents, as usual, avoided her when she went into a cooking frenzy, recognizing it as her way of working through her grief.
If only it did any good.
“Is it safe to come in?” her mother called from the door.
Evangeline whirled, a smile she didn’t have to fake curving her lips.
“Oh my, you’ve been quite busy,” her mother said, shaking her head as she ventured farther in.
Evangeline hastily dumped the mop water into the sink and then put the mop on the back porch to dry. When she returned, she went straight to her mother and enfolded her in a fierce hug. Her mom hugged her back, but when she drew away, she had a bewildered look on her face.
“Evangeline, what’s wrong, darling?”
Evangeline smiled, though a sheen of tears already coated her eyes.
“Nothing. I just wanted you to know how much I love you and how grateful I am to have you and Daddy. I don’t know what I would have done without y’all.”
Her mother’s eyes softened and her face shone with love and tenderness.
“Oh, my darling, I love you too. I hate to see you hurting so badly. There is nothing more frustrating as a parent than to see your child in pain and be helpless to fix it.”
“You are fixing it, Mama. Just by being here. You and Daddy have been so terrific.” She sighed and glanced around the now-spotless kitchen. “I suppose I really should let you have your kitchen back.”
Her mother laughed. “I don’t know. It’s kind of nice to know that I won’t have to cook for the next six months.”
Evangeline issued a rueful grin. “I guess it’s better than the more clichéd ways of dealing with a broken heart. By eating a pound of chocolate a day and watching sad movies.”
Her mom rolled her eyes. “I’ve let you be to do your thing in the kitchen because it isn’t hurting anyone, but I’ll turn you over my knee if you start with bad habits. No man is worth that level of self-destruction. Besides, you have a child to think of now,” she said gently, reaching for Evangeline’s hand and squeezing in a comforting gesture.
Pain robbed her of breath for a moment as she imagined her child. A little boy who looked just like Drake. A little girl with her blond hair and her father’s dark eyes. Or a dark-haired, dark-eyed daughter. She would be so beautiful.