There wasn’t a relationship on Earth that could match that of a mother and her daughter.
So, when she died—part of me did, too.
My dad was great.
I mean, at this exact moment he clearly wanted to strangle me.
But I knew that would pass.
He’d say his piece—or more likely, yell it—then he’d hug the crap out of me, and tell me how much he loved me.
I was lucky to have him.
And whenever I messed up—that was the part that I regretted the most.
Hurting him.
Disappointing him.
Why I continued to do stupid things was beyond me.
But, I did.
And he was always there to fix whatever I’d done.
Except this time, I knew there was nothing he could do.
The evidence was out there—playing on cell phones and computers around the world.
The butler guy showed up in the doorway, and announced, “Madame Turner.”
Oh, crap.
“Mom?” Trey blurted out in surprise, apparently shocked to see her.
At the same time, Dad said, “Marianne?”
My head twisted to him, wondering how in the heck he knew her name.
Hmm.
Weird.
“Wes,” she responded to my dad rather coldly. Then she quickly turned back to her son.
“Honestly, Son. If it’s not one thing—it’s a hundred with you. These are supposed to be my ‘quiet’ years,” she said, using her fingers to air quote. “I’m supposed to be done parenting by now.”
Marcel stood immediately and greeted her. “Marianne, how wonderful that you could join us on such short notice,” he said, walking up to her and shaking her hand.
“With that kid,” she said, jerking her thumb at Trey, “there’s no other kind of notice.”
Dad let out a laugh at that, and I frowned hard at him.
Not that he cared.
His eyes were stuck on Trey’s mom.
Gross.