I broke eye contact, busying myself with the chicken again. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.”
Padding toward the fridge, I yanked out the butter. “Dinner’s ready. Who cares about a piece of lace?”
“It’s Hope’s,” Mom said. “Graham calls her Little Lace because of her Mom’s shawl. Remember? He told us the night of the premiere.”
I couldn’t control my shudder. “I’ve done my best to block that night from my mind.”
I hadn’t been to the movies since watching my dad die, my mom commit ‘suicide,’ and that god-awful rendition of their love story.
Going to the theatre was tainted now.
The thought filled me with nervous disgust for how eager people threw money at Hollywood to recreate the pain of others.
All stories—either fact or fiction—happened to real people. And not all stories were good. In fact, most stories weren’t good. Almost all of them had a family theme, striking you over and over with the lesson that you could be rich or poor, but if you had family, you had everything.
Yeah well, family didn’t last.
People died.
Animals died.
Everything died.
Only land lasted forever.
Mom’s fingers closed over the piece of lace. “I have Graham’s number. You should call Hope. I’m sure she’ll be missing it.”
Brushing past her, I carried the platter of potatoes to the table, doing my best to hide my anger. “Why do you have Graham’s number?”
She followed me. “Because he’s a friend.”
“He wants more than just friendship.”
“Jacob.” Aunt Cassie shook her head in warning. “Don’t go there. Don’t go to places you don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand. I get that people move on and—”
“You listen to me, Jacob Wild.” Mom stormed in front of me, planting hands on her hips. “Cassie is right. You don’t understand. You think you do, but you don’t. You think you’re protecting my honour and Ren’s memory by stopping me from talking to others, but you’re not. Men and women can be friends. Especially those who have lost someone they can never replace.” Her face whitened as old grief, recent grief, constant grief overwhelmed her. “Until you’re brave enough to let someone into your own heart, you have no right to judge. None, do you hear me?”
Shoving the piece of lace into my hand, she muttered, “My phone is in the hall. Graham’s number is on it. I expect you to call Hope this instant and tell her you have her lace and we’ll post it to wherever her dad is filming next. Got it?”
Our eyes locked. My temper flared. My promise throbbed.
I bowed my head in obedience. “Okay.”
“Good.” She smiled softly.
And I knew what I had to say back.
The same phrase she and Dad used after an argument or heated conversation. A phrase that was so common but meant so much.
“Fine.”
She flinched as the one word translated into I love you. I’d stolen something that used to be theirs and made it ours. Her eyes warmed, her anger waned, and the sense that she wanted to hug me made me clear my throat and skirt past her into the hall.
There, I swiped my face with a hand smelling of garlic and rosemary and picked up Mom’s phone.
There weren’t many contacts on the device. And one, in particular, punched me in the heart when I came across the entry that had been transferred from her old phone to this one but would never be answered again.
Ren.
Scrolling away quickly, I clicked on the entry ‘Graham’ and steeled myself for a conversation I didn’t want.
Voices of my family tucking into the meal I’d cooked made their way to where I sulked against the wall. I waited while the ringing of Graham’s phone repeated loud in my ear.
Finally, just before the answer machine kicked in, Graham answered as if he’d been running and my call was highly inconvenient. “Murphy speaking.”
I glowered at the ceiling, begging for the strength not to snap at him. “It’s Jacob. You know? Jacob Wild?”
He paused before saying warily, “Jacob…hi. What can I do for you? Your mom okay?” His voice turned a little panicky. “Did something happen?”
I punched the wall quietly behind me, Hope’s lace itching my palm as I fisted it tight. “She’s fine. It’s not you I’m calling for, actually.”
“Oh? Who did you want to talk to?”
As if he didn’t know? There were only two of them. “Hope, obviously.”
His tone slipped an octave in suspicion. “Why?”
“Because.”
“Because…”
I smirked, throwing Mom’s words in his ear. “Because girls and boys can be friends.”
Silence was loud in my ear. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Look, Jacob, you’re a nice kid, but you’re—”
“Just put her on the phone. Or better yet, just tell me your address. She left her lace here. I’m guessing she’s missing it.”
Graham’s entire attitude changed. “Oh, thank God. We’ve been rushing around since we got to the airport. Our flight leaves in twenty minutes, and she was adamant she wasn’t getting on the plane without that thing.”