Michael shifts in his seat and his eyes dart toward the door of the café. She hopes he isn’t thinking of leaving.
“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It was over Christmas, and you know, Christmas. It’s packed full of nostalgia. My mom had just died, and on her way out she got me thinking about the past. Reviewing things, you know.”
Nancy nods, thinking of her own grandmama.
The Past, my dear.
He runs his hand over the table, flicks a crumb off the surface, and Nancy resists the urge to reach out for his hand. “Having Katherine there with me, but without you, it just, it felt like something was missing. Katherine asked if I was okay. She’s pretty intuitive.”
Nancy smiles. “Yes, she is.”
“And I guess I told her—” He fidgets with the mug handle, then looks at Nancy. “I told her I had been thinking about you, and, I don’t know, maybe wishing things could be more like they were before.”
Nancy takes a sip of her tea, considering. “Hmm. She’s not very good at keeping secrets, is she? Good girl,” she adds in an undertone.
Michael exhales a small chuckle. “No.”
“Not like her mother,” Nancy says. She didn’t intend to blurt it out like that. But then, she supposes that’s why she asked Michael to meet with her, so maybe it’s best to just spit it out. “The thing is, Mike, I don’t think you ever really knew me at all,” Nancy says through a thick throat. “And that’s my fault. I own that.”
Michael sighs heavily, eyes falling to his hands clasped around the glass mug. The memories of other sighs, of love and pleasure and mutual adoration of their child, echo back at her across the table.
“Mike—”
“I’ve really missed you, Nance.”
They hold their breath and absorb what he’s just admitted. What it might mean for them both. The spring wind whispers through the leaves of the trees in the park next to the café. The trees that, in a few short months, will turn red and gold in one last spectacular curtain call before the bitter winter strips them bare.
All of this is fleeting, it says. There’s no more time to waste…
Nancy’s having a reckless week, agreeing to meet with her birth mother’s friend and maybe get some closure there, and now stumbling through a desperate reconciliation with her ex-husband. She might as well tell him how she’s truly feeing. Nancy licks her lips and glances up at Michael, then sees Katherine in the clear blue of his eyes. The child that binds them together, no matter what.
“Oh, Mike. I miss you, too. So much.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes the tops of his hands with her own. She remembers holding his hands like this all those years ago when they slid golden rings onto each other’s fingers and vowed to always be honest and true.
Nancy wasn’t.
She holds his gaze and forces herself to not let go.
“I need to tell you about Jane.”
CHAPTER 28 Angela
SPRING 2017
“Brownies, from Harbord’s!”
Angela presents the neat white box to Evelyn as soon as the older woman opens the door. Evelyn cradles it in her hands. “Oh, you wonderful woman! Walnuts?”
“Of course not. I’m insulted you would even suggest such sacrilege. What self-respecting brownie allows its fudgy splendour to be ruined by nuts?” Angela cocks one sarcastic eyebrow.
“I knew I liked you.” Evelyn beckons Angela across the threshold and shoulders the stiff door shut on the street.
The smell of the bakery nearly made Angela vomit, but she persevered, determined to make up for what in retrospect she feels was a somewhat disastrous first meeting a few weeks ago.
They climb the creaky stairs to the second-floor apartment and Evelyn closes the door behind them. “I’ll put the kettle on for coffee.” She smiles at Angela. “Have a seat.”
Angela settles herself down on the squishy cream-coloured couch near the window. Evelyn has the curtains open today to tempt in the fresh spring air. The scent from a clutch of deep purple lilacs in a vase on the windowsill wafts into the room, as though to underline the fact that winter is finally passed and the blooms will have their time in the spotlight now.
“How did you get the lilacs?” Angela asks. “I didn’t see any trees around here. Thank you!” she adds, as Evelyn hands her a plate. She’ll get through what she can of the brownie, though sweets make her stomach churn these days.
Evelyn sits down beside Angela on the couch, delicately crossing one ankle over the other, like a lady. “I stole them.”
“Ha! What?”
“Technically, I guess. The campus is full of flowering trees. Yesterday I clipped some. They were only out on a few branches, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Do you keep gardening shears in your purse?”
Evelyn raises a forkful of brownie with a look of reverence and pops it in her mouth. “Mmm. These are perfect, Angela.” She swallows. “I have a Swiss Army knife my brother gave me one Christmas. Do you have one? They come in handy from time to time. Especially the corkscrew.”
Angela chuckles, nearly choking on a bite of brownie. The kettle screams its impatience at them, and Evelyn jumps up, displaying the reflexes of a much younger woman. She returns with the coffee a moment later.
“So! What’s this update you have for me?” Darwin eyes the coffee in her hands and mewls with impatience, wanting a brownie.
Angela sets her coffee down on the table to cool. “Well, I definitely found Margaret’s daughter.”
“My goodness…”
“I was looking for the wrong name at first. She’s divorced now, but still using her married name. Ironically, I think it’s to make it easier for people to find her on social media, since she was known by that name for so long. I just told her who I was and that I had a letter that was supposed to be delivered to her old apartment but somehow ended up in a drawer in our shop.”
Angela looks up from her brownie to glance at Evelyn, whose face is so pale it’s blending into the cream fabric of the couch behind her.
“Oh my God, Evelyn, are you okay?” Angela reaches out for Evelyn’s hand, which is as cold as ice. Angela can feel it trembling. “Evelyn?”
Evelyn squeezes her hand, which reassures Angela slightly. All of a sudden she’s acutely aware of Evelyn’s age and the fact that she herself has no first aid training.
“What’s wrong? Should I call someone?”
Evelyn’s face flushes, red blotches patchy among the white. And then she starts to cry. Confused and frightened, Angela wraps her arms around Evelyn, unsure what else to do. She’s thin and feels frail under Angela’s hands, as though any more pressure might shatter her entirely. What the hell is going on? Angela’s mind races but she can’t catch up. After a minute or two, Evelyn’s breathing slows, and her sobs fade to hiccups. She sits up straighter as Darwin slinks his way underneath their elbows, settling himself down in his mistress’s lap, trying his best to keep her grounded with his warm, soft weight.
It works. Evelyn leans back to rest her head on the couch cushion as her hand strokes Darwin’s back. Angela spots a box of tissues on the side table. She snatches three out of the floral cardboard box and taps Evelyn’s shoulder. “Here you go.”