She was surprised to hear the doorbell ring just fifteen minutes later. Apparently it was a slow night at Gerardo’s. She grabbed a twenty from her purse, then clicked off the stereo, abruptly silencing the primal thump of Duran Duran’s “The Wild Boys.”
“That was fast,” she said, pulling back the door. “Sundays must—”
The words died in Rory’s throat. Instead of the delivery boy from Gerardo’s, Camilla stood blinking back at her, a CVS bag dangling from her wrist and a large orange Tupperware container tucked into the crook of one arm. She swept Rory with narrowed eyes, lingering on the twenty-dollar bill in her hand.
“Are you having a party?”
Rory stuffed the twenty into her pocket with a sigh. “No, I’m not having a party. I was just playing some music while I cleaned up a little.”
“I made soup with the little stars, like I used to when you were little. Sick soup, you used to call it. But I see you’ve made a miraculous recovery.”
Rory sighed. Camilla swept past her, charm bracelet jangling in her wake. Rory had no choice but to follow her to the kitchen.
“I told you I had soup.”
“You told me you thought you had soup,” Camilla replied sullenly. “And I didn’t want you having to fuss if you weren’t feeling well.” She ran an eye over her daughter as she began emptying the contents of the CVS bag. Cough drops. Vicks. NyQuil. A thermometer. “I don’t suppose you actually need any of this.”
Rory dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“Why, Aurora? Why tell me you’re sick when you’re not? Is spending time with me so terrible?”
Rory swallowed another sigh. What was she supposed to say? Admitting she’d blown off brunch because her landlady showed up with a box from Sugar Kisses wasn’t likely to sit well. Best to leave Soline out of it.
“I felt bad about getting sidetracked, so when you mentioned that I sounded sick, I just . . . went with it.”
“Went with it,” Camilla repeated dryly. “Are you hungry, at least?”
“I actually just ordered takeout.”
“Right.”
Camilla grabbed the soup container and opened the refrigerator. For a moment, she stood staring at the contents. A package of onion bagels, two sticks of butter, a single can of Sunkist, and a nearly empty jar of olives. She turned finally, a pale brow crooked in disapproval. “You haven’t any food.”
“I know. That’s why the takeout. I was planning on hitting the market tomorrow.”
“Don’t you cook anymore?” She pulled open the pantry door, running her eyes over the thinly stocked shelves. “Look at this. Cheerios and canned soup. It’s a wonder you’re not sick eating like this.” Her gaze settled on the pastry box. She lifted the lid, peering inside. “Pain au chocolat. Very nice. I see you weren’t too distracted to go to the bakery this morning.”
“I didn’t go to the bakery,” Rory countered, weary of being scolded. “Soline brought them.”
Camilla’s face went blank.
“My landlady,” Rory supplied. “She stopped by this morning just as I was about to leave.”
“Your landlady showed up out of the blue. With pastries.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s what sidetracked you?”
“We started talking.”
“About what? You barely know her.”
“Hux. The gallery. My art.”
“I see.”
There it was—the cool, affronted look her mother pulled out whenever she felt slighted. Rory counted to ten, refusing to take the bait.
“You’re talking about your life to strangers now, instead of your own mother?”
“We have things in common.”
Camilla closed the pantry door and stood with both hands on her hips. “What could you possibly have in common? The woman has to be in her eighties.”
“She’s nowhere near eighty. And we do have things in common. She lost someone she loved in the war, an ambulance driver who went missing.”
“Aurora . . .”
“She knows what it’s like to hear the phone ring and wonder if today’s the day you find out your prayers weren’t answered, to feel your heart tear open when you see other people being happy, to bury yourself in work because you can’t stand to be alone with your grief. She understands me needing to open the gallery. She even likes my art.”
Camilla took a step forward, laying a hand on Rory’s arm. “What’s going on, Aurora? You’re genuinely starting to worry me.”