“Well, that’s being a mother,” Eileen said, matching Abby’s tone. “You never stop caring.” She turned back to the window, looking out at the rain. “Do you really have to ride?”
“It’s my job. And I need to get Morgan squared away before I go.”
Abby watched as her mother smoothed her robe, tapping her tongue against the roof of her mouth. A familiar gesture, accompanied by familiar sounds that sent Abby right back to her childhood: sitting at the kitchen table, watching her mother poach eggs, or smear the thinnest layer of apple butter on her single slice of whole-grain toast.
“Can Morgan reschedule her appointment?” Eileen asked.
“I think,” Abby said carefully, “that time is of the essence.”
Eileen smoothed her hands over her legs. “How can I help? What do you need me to do?” she asked. Abby felt a rush of gratitude toward her mother, an upswelling of warmth as sweet as it was unfamiliar. Eileen wasn’t asking a bunch of questions, or making Abby repeat herself, or offering suggestions, or digressions, or her own take on the morality of the matter. She’d immediately grasped the problem and had offered to help just as quickly, and, in spite of the dislike that sometimes felt bone-deep and ineradicable, Abby could acknowledge that, sometimes, she and her mother were perfectly in harmony. Sometimes, Eileen got it right.
“If you could make sure Lily gets in the sag wagon for the first run, that would help,” Abby said. “Tell her you’ll take her shopping, or have a spa day in Seneca Falls. Keep her busy.”
Eileen nodded. If she’d heard any judgment in Abby’s suggestions about a spa day, any sense that Abby thought her mom was frivolous and vain, her expression didn’t change. “I’ll do my best,” she said. “Only…” She plucked at the robe’s belt. Here it comes, Abby thought.
“What?” she asked.
“Honestly, I don’t feel wonderful about helping a child lie to her parent. If it were one of my daughters—or my son—I’d want to know.”
Abby swallowed hard, then nodded. “I get it. The thing is, I don’t think Lily will give Morgan a choice. And I think Morgan should have one.”
Eileen looked at Abby, sparse lashes fluttering as she blinked. “Have you talked to Morgan about telling her mom what’s going on? Maybe she’s underestimating Lily.”
“Kayla said Morgan seemed completely terrified at the idea of her mother finding out,” Abby said. “And, from what I’ve seen…” Abby let her voice trail off.
“Okay.” Eileen gave a single nod, and picked up her bulging cosmetic bag the same way Abby imagined a soldier would pick up his gun—spine straight, shoulders back, prepared for battle. Abby felt another stab of guilt, thinking, again, that Eileen wasn’t entirely the monster she imagined. At least, not all of the time. “I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you,” Abby said… and, impulsively, without thinking, she crossed the room and enfolded her mother in a hug. Abby could feel surprise in the lines of her mother’s shoulders, a moment of hesitation, before Eileen hugged her back.
Abby
9:30 a.m.
Downstairs, Jasper had set out the breakfast buffet on a long table in the dining room: yogurt and granola and fresh fruit, blueberry and lemon-poppyseed muffins, oatmeal, bacon, a spinach and feta frittata, still warm from the oven. The Presser boys were making their way through giant helpings of frittata and bacon and muffins. Lincoln was spooning oatmeal into his mouth. Outside, it was still pouring, rain hammering at the road and car windshields. Abby poured herself a cup of orange juice and gulped half of it down as Ted emerged from the Spoke’n Four’s RV and jogged through the downpour and into the house.
“Not a riding day,” he announced when he’d arrived, with his white hair plastered to his head and water dripping from the tip of his nose and his earlobes. The words were barely out of his mouth when a bolt of lightning tore across the sky. Ted looked up, grimacing, then used a dish towel to dry his face before proceeding to the buffet, scooping himself a bowl of oatmeal, and sprinkling candied pecans and coconut flakes on top. “You know that quote, right? ‘Everyone complains about the weather, and nobody does anything about it?’？”
Abby nodded. She was wondering if Morgan had told her mother about the make-believe Syracuse campus tour, and what she’d do if Lily tried to insist on staying with her daughter instead of getting in the van.