of shared personal interest we can use to start the bonding process.” She put the napkin with the untouched scone corner on the breakfast bar and flashed her hands over her apron. “Do you, by any chance, enjoy cooking?”
I chuckled. “Do microwave meals count?”
“No. How about, um... golfing?”
I gently shook my head.
“Fine.” She cleared her throat and ticked options off on her fingers. “Knitting. Antiques. Nature walks. Bird watching. Clothes shopping. Spa days. Um...” She lowered her head and tapped her foot as she thought. “Reading’s no good because we can’t really do that together...”
“There’s always Cary Grant movies,” I said softly.
She raised her head. “I’m sorry?”
I shrugged and kicked my feet under the breakfast bar like some a teenager reluctant to admit she still likes teddy bears. “When I was younger, we used to watch Cary Grant movies together sometimes. That was fun. Kind of.” I looked up, surprised at how afraid I was of the answer to my next question. “Do you remember that?”
She blinked a few times, then nodded. “Yes.”
I swallowed against the odd lump forming in my throat at the memory of those rare occasions when she’d been home and unconsumed by a job, or a marriage either on its ascent or decline, and we had actually been able to enjoy time spent together.
“We could rent movies,” I said. “Um, The Philadelphia Story is good. And then there’s Arsenic and Old Lace .”
She smiled, her eyes misty and grateful. “ Bringing up Baby is one of my favorites.”
We sat in silence for a long moment. I grabbed a scone and placed it on a napkin, then took a bite. It was sweet and moist and still warm, yet something about it so overwhelmed me that I had to wash it down with a large gulp of hot tea to keep it from getting stuck in my closing throat. Which was fine by me; if scorching my gullet kept my emotions in check, then scorching there would be. I might be able to form a workable peace with my mother, but no way was I going to become vulnerable to her again, no matter how much she seemed to have changed. All that business about leopards and spots was a cliché for a reason.
“Okay, then,” she said after a while. “We can run down to Al’s and get a bunch of movies. Maybe we can make popcorn. And I think there’s some soda in the pantry. Oh, and Danny has a home theater setup in the den. It’s all high-tech and I can’t operate it, but I’m sure he’ll walk me through it over the phone.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I put the scone down and pushed up from my stool. “I’d like to shower first, though, if that’s okay. I mean, this joined at the hip thing... I get to take showers by myself, right?”
She grinned. “You get a half hour. After that, I’m coming in after you.”
I didn’t doubt it for a minute.
***
The sale of The Lyceum to Pete’s Feed and Hardware notwithstanding, downtown Fletcher was very much the same as it had always been. Four square blocks offering everything from coffee shops to independent bookstores to boutiques to... well... Pete’s Feed and Hardware. The sidewalks were immaculately kept, as usual, and the Town Beautification Committee’s love affair with bright and blooming hanging flower baskets was readily apparent. As my mother led me through the town, pointing out the places where I’d spent a good portion of my youthful summers as if I’d never seen them before, I was grateful for each and every familiarity the town had to offer.
Al’s Movie Barn didn’t open until ten, so Mom dragged me from shop to shop looking for a decent pair of pajamas for me, as though my sleeping in my jeans the night before was evidence that I owned nothing but the clothes on my back. Finally, after accepting a pair of cherry pajamas, some sunglasses, and a Hello Kitty stationery set, I was able to talk her into getting some coffee at Burgundy’s, a little sidewalk cafe in the center of town.
I chuckled. “Do microwave meals count?”
“No. How about, um... golfing?”
I gently shook my head.
“Fine.” She cleared her throat and ticked options off on her fingers. “Knitting. Antiques. Nature walks. Bird watching. Clothes shopping. Spa days. Um...” She lowered her head and tapped her foot as she thought. “Reading’s no good because we can’t really do that together...”
“There’s always Cary Grant movies,” I said softly.
She raised her head. “I’m sorry?”
I shrugged and kicked my feet under the breakfast bar like some a teenager reluctant to admit she still likes teddy bears. “When I was younger, we used to watch Cary Grant movies together sometimes. That was fun. Kind of.” I looked up, surprised at how afraid I was of the answer to my next question. “Do you remember that?”
She blinked a few times, then nodded. “Yes.”
I swallowed against the odd lump forming in my throat at the memory of those rare occasions when she’d been home and unconsumed by a job, or a marriage either on its ascent or decline, and we had actually been able to enjoy time spent together.
“We could rent movies,” I said. “Um, The Philadelphia Story is good. And then there’s Arsenic and Old Lace .”
She smiled, her eyes misty and grateful. “ Bringing up Baby is one of my favorites.”
We sat in silence for a long moment. I grabbed a scone and placed it on a napkin, then took a bite. It was sweet and moist and still warm, yet something about it so overwhelmed me that I had to wash it down with a large gulp of hot tea to keep it from getting stuck in my closing throat. Which was fine by me; if scorching my gullet kept my emotions in check, then scorching there would be. I might be able to form a workable peace with my mother, but no way was I going to become vulnerable to her again, no matter how much she seemed to have changed. All that business about leopards and spots was a cliché for a reason.
“Okay, then,” she said after a while. “We can run down to Al’s and get a bunch of movies. Maybe we can make popcorn. And I think there’s some soda in the pantry. Oh, and Danny has a home theater setup in the den. It’s all high-tech and I can’t operate it, but I’m sure he’ll walk me through it over the phone.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I put the scone down and pushed up from my stool. “I’d like to shower first, though, if that’s okay. I mean, this joined at the hip thing... I get to take showers by myself, right?”
She grinned. “You get a half hour. After that, I’m coming in after you.”
I didn’t doubt it for a minute.
***
The sale of The Lyceum to Pete’s Feed and Hardware notwithstanding, downtown Fletcher was very much the same as it had always been. Four square blocks offering everything from coffee shops to independent bookstores to boutiques to... well... Pete’s Feed and Hardware. The sidewalks were immaculately kept, as usual, and the Town Beautification Committee’s love affair with bright and blooming hanging flower baskets was readily apparent. As my mother led me through the town, pointing out the places where I’d spent a good portion of my youthful summers as if I’d never seen them before, I was grateful for each and every familiarity the town had to offer.
Al’s Movie Barn didn’t open until ten, so Mom dragged me from shop to shop looking for a decent pair of pajamas for me, as though my sleeping in my jeans the night before was evidence that I owned nothing but the clothes on my back. Finally, after accepting a pair of cherry pajamas, some sunglasses, and a Hello Kitty stationery set, I was able to talk her into getting some coffee at Burgundy’s, a little sidewalk cafe in the center of town.
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