The Good Daughter by Jane Porter

“Patrick. He was gorgeous, wasn’t he? All the girls fancied him.”
    Polly removed her tea bag from her glazed mug. “You know Patrick’s in Afghanistan.”
    “I didn’t know that,” Fiona said.
    “Me either,” Kit said.
    “Joined the army last year. Just hope he makes it home.”
    Kit exhaled slowly. “Me, too.”
    K it couldn’t stop thinking about Mary Dillon, and, returning to the beach house, she disappeared into the kitchen to call her mom, suddenly compelled to check in with her. Dad answered Mom’s phone.
    “Mom’s sleeping,” he said. “I’ll have her call you when she wakes up.”
    Kit glanced at her watch. It was nearly six. Dinnertime. Mom never slept this late. Or had she only just fallen asleep? “Is she okay?”
    “She’s been sleeping a lot this weekend. But isn’t in too much pain.”
    But she was in pain. “Poor Mom.”
    “She’s in good spirits, Kit.”
    It was Dad’s way of saying don’t get maudlin. She’s not in the grave, yet. “What are you doing tonight, Dad?”
    “We’ll probably just watch a movie. I was thinking of renting
The Help
. Your mom had said she wanted to see it, and she read the book, didn’t she?”
    “She did. I did, too, and saw the movie. It’s good, but it’s a tearjerker. At least for me it was.”
    “Anybody die in it?”
    “Yes. But Mom already knows the story and the acting is fantastic. It’s well done—”
    “Chicky movie, isn’t it?”
    “Chicky?”
    “You know, one of those girl movies.”
    “Because it’s written by a woman and stars women?”
    “Just want to know what I’m watching.”
    “It’s good, Dad. And it’s not all weepy. There’s some really funny parts. You’ll be all right. Trust me.”
    He made a grumpy sound. “I never said I wouldn’t be fine. I was just gathering information.”
    Kit suppressed a smile. “Are you all right for dinner?”
    “Your aunt Megan dropped off a lasagna earlier today,” he said, still sounding grumpy.
    “That’s nice. You love lasagna,” she said, knowing that the whole Brennan family would rally around Dad when Mom died. They’d visit with him and bring him food but eventually he’d have to move forward, single, like Mary Dillon.
    What would he do once he was alone? How would he manage? Would he keep the big family house, or would he want to downsize to something smaller?
    “I’ll be there next weekend,” Kit said.
    “That’ll be nice, Kit. It’s always good to have you around.”
    “Give Mom my love.”
    “I will.”
    Kit hung up and leaned against the kitchen counter, so full of emotion that she couldn’t breathe. The emotion wasn’t bad either. She was lucky to be born a Brennan. Lucky to have her family and their love and their loyalty and their humor.
    It was good. Life was good. Everything was good.
    Polly entered the kitchen, spotted Kit leaning against the counter, and closed the door behind her. “You okay?” she asked.
    Kit took a quick breath, tucking hair behind her ears. “Just checked in at home. Everything’s fine.”
    Polly unfolded the kitchen stepstool that served as a seat. “But…?”
    Kit shook her head. “There’s no but. I’m blessed. I’ve got so much. Shouldn’t want anything else.”
    “But you do.”
    Kit didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. “So I guess there is a but.”
    “It’s not bad to want things, Kit. Doesn’t make you a bad person.”
    “Don’t want to be selfish.”
    “You’re not selfish!”
    Kit ducked her head, studied her fingers, which she’d laced tightly together.
Here’s the church, here’s the steeple…open the door…
“I never, ever expected to be single at forty. I thought by thirty I’d be married, and by thirty-five I’d have three or four kids. I wanted a big family. Planned on a big family. Didn’t plan on this life.”
    “Your life’s not over. Tons of women get married at forty, and most of them go on to have children.”
    “I’m honestly not trying to feel sorry for