Maybe she wasn’t the woman Clint thought she was.
She knew she’d done things she’d never expected. Life unfolded. Events happened. And sometimes afterward you picked yourself up out of the dirt, pulling emotional shrapnel from your soul and wondering what the heck had just occurred.
But when it came right down to it, a good mother didn’t allow her son to have that much space.
“Well?” Clint asked.
“Well what?” she snapped, immediately regretting her tone. She murmured an apology.
He ignored it and said, “How are you going to remedy this?”
“I thought we were talking about you and me?”
He lifted a shoulder casually. “We got sidetracked by other things you want and need. So what are you going to do? What’s your plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
“You make things happen everywhere you go, and you’re a woman of action.” His tone was persuasive. “I bet you at least have an idea.”
Maria mulled that over, her spirits lifting.
Clint gently nudged her. He was watching her with questioning eyes. “You think maybe you could call him?”
She was already shaking her head. “I don’t think I can.”
“Why not?”
“Words were exchanged, and I’m not sure he wants to talk to me.”
What must her son think of her for not reaching out? For not trying? For letting Roy speak for both of them.
“Call him,” Clint said, placing a hand over hers.
“I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t have his current number.”
“Do you know who does?”
“Brant.” For too long, she had left her middle son, the sensitive one, with that burden. Where had she been in her life? Had she really been that absent for so long?
It hurt to think, breathe, exist.
She’d sided with Roy during a pivotal fight between him and Cole, because that’s what she’d thought she was supposed to do. She hadn’t gone after her son afterward, even though she’d known he’d been in such pain.
When the boys were small and had started to find cracks and loopholes in their parenting front, as kids do, she and Roy had vowed to remain united. They’d been outnumbered, and knew they had to stand back-to-back if they wanted to retain control over their sons.
They’d been good at staying united. Too good, maybe.
The habit had been ingrained, but now Roy had moved on. Did that mean she could, as well? Did they no longer have to stand together when it came to their sons? Could she speak her mind? Reach out to Cole and mend things? She’d always thought Roy was wrong, and now their actions and identities were distinct from each other. But she couldn’t betray or undermine him like that. He was still Cole’s father.
“Would Brant give you the number?” Clint asked.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
It was wrong to remain silent and allow Cole to be alone for another Christmas.
Clint cupped her cheek. She nuzzled in ever so slightly and his thumb brushed her skin, causing her to shiver.
“What would you say to him if you could phone him?”
She was certain she wouldn’t be able to speak. That familiar voice would bring instant tears to her eyes. But she knew what she’d say.
“I’d ask him to come home.”
She winced against the pain. It was selfish to want him to return. If he did, it would upset April’s life, and she was just getting settled again. And it would interfere with Brant’s life just when he was finally being noticed by the woman he’d loved for years.
Nobody else likely noticed that, but Maria had. She was a mom. She had to look out for her entire flock. But to keep sacrificing Cole felt wrong. It was time for everyone to stand on their own two feet.
And maybe that was what she was here to do. Learn how to let them do that.
“What else?” Clint asked. He’d pulled out his phone and was typing something.
“A Christmas visit would be nice,” she said, tipping her chin up. She angled closer to his screen. Did he have Cole’s number?
Because she wasn’t going to call him. Not yet. Even though she wanted her boy to know he was always welcome and always wanted.
Clint lowered his phone, putting it into his back pocket and making her relax.
“I hope he’s a good man,” she said, watching him. “I hope he’s treating others right.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket again and gazed at it, then turned it toward her. A text message lit up the screen, featuring a phone number. “Why don’t you call him and find out?”
She inhaled, her fingers going to her lips. Cole’s number. He had Cole’s number.
He’d gotten it. For her.
Clint slowly offered her the phone. She shook her head and backed up a step.
“I can’t. I miss him, but this is about more than me. More than him.” She was still shaking her head. “I have to think about this. I can’t just call.”
Maria hunched over a canvas bag, stitching a candy cane wound with red string onto the handle. She’d hoped taking on this task for the fundraiser would keep her mind off Clint and last night’s conversation about Cole. So far it hadn’t.
Pressing her left hand to her lower back, she arched her spine and studied her completed work spread out on the dining nook’s table. All morning she’d ignored texts from Clint, as well as from the ranch. Kit had gone in to work and Maria had taken the time and space to think.
So far she hadn’t come to any conclusions. Not about Cole. Not about Clint. Not even about what she wanted the next segment of her life to look like.
The door to the condo opened, and Maria checked the time. Kit’s lunch break.
“Those look good,” Clint said, entering the room and seeming to take all the air with him. Maria fought the urge to cross the space and slip into his arms for a much-needed hug.
Too many thoughts. Too many emotions. And right now he looked like he always did—a rock to cling to as she weathered the storm.
“You got a lot done,” Kit said, coming in behind Clint and scanning the table. “Did you see who I found on my walk home?” She moved past Clint and into the kitchen.
He leaned against the wall, watching Maria. “Need help?”
She shook her head and threaded the needle for another bag.
“We got the first coat of blue on the scooter. You were right. It looks good. Very cute.”
“You know what would make those bags look even better?” Kit called from the kitchen.
“What?” Maria called back.
“A hand-painted scene.”
“You could paint them,” Clint said, coming closer. “Like a scene from your ornament.”
“That was uninspired and boring.”
“It was special, a scene from the beach here in town. People would love it.”
Kittim entered the room again. “I agree. It would be a hit.”
Maria laughed. “You realize he’s trying to convince me to paint something on all the bags.” She gestured toward the tall stack. The Morrison Mansion’s ballroom would be stuffed with guests on Saturday night. She couldn’t paint something for everyone.
“But it’s a cute idea,” Kit said.