Finn had mentioned dizzy spells too.
Liza smothered all the anxious questions that bubbled to the surface. “I’m sure you handled it in whatever way you felt was right. If you’d needed me, you would have called.”
“I do need you, which is why I’m calling now. I’d like you to read those letters to me, Liza. I know it’s a lot to ask. I don’t know what’s in them. They’re deeply personal. Probably upsetting.”
But her mother trusted her with them.
Liza sat up a little straighter. “Would you like me to read them myself first and filter them? I could try and judge whether I think you’d be upset before I read them aloud.”
“Oh Liza—” There was a pause. “You’re the kindest person. Always have been. No, if we’re reading them, then we’re reading them together.”
We’re reading them together.
Liza felt a lump in her throat and a weight in her chest. She and her mother had so rarely done anything together. “Okay. Do you think Adam stayed with her?”
“I don’t know. I think there’s a strong chance he did the same thing to her that he did to me. Anyway, I didn’t intend for this to be a maudlin conversation.”
“Do you want me to get them now?” She could still cancel Finn.
“No. I’m not ready. I wanted to test the water with you, so to speak. But maybe tomorrow we could open the first couple and take it from there.”
“Of course.” It was such a lot for her mother to have told her, she was probably drained.
“Tell me about you.” Her mother’s brisk change of subject confirmed that. “Are you enjoying Cornwall?”
Liza looked at the sunlight on the garden. The small table outside was laid ready for dinner. “I’m loving it.”
“Good. That house is meant to be enjoyed. Go and enjoy it, and I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon your time if that works for you.”
Liza ended the call and sat for a moment without moving.
Her mother wanted her help. Her mother needed her help.
She felt closer to her after that one conversation than she had in her entire life.
“Hey—” Finn’s voice came from the doorway. “Is everything okay?”
Liza shot to her feet. “Hi there! My mother called and I lost track of time.”
“Bad news?”
“No.” Although she didn’t know what was in the letters so it was possible that there might be bad news. But whatever it was, she and her mother would handle it together.
Together.
“Good.” Finn pulled the baseball hat off his head, but kept on the dark glasses. “You look—incredible.”
Her conversation with her mother had made her forget that she was wearing her new dress.
She saw appreciation and warmth in Finn’s gaze and felt embarrassed. What if he thought that the way she’d dressed had been an elaborate attempt on her part at seduction? The idea was horrifying. She never should have bought the dress. It was too much for a casual dinner in the garden, even if the guest was someone like Finn Cool. But it was too late to rush upstairs and change.
“Come in. As you’re not driving, I’ve made cocktails. I thought we could take them outside.”
He stepped forward and scooped up the drinks, the movement bringing him closer to her. He smelled of sun and salt and summer and she felt an unfamiliar heat spread through her and then he started telling her a story about the dogs jumping into the sea and she managed to laugh and behave as if she hadn’t just been engulfed by the flame of sexual attraction.
It had been only a few days, but she’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to him. They laughed, chatted and ate the food she’d prepared, and she was glad she’d worn the dress.
Finn helped himself to more asparagus. “What’s on your mind?”
Her mother had been in love.
“Nothing at all. I’m relaxed, that’s all.”
“You’ve caught the sun.”
“I forgot to use sunscreen when I went swimming today.” She pressed her fingers to her cheek. “My face probably matches the dress perfectly.”
“You look good. Happier than you did when I saw you at the beginning of the week.”
“That’s what happens when you indulge in a countryside escape.”
“What were you escaping from?”
She put her fork down. “I—meant it as a phrase.”
His gaze lifted to hers. “Did you?”
She sighed. “No. This was an escape. Of sorts.”
“If you want to talk about it, go ahead.” He helped himself to more bread. “And if you’re worried about confiding in a relative stranger, let me remind you that I live with the knowledge that every single thing I do could end up as tomorrow’s news. Because of that, I’m probably the most trustworthy person you could ever meet.”
“How do you manage to lead even a semblance of a normal life when you don’t know who you can trust and who you can’t?”
“I rely on my instincts—” he raised his glass “—which are sharply honed after multiple betrayals and disappointments.”
She thought about her mother. “Bad experiences don’t put you off? You’re not tempted to play it safe?”
“I was eight when I lost my father. There’s a lot I don’t remember about him, but the one thing I remember clearly was his ability to have fun and enjoy the moment, no matter what the circumstances.” He put his glass down. “He was a lot like your mother that way. I try to do the same. It’s not an easy thing to do. People think it’s frivolous and shallow—”
“But it takes a lot of courage.”
He smiled. “That’s right. Letting yourself love—live—takes courage.”
He didn’t understand her mother at all, although he thought he did. Liza could see now that all the traveling, the emotional distance, the way Kathleen lived her life, wasn’t selfishness but self-protection. Even though Liza still didn’t know the details, for the first time in her life she felt as if she understood and understanding changed everything.
“Yes, it takes courage.”
“Trying something knowing you might fail, takes courage. Loving, when you know there’s a good chance you’ll get your heart broken.”
“Yes.” How much courage must it have taken for her mother to allow herself to love Liza’s father after everything that had happened?