A knock draws our attention, and Grant pokes his head in. “Oh, good. No one’s bleeding.”
I roll my eyes. “We can be civilized, if we want to be.”
Lily releases a broken laugh.
“Can I talk to you?” Grant asks Lily gently, stepping into the room.
Lily blots her face and nods.
“I’ll, um … be far away from everyone whenever you’re done.”
When I come downstairs, I find my mother seated on the couch. She looks up when she hears me. I smile softly.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you earlier,” I say, sitting beside her. “I know you didn’t realize Nick was married. I shouldn’t have accused you like that.”
“You also didn’t know this was his house—well, not technically. But I didn’t warn you, and I should have when I found out. I’m sorry.” She looks down at her hands and then back to me. “We’ve never been good with letting each other in, have we? It’s like we’ve lived such different lives. I barely know you anymore. It’s my fault … letting your grandmother raise you. But she was so much stronger than I ever was, I thought … anyway, I never felt like you needed me. And now … all you do is try to take care of me. Protect me. While that’s what I should be doing for you. You’ve grown up so fast, Lana. I don’t want you to stop needing me.”
I peer out the glass door that leads to the deck and watch as dinner is served. It looks like some sort of steak dish. The guys are at the far end, talking and laughing like the storm has passed. While the adults are still under its cloud with Niall, Olivia and Isaac holding a serious conversation. And Cassandra continues to get wasted with another martini.
Maybe my mother’s right. That I’ve spent so much time taking care of her that I’ve outgrown the need for her mothering. And it’s not like she ever asked me to defend and protect her from the world. But it’s what was needed. She seemed too delicate to be exposed to the harsh elements of reality once out from under my grandmother’s formidable shadow. She wasn’t bold or assertive enough to fill my grandmother’s shoes. So I did.
But this isn’t the time to discuss the dynamics of our reversed relationship. And it certainly doesn’t explain why we’re here.
“How do you know the Harrisons?” I ask, my attention still on the activity at the dinner table. “Why did you lose touch?”
There’s a moment of silence before she responds. I can feel the sadness seeping from her. I didn’t respond to her attempt to connect with me. Maybe it is too late for us to have that kind of mother-daughter bond. Right now, I need answers.
“I used to nanny for Olivia and Niall when I was in high school. Started out caring for Parker after school while Olivia studied for her master’s. Then they took me with them on family trips. Mostly to Nantucket, where they have a family estate. They were always so kind to me.”
I turn toward her. “Then what happened? It’s obvious Olivia cares about you.”
Tears well in her eyes. “I did what I thought was best … for you.”
“Me?” I confirm, aghast.
“That’s not what I meant exactly.” She bites her lip, reaching for that chain again.
“Then explain it,” I plead, wide-eyed, my blood pumping. “I don’t understand any of this. Does it have something to do with my father?”
She blinks hard, warring with her emotions, unable to answer. I’ve reached the end of the inquiry and doubt she’ll tell me more. But I promised Brendan I’d try.
I remove the picture from the deep pocket of my sundress and present it to my mother.
She gasps and covers her mouth, then takes it from me with shaking hands. “Where did you get this?”
“Do you see the guy at the end of the table with the blond hair?”
She scans the table, and her mouth gapes in shock.
“That’s Brendan, her son.”
My mother’s breaths start coming out in short pants. She puts a hand to her chest.
“Mom, are you okay?” I move closer to get a better look at her.
“Faye?” Olivia calls out, having just entered the house.
My mother bends forward, fighting to catch her breath.
“Niall!” Olivia shouts to him.
They rush to her side, Olivia kneeling in front of her. The picture of Maggie and my mother slips to the floor.
“Take deep breaths, love,” Olivia instructs. “Slow, deep breaths.”
Niall sits on the other side, ready to take whatever action he’s instructed to by his wife.
“Easy. Focus on breathing.”
I pick the photo up and conceal it in my pocket, knowing it caused this reaction.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, watching helplessly.
“Breathe in, nice and slow,” Olivia continues, solely focused on my mother. “Now breathe out until you can’t.”
I step away, feeling useless now that someone more competent is here to care for her. I watch until she’s breathing properly, slumped against the couch. A few minutes later, Niall carries her limp form toward the guest bedroom.
“She had a panic attack,” Olivia explains, rubbing my arm affectionately. “She’ll be okay after she gets some rest. Today … was a lot.” She shoots an accusatory look toward her sister who hasn’t moved from the table.
Everyone else has gathered around the door and spilled into the kitchen, unsure how to be of use … or to get a better view of my mother’s breakdown.
“I’m trying to help her find her way back, Lana. Please be patient with her.” Olivia reaches for me but lets her hand drop before she touches me. Her face is twisted with sorrow, similar to my mother’s the times I catch her staring at me. Like I’m the epitome of heartache.
I open my mouth to beg her to explain, but she cuts me off, “I need to go check on her.” And she walks off toward the guest room.
Brendan approaches. I have no idea why he thinks he should be the one to talk to me first, but here he is, in front of me with questions in his eyes.
“What happened?”
Well, maybe it is appropriate that it’s him. I remove the photo from my pocket and shove it against his chest. “This.”
Even after he reached for you. Bitterness kept you apart when I cut away the ties.
She completely lost it when she saw the picture and realized who Brendan was. It was like Maggie’s ghost came back for revenge or something,” I fill Grant in on the details regarding my mother and Nick since he only witnessed the reactive version at the dinner table. And I share the conversation I had with my mother in pursuit of Brendan’s question. We sit with our feet in the water at the end of the dock. “My mother’s always been overly sensitive, but this was a lot, even for her. Which means … something happened.”
“Or she was heartbroken at the loss of her friend. And from the sounds of it, a friend who drifted away, so maybe she hasn’t fully gotten over losing her.”
I know his explanation is possible, but my brain is already wired for conspiracy, and I’m convinced it’s more than grief that incited my mother’s panic attack. It was guilt.