Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Sosie has inspired me in more ways than she realizes. I press call, and when the other party answers, I say, “Hi, Mom.”
CHAPTER 32
SOSIE
Idon’t think I’ve laughed this hard since . . . well, since Keats made me last laugh. But this was unexpected and so endearing that I hold the note to my chest.
“It was the simplest task.” My mom sits in the chair next to mine. I hadn’t noticed she’d been gone. “And Gregory couldn’t manage it.” She hands me a coffee. “I had to go get them myself.” The hospital has been a bit cold since I got here, but the chill of her presence has me tightening my coat. When she hands me a coffee, I’m still grateful. “Thank you.” I take a sip and swallow, keeping my hand huddled around the warm cup. “I thought you were out of town?”
“We were, but he was transported here for better care in the city.” Her gaze pivots to the entrance when a woman walks in. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”
“Understood.”
When the distraction disappears and it’s just the two of us sitting here in this section of the waiting room, she smiles as if it’s the polite thing to do. I shift to hide the note, but her eyes home in on the small action, and she asks, “What is that?” There’s nothing personal or private I want to share with her, especially when it comes to Keats. Everything will be held and used against me how they see fit. I start to tuck the note in my pocket, but she asks, “Why are you hiding that paper from me, Sosie?”
“Because it’s mine and none of your business.” I kind of hate myself for snapping at her, though I believe some of my animosity is where it should be. She’s been tolerable since I arrived at the hospital and nice otherwise. A part of growing past the damage is changing my behavior if they don’t change theirs. I can only control myself, and I don’t want to be a miserable person. The note feels personal because Keats took the time to create it, but there’s nothing I should feel so protective that I can’t share a little joy in hopes of building a bridge for our relationship. Is that what I want with her? I can’t help myself, but I do. I hand her the note, and say, “It made me smile, is all.”
She takes the note and starts to read, giving me the opportunity to study her. It has been so long since I looked at her, much less this deeply beneath the surface, that I’ve failed to see how she’s aged. Kelly Stansbury is still stunning. She may no longer wear tiaras, but she could still win a beauty contest. It’s so hard to grow up the daughter of a beauty queen when you take after the paternal side. At least that’s what I think. Everyone else says I’m my mom’s twin. I could only be so lucky.
A sadness has settled in her eyes that didn’t used to be there. I wonder when that tragedy occurred. She flips the note around, and a smile tugs on the corners of her mouth. “Is this from Winifred the Wallaby?”
I scan the note again, just as tickled reading it as I was the first time.
Dear Mom,
I’m being well taken care of. I miss you. Can’t wait for you to come home.
Love,
Winifred
“It is.” I giggle.
“That’s darling.” She sits back, folding her hands together. “How did you get this? Do we have another case of Paddington Bear syndrome with Winifred?”
My smile comes easier the more time we spend together. “I loved Paddington.”
“I know.” Her laughter isn’t something I hear much of, especially in the past few years. “We had reservations for high tea in London when you were eight. We had just watched the movie on the plane ride over, and you had your mind set that he was going to be our guest at the tea.”
Seeing my mom act like the one I craved so desperately when I was young has my heart aching for the time we lost when it could have been like this. Genuine. “I don’t remember the tea.”
“Mmm.” She closes her eyes just long enough to recall a memory. “You were young. I should send you the photos we took.”
“I have that bear in my closet. He still has a Harrod’s tag on his coat.”
A smile is evoked, and then she says, “Hold on to him.”
Such a random request when she already knows I’ve moved out of the house. Our conversation drops off, so I check the time on my watch. “Any updates?”
“No.” A thread of concern runs through her tone that doesn’t suit her. “The nurse told me it shouldn’t be long now.”
“That’s good.” We sit in these chairs that lost their cushioning a long time ago. Silence is something I’m used to unless I’m in trouble. But it feels different between us this time. Anger is absent on my part, and she’s showing genuine interest on her side. Different, but I don’t let my guard down. Not fully anyway. But I am curious, and I really don’t feel like I have much to lose anymore. “Can I ask you something?”