“Mother,” she says. “You’re here.”
“Micah.” Her mom puts a hand on her hip and gives Micah a once-over. “You look like hell.”
Micah shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
“Come on, give me a hug,” the mother says, reaching out. She grabs her and squeezes, though Micah barely reciprocates the gesture. “Who are you?” the mom says, looking at me.
“I’m Rhodes,” I say.
“Christa Bonaventure,” she says, eyeing me with suspicion.
“Mom, this is my, um, my friend. Rhodes Cauley.” Apparently I’m not the only one who struggles to define our relationship.
“By the looks of it, he’s more than a friend.”
“That’s really none of your business,” says Micah. “Besides, don’t you have your own new relationship to worry about?”
“It’s kind of a wait and see thing.”
“I thought you were living together and playing stepmom to his kids.”
Her mother shrugs and offers no further explanation.
I look at the mounds of stuff and it suddenly hits me—she did not pack for a short trip. I peer out the window to her small car, and it’s full to the brim. She has no intention of leaving.
Micah seems to have this realization the same time I do. She shakes her head.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” she says, walking to her bedroom. I turn to follow her.
We close the door, and in the background we hear bustling and bumping as her mom moves more stuff into the house.
“She seriously can’t be moving in,” Micah says.
“It looks like she intends to,” I say. “Micah, all you need to do is get through today. You can worry about that later.”
I want to ask if her grandmother had a will, or if there were any talks about what happens to her home and the store when she passed. I wonder whose name is on the deeds, and if her mom has access to bank accounts that should, in all fairness, go to Micah. But now is not the time, so I table that conversation.
I just hope Ms. Barbara foresaw this happening. Surely she knew her own daughter.
I go to the kitchen to get a bottle of water and to give Micah some privacy while she gets ready for the funeral. The visitation starts at ten, followed by a graveside service and lunch at the local Presbyterian Church. Before visitation, Sistine suggested we come to Bonny Beans for coffee and breakfast, so that’s our plan. Patsy and Kendall are also supposed to meet us there.
Her mother says nothing to me as I watch her drag bag after bag back to Micah’s grandmother’s bedroom. My heart sinks. It’s not my place to say anything, but I know this will upset Micah.
I look out the back window. As I drink my water, two deer, a doe and a faun, wander through the back yard. The sun casts a hazy yellow glow over the dead winter grass and a cold breeze rustles the brittle leaves in the magnolia tree at the back of the yard. Despite the tension in the house, the world outside is at peace.
Once I finish my water, I proceed down the hall and find the bathroom door open, where Micah is finishing her make-up. Her hair is curled and her face is flawless despite her puffy eyes. She’s wearing a black sweater dress with white trim, leggings, and boots. Her bright red lipstick pops against the dark colors. For a woman in mourning, she’s a vision.
She catches me watching. “Patsy brought me waterproof mascara,” she says. “I’ll need it today.”
Her mom walks to the bathroom in a huff and asks how much longer she’ll be.
“I don’t know,” Micah says, her voice curt and flat.
I know Micah has told me time and time again about her mother, but this coldness and complete disregard for empathy is so much worse than I’d imagined.
Her mother walks back to Ms. Barbara’s bedroom and closes the door.
“Is she moving into Nana’s room?” Micah asks.
