I shrug. “She was young, impressionable. She’d just lost her mother, and was surrounded by people who didn’t really care about what she wanted.”
“Uh, yeah. All the more reason to hate her. She could have had Frederick, but she dumped him, so she gets what she gets and she better not get upset.” Phoebe takes her hair out of its bun only to put it right back up.
I tug on one of the loose strands. “You are harsh, Phoebe James. You’ve never regretted something? Made a terrible decision based on terrible intel? Done something you knew was wrong and wished you could reverse?” My heart beats double time and it occurs to me that her answer really matters.
She sighs. “Maybe, but…”
“But it’s killing her. It’s killing her now, just as it did then. Look at it from Anne’s perspective, ok? Her hand was forced. She did the best she could with what she knew at the time. And she paid dearly for that decision. Don’t you think the wound cut a little deeper, every time she saw him?”
“Yea, but why didn’t she trust him enough to know he’d take care of her?”
“Oh, sweetness, trust is a tricky thing. You never know if it’s misplaced until after it’s far too late.”
“I guess…but he loved her.”
“He did,” I agree. “But baby, surely you know love isn’t always enough. Especially when you’re a woman of receding means in the early 1800s.”
She grumbles. “I don’t care what those dresses would do to my boobs. I’m so glad I wasn’t born in the Georgian era.”
I caress her side, gliding my hand up and over her small, round breast, cupping it. “For the record, your boobs look good in everything. And even better in nothing.” She arches her back, leaning in to my touch and I have a feeling it’s going to be a sleepless night for both of us.
***
Chapter 15
Phoebe
I take the exit off the interstate, my car turning as if it knows the way home. And yes, it’s been almost two months since I’ve been here, and I have some conflicting thoughts about my childhood home, but I’m excited to see my mom.
I’d be more excited if Ty were sitting in the passenger seat next to me, but he bailed. Okay, that’s not exactly fair. He told me when I asked that he had a busy day. And I know he’s been working hard to prepare for his internship interview, but I was holding out hope that he’d rearrange his schedule to come home with me.
Turns out that wasn’t possible, so I’ll drive home after dinner tonight, or early tomorrow morning, so we can meet up and head north to Ollie’s cabin.
I take a left turn onto Weber and see my house in the distance. I’m a little early since I didn’t have to wait for Ty, and I made good time. The driveway is clear, so I pull in, park, and exit my car. I grab the box of mugs I made and head for the door. I get so much studio time at school, so I made a pretty set of green and blue mugs for my mom. She always likes displaying my art, and these are a million miles better than the set I made her back in high school.
The door’s unlocked, so I turn the knob. “Hey, Mom, I’m here a little early, but I figured--” I stop cold in the doorway, stunned silent by the scene in front of me.
My mom is naked from the waist up and sitting on the couch. Well, more accurately, she’s sitting on a very shirtless Sam’s lap while he sits on the couch, his hand in her hair and his mouth on her--yep. That’s when I shut my eyes and shake my head, in the vain hope that I’m seeing things.
And I guess I am. Sexy things. Mom and Sam things. Things I don’t actually want to see.
“Phoebe, honey.” My mom’s voice rings out and breaks me from my trance. She’s standing in front of me now, trying to right her shirt. “Sweetie, it’s not what you think,” she rushes to inform me. And really, I don’t care that they’re getting it on. I just really didn’t need to see them half-naked.
I guess my silence registers as shock or disapproval, because my mom continues to apologize. “Baby girl, it’s not what it looks like. Sam was just--”
As she says his name, Sam appears next to my mom, fully clothed, which is more than I can say for her. The buttons on her top are proving to be tricky.
“Sam was just leaving.” His voice is cold, detached, not at all like the Sam I know and love. He strides forward, then pivots back. “And, actually, it’s exactly what it looks like. You know, if it looks like one of us is desperately in love with the other, grateful for any crumb of affection. If it looks like that? If it appears that I’m so fucking gone for your mother I can’t see straight, but she’s blind from grief and pain and can’t see that she deserves to live, to love?” He turns to my mom, his hands gentle and they brush hers away and button her shirt. “If it looks like my heart is breaking? Then yea, it’s exactly what it looks like.”
And with that, Sam takes two steps to the door and walks out. He doesn’t live far, but I don’t see his car. It’s probably for the best. He needs to walk off his frustration.
My mom stands in the living room like a statue, unsure what to say or do. I walk over to the dining room table and drop my box and bags.
“Can I get you something to drink, honey?” she asks, as though nothing is awkward and everything is normal.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I can’t censor my words.
“Honey, I’m so sorry you had to see that. We should never have...sometimes...I don’t, I’m not…”
