Finally, I pulled away, wiping my nose with the back of my sleeve. Henry and Wes gazed politely in opposite directions, waiting out our reunion.
“Seriously, though,” said Natasha in a light tone. “You couldn’t have at least inherited my nose or something? It’s all Anthony. Every bit of you.”
I laughed, the sound getting caught at the back of my throat.
“Who’s this?” asked Natasha, smiling at Wes.
Wes shook Natasha’s hand. “Weston McAllen, ma’am.”
“My boyfriend,” I clarified.
Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Is your personality as handsome as your face?”
“You’ll have to consult Nicole on that one, I’m afraid,” responded Wes.
We all chuckled. Thankfully, Wes had shelved his animosity towards my mother. I knew it was mostly for my benefit, but I appreciated it all the same.
“Good answer,” said Natasha. “And are you a police officer, Mr. McAllen? Or did you steal that uniform from some poor, unsuspecting soul? Because I have to admit, it looks like it’s seen better days.”
Wes glanced sheepishly down at his raggedy uniform. It was rumpled and muddy, and the collar was stained with blood from Wes’s injuries. Not to mention, the fabric was starting to emit a slight odor. “It’s mine. It’s just been a very long couple of days.”
“Well, why don’t you head inside and have a shower?” offered Natasha, stepping aside to let Wes pass. “The spare bathroom is at the top of the stairs. Did the two of you bring bags?”
Simultaneously, Wes and I shook our heads.
Natasha threw Henry a questioning glance. “All right, then. Henry can lend you something to wear.”
Henry made to follow Wes inside, but Natasha stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Don’t think you’re getting off the hook for this, darling,” she said under her breath to him. I glanced away, feeling intrusive, as she went on. “You have a lot of explaining to do. You told me you were running an errand for work.”
Henry shrugged and grinned. “I was,” he said. He kissed her cheek and headed inside.
Natasha shook her head. “Men,” she said to me in a tone that suggested we were the best of friends rather than an estranged mother and daughter. “Come inside. You must be freezing.”
The dogs nipped playfully at my heels as I followed Natasha into the farmhouse. She shooed them away, but I smiled sadly as they ran off to patrol the white fence that bordered the property. Their exuberance reminded me that my own mutt, Franklin, was currently under the care of one of Lauren’s friends. If what Henry had said was true, and Lauren’s alternate cause really had been discovered by the Raptors, there was no way for me to check on Franklin’s status. An even more depressing thought occurred to me: with the Raptors looming, getting Franklin back wasn’t exactly high on our list of priorities.
“So,” said Natasha. “Are you hungry?”
She led me into the kitchen. The house’s interior was light, airy, and pretty. Natasha and Henry favored a rustic white-and-natural-wood theme. From what I could tell, the first floor was one wide-open space. I could see the expansive living room and the leather sectional couch from my position at the island counter in the kitchen. Beyond that, floor-to-ceiling windows and a set of French doors exhibited a beautiful view of the acreage behind the house. Two horses grazed in a distant pasture, and the shadow of a barn sat serenely on the horizon.
“Starving,” I admitted, wandering over to the windows and gazing out.
“I have some leftovers from last night,” she said. She rummaged through the fridge. “Chicken, zucchini, and rye bread. We grow mostly everything on property and make a lot of it from scratch. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“No.”
It all seemed too normal. The house, the dogs, Henry and Natasha’s relationship. It wasn’t fair. While I had spent thirty years wondering why my mother had abandoned me, she had been cozied up in a pretty town with her handsome husband.
“Good,” she went on, stacking tupperware containers full of food on the counter. “Don’t get me wrong. I make excellent vegetable soup if I do say so myself—”
“Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” I interrupted, fiddling with the leaves of a potted plant on the windowsill. Mint, from the scent of it.
The rattle of dishware met my ears as Natasha portioned out the leftovers. “I’m scared to ask actually.”
I turned to face her, crossing my arms over my chest. “I thought you were dead. Aunt Elena told me you died of a brain aneurysm.”
Although her focus remained on the counter in front of her, I could see that Natasha’s ears had turned red. “You don’t understand—”
“What don’t I understand?” I demanded. I strolled to the kitchen and planted my hands on the counter opposite my mother. “You left. You abandoned me. You let me think you were dead. Do you know what that does to a person? Do you know how I felt last night when Henry showed up out of the blue and told me that you were alive? That you’d made a conscious choice to eliminate me from your life?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said softly, drawing forks and knives from a waist-high drawer.
“What was it like then? Please, explain it to me.” I watched, aggravated, as she set places at each bar stool. “God damn it, put down the silverware and look at me.”
She slammed the forks back into the drawer and pushed the container of cold chicken away from her. “I can’t,” she declared. “I can’t look at you for longer than a few seconds because it reminds me of every
