She took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes. A smile played across her lips. “As hard as we worked, as exhausted as we all were, those were the good days,” she said quietly. “After Ben died, everything fell apart. My dad stayed in the fields even longer. When he came inside, he ate, then went to bed without saying a word to my mother or me. My mom suddenly turned to the church. She went every single day. She baked cakes for the bazaars and for the Sunday social hour. I’m not sure if she was trying to save Ben’s soul or her own or just escape the dismal atmosphere at home.”
“If it gave her comfort...” Tom began.
“But it didn’t,” Jeanette said. “If something gives you comfort, it should uplift you, don’t you think? Instead, it was her way of withdrawing from everything. My dad worked. She went to church. Obviously she’s still doing it.” She blinked back fresh tears. “I just realized, with his injuries, my dad won’t be able to work for a long time. How will he cope without that?”
“One worry at a time,” Tom advised. “Let’s make sure he recovers first.”
As he spoke, he glanced across the waiting room and spotted Jeanette’s mother standing hesitantly in the doorway. As much as he hated the way she’d apparently shut Jeanette out of her life, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She looked so terribly lost and alone. His good manners kicked in.
“Mrs. Brioche,” he said, standing.
Jeanette’s head snapped up. “Mom!”
“Hello, Jeanette,” she said, her tone hesitant.
Tom looked from one to the other, saw the longing and anxiety in Jeanette’s face, the uncertainty in her mother’s. And something else... He leaned down and whispered into Jeanette’s ear, “She needs you as much as you need her. I’ll go for a walk and give the two of you some time.” He touched her cheek. “Okay?”
For a moment he thought she might argue, but then she nodded. “Don’t be long, though, please.”
“Just a few minutes, I promise.”
As he walked past Mrs. Brioche, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then left them. He couldn’t help wondering if a few minutes—or even a few days—would give them the time they needed to find their way back to each other.
* * *
Despite her earlier anger, Jeanette felt a stirring of sympathy for her mom. She looked so scared, so lost. It reminded her all too vividly of the way she’d looked for months after Ben’s death, as if nothing made sense anymore.
“Mom, please sit down,” she said at last, when her mother continued to hover in the doorway. “Unless you want to go right in to see Dad.”
“No, it’s too soon. You just came out. He needs to rest between visits.”
“Then sit.” She studied the exhaustion in her mother’s eyes. “Have you been getting any rest at all?”
Her mother shrugged as she took the seat next to Jeanette. “I was going home at night, but since they moved him into intensive care with the pneumonia and all, I’ve been staying right here. I manage to close my eyes off and on.”
“Why don’t you visit with Dad for a little while now and then go home for a few hours and sleep? You’ll feel better if you shower and change your clothes, too. I’ll stay right here until you get back.”
“Your friend, Mr. McDonald, said he drove you. Won’t he have to go back?”
“He can leave. Someone will pick me up whenever I’m ready to go.” Even though she knew Maddie, Helen or Dana Sue would come in an instant, she also knew it wouldn’t be necessary. Tom wasn’t going anywhere. She’d seen the stubborn set of his jaw earlier when he’d announced he was driving her over here in the first place. He was the only man she’d ever known who hadn’t taken off at the first sign of emotional upheaval. One of these days, when this crisis had passed, she’d have to think about that.
“Are you...? Is he important to you?” her mother inquired, hesitating as if she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask.
“He’s a friend,” Jeanette said.
For just an instant, there was a spark of animation in her mother’s eyes. “These days that can mean a lot of different things,” she said. “I watch TV. I know all about ‘friends with benefits.’”
Taken aback, Jeanette chuckled. “Mom!”
“Well, I do,” she said, her lips curving in a way that reminded Jeanette that at one time her mother had had a wicked sense of humor.
“Tom is not that kind of friend,” Jeanette said, blushing furiously. “There are no benefits.” Though it certainly wasn’t for lack of desire, she thought. She knew it could change in a heartbeat if she allowed it.
“Still, I’m glad to know there’s someone in your life you can count on,” her mother said. She looked as if she might have more to say about that, but instead, she fell silent and stared at her hands. Jeanette had the sensation that an important and rare moment of understanding between them had just slipped away.
When her mother finally met Jeanette’s gaze again, she asked, “How did your father seem when you were with him?”
“He was so still,” she said. “Not like Dad at all.”
“I know. I can barely stand to sit there beside him,” her mother admitted. “Even these last years, when he’s been so quiet and withdrawn, there was such strength and vitality about him.” Her lips curved slightly and her expression turned nostalgic. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw him?”
“I don’t think so,” Jeanette said. Just when she’d reached an age when her mother might have started confiding all sorts of things to her—and she’d been old enough to finally listen—Ben had died and, along with him, any possibility of intimate, revealing conversations.
“It was a summer day, hot as the dickens, and I’d ridden over to the farm with my father. The drive took an hour
