Cora shrugged. “Anyway, I used to be content wandering the globe whenever and wherever she needed me. It was wonderful while it was wonderful. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve had a relationship with my mom that is totally unique and good. But it’s also... I’m the mom most of the time.”
“I think it’s absolutely fair that you want to reevaluate the situation now. Yes, she’s getting older, more frail. Especially in the last two or three years.” Rachel paused, looked Cora square on. “Even if none of those things were true it’s still okay. You’re an adult. You get to make choices based on what you want. You get that, right? You want to build a life that’ll take you into your future. You want to shift gears, sink roots and make a life that entails a different sort of work,” Rachel said. “Do it.”
“It should be all right for a while. She’s done, except for promotion, which won’t start for three or four months. And even then it shouldn’t take her too far from home. I should encourage that.” Cora grabbed her notebook and jotted a note down to do more radio and podcast interviews and to have them done in a local recording studio instead of traveling.
Rachel looked pointedly at the notebook before focusing on Cora again. “You’re still taking a few weeks off though, right?”
“Well. I won’t be traveling anywhere nonrecreational. In fact, I was thinking of leaf peeping and could probably include some birding. Perhaps cap it off with a stop at Samish Cheese? Something for everyone.” Cora grinned at them.
“I’m in,” Maybe said.
“Me too,” Rachel said. “Now, getting back to the question, which was about you taking a few weeks off.”
“Yes I am. From my mother. But I’ll be at the gallery. There’s a new installation coming up so I want to be there or who knows what they’ll do?”
“So now you can finally quit being the Walda-keeper and shift to the gallery full-time. But you can still take a week or so. I mean, what did they do for the last three months without you there?” Maybe asked.
The gallery was her baby. Sort of. Cora had spent a lot of time and effort in creating a space that had a voice. A unique voice in a very rich local art scene. “Call me fourteen times a day?” She’d pretty much done the job over the phone and online anyway. But that? That’d felt like it should have. She’d wanted to be involved. It fed her creative hunger in a way few things did.
“Okay then,” Rachel said. “Over the last several years you’ve mentioned here and there that you want to run the gallery full-time. Why not finally make that shift? Then someone else can handle your mom.” Rachel’s severe look had Cora’s denials dying in her chest. “It’s unfair that they’d expect you to keep on like this indefinitely. Oh sure, they all thank you for doing it—and they should—but none of them has stepped up to help you out. Not on this. Plenty of people can be your mom’s personal assistant/manager/keeper. For the right kind of money,” Rachel added at Cora’s expression. “You’re irreplaceable because no one will be as perfect as you. That’s a given. But Walda’s not the only diva in the world. We can help you find the right solution.”
Maybe leaned over to squeeze Cora quickly. “You want to defend your family. But I promise you we aren’t attacking them. We’re your best friends and it is our god-given right to take your side. And to tell you the truth.”
“So let’s skip the part where you tell yourself you’re selfish for wanting something for yourself. Who but you knows Walda works better when lightbulbs are this or that wattage? Or that she likes nutmeg in her coffee? And so what if you do? She’s a grown woman, not a toddler. She can express her wishes to someone else. It’s not like she’s shy,” Rachel said, deadpan.
No, Walda wasn’t shy. But beneath all the feathers and bright colors and whatever else she did, her mother wanted to be loved.
Of course Cora felt selfish. And guilty.
“It’s on the list of things I’m thinking about,” Cora told them both. “Thank you for caring about me enough to make me face this stuff. But I’m done with facing it for now. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what’s been happening. How was your show last weekend?” she asked Maybe, who played drums in a punk rock band.
As Maybe excitedly filled her in, Cora leaned back, tucked herself under a blanket of her own and let being with her friends wash over her.
CHAPTER FOUR
That time you walked in
And the universe shifted...
I’ve been falling ever since.
OF ALL THE things from his childhood, Beau had come to terms with the way he’d been raised when it came to a usual lack of nervousness. He’d been a spokesperson, a face for Road to Glory from a very young age, which had given him a natural sense of ambition and ability. A gift of relating to people.
But as he wrestled the box with all the ingredients for dinner out of his trunk, he realized the butterflies in his belly were all about her.
It was fucking delicious.
He didn’t even have to look at his phone for the number of her town house because once he entered the circular courtyard he knew immediately which porch was hers. It just had the most life around it. An overflowing planter on either side of the steps framed them artfully.
And on each step, words had been painted.
I am the light of a thousand stars
I am cosmic dust made human.
As he got to the top step, he caught sight of her through her front window. She stretched up to light candles dotted across a mantelpiece. He couldn’t see anything but the grace in the movement, lost his other senses for a bit as his heartbeat seemed to thunder in time with the blood pounding in his cock.
He managed to hit the doorbell, and when she opened up to him, her smile lightened his nervousness. She looked at him like she knew him. And wanted to be with him anyway.
“Come in!” she said as she stepped aside to admit him. “You can put the stuff on the table.” Cora indicated a stout, round table in the nook just to the left of the kitchen.
He managed not to rush, no matter how much he wanted to hug her. Beau even managed to get his coat off and slung over the back of one of the chairs before he said hello and pulled her into an embrace.
She hummed, low and pleased, and a shiver rode his spine.
“Good evening,” he murmured as he brushed a quick kiss over her brow.
“You smell good. What are you cooking for me tonight?” she asked him as she started to poke through the crate.
“Thank you. You not only smell good, you look good.” She wore a bright yellow sweater with faded blue jeans and thick socks. Cora looked like a fucking flower. Pretty and fresh and sexy all at once.
She blushed and he found it incredibly appealing.
“So I, uh, do you like pasta? I was thinking linguine with clam sauce for the main. Some bruschetta with mushrooms and parsley and another with roasted and marinated red peppers and garlic.”
