Sebastian took a step forward, the cat again wove in and out between his legs, narrowly avoiding getting into a collision with him.
When he almost tripped on the furry animal, he frowned more deeply. He looked down at the offending territorial creature with sharp claws.
“When did you get a cat?” he asked. His mother had never been one for pets, and he had grown up without one.
“Don’t you recognize her, Sebastian?” Barbara asked in surprise.
He shrugged. “Sorry. You’ve seen one cat, you’ve seen them all,” he tossed out casually.
“He doesn’t mean that, Marilyn,” she told the cat in a soothing voice. Turning toward her son, she said, “That’s the kitten you gave me before you left for Japan. She’s grown some,” she added needlessly.
“Grown ‘some’?” he questioned incredulously, looking back at the cat. The cat looked as if she could benefit from a week’s stay at a health spa. “She’s as big as a house.”
“Don’t hurt her feelings, Sebastian,” his mother requested. “She can understand everything that we say about her.”
A highly skeptical expression passed over his face. As much as he would have liked to humor his mother, there had to be a line drawn somewhere. He fixed the cat with a look meant to hold her in place for a moment.
“Get out of the way, cat.” The feline didn’t budge. Sebastian grinned as he turned to his mother. “Apparently not everything.”
“Oh, she understands,” Barbara maintained good-naturedly. “She just chooses not to listen, that’s all. Not unlike a little boy I used to know,” his mother concluded with affection.
Sebastian brought in his suitcase, leaving it next to the doorway. He closed the door, then paused and took full measure of his mother, after she’d turned on the lights inside the room.
“Mom,” Sebastian began, partly confused, partly relieved, “you look good. You look very good,” he underscored. “How do you feel?”
It was then that Barbara remembered she was supposed to be playing a part. For a minute, seeing her son standing there on her doorstep, every other thought had fled from her mind. As she considered what she was about to say, the deception threatened to gag her. But then she recalled the afternoon of coaching she’d undergone with Maizie. The matchmaker had seemed so sure of the outcome of all this.
She had to give it a chance.
“I don’t feel as good as I look, I’m afraid. Makeup does wonders.”
Now that was a new one. “Since when do you wear makeup to bed?”
“Since I had to call nine-one-one in the middle of the night,” she answered primly.
“You do realize that when they respond, they’re here to possibly take you to the hospital, not escort you to a party,” he told her.
“I didn’t want them to have to see an ugly old lady,” she said simply.
“You’re not an ugly old lady, Mom. You’re a pretty old lady,” he said, tongue in cheek.
“Remind me to hit you when I get better,” she answered.
That had been the test. Had she taken a swipe at him, the way she had in the past when the teasing between them had escalated, he would have felt that perhaps there’d been a false alarm, that she was really all right.
But her restraint told him the exact opposite. That she wasn’t all right.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re not an old lady, Mom. You know that. You look younger than women fifteen years younger than you are.”
She smiled at him, grateful for the compliment, even though she knew it was a huge exaggeration.
“Nevertheless, a lady should always look her best,” she maintained.
He shook his head, but unlike the old days, this time it was affection rather than impatience that filled him. That was his mother, determined to look her best no matter what the situation. He had to admire that kind of strong will.
And then he realized what she’d just told him. “You had to call nine-one-one?”
This was just going to be the first of many lies, Barbara thought, even as she reminded herself that it was all for an ultimate greater good.
“Yes. But it wasn’t so bad, dear,” she assured him. “The young men took very good care of me.”
There was genuine regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, Mom.”
She patted his hand, the simple gesture meant to absolve him of any blame. “Don’t give it another thought. You have your own life, Sebastian. And besides, you’re here now and that’s what counts,” she added.
“So tell me everything,” he urged. “What did the doctor say?”
“We can talk about all that tomorrow,” she told him, waving away his request. “Tonight I just want to look at you. You still like coffee?” she asked suddenly, then turning on her heel, she began to lead the way to the kitchen. “Or have you decided to switch to green tea now?”
“I still like coffee,” he answered.
“Nice to know that some things don’t change,” she told him.
Yes, but most things do, he thought, following behind her.
As the thought sank in, he could feel his heart aching. He should have come home a lot more, he upbraided himself. Even if coming home reminded him of all the things he’d given up and all the things he still didn’t have, he should have come home more often.
“Sure you’re up to this?” he asked his mother, concerned.
Barbara turned on the overhead lights, throwing the small, light blue kitchen into daylight.
“Putting water into a coffee urn? I think so,” she deadpanned. “And if for some reason I can’t, as I recall, you can.”
And then she paused to hook both her arms through his for a moment and just squeeze him to her.
“Oh, it’s so good to have you here. You’re just the best medicine I could ask for.”
Her words both gladdened his heart and pierced it with guilt. He switched the topic.
“Marilyn, huh?” The animal in question had followed them to the kitchen and had now positioned herself directly by the refrigerator, like a furry sentry who wanted to be paid in fish scraps. “Why Marilyn?”
“After Marilyn Monroe,” Barbara answered without any hesitation. “Because when she crosses a room, she moves her hips just like Marilyn Monroe did in Some Like It Hot.”
Sebastian pressed his lips together, knowing that his mother wouldn’t appreciate his laughing at her explanation. All he trusted himself to say, almost under
