Three
Brodie arrived at his mother’s around ten. Propped up in bed, his petite, fragile mother looked pale yet she seemed much better than yesterday. Cleo fussed about, fluffing pillows and straightening the bed linens.
“Brodie, my son,” Claudia said. “I’m sorry I scared you yesterday.”
He sat in a Queen Anne chair, his hat in his hand, feeling out of place. “How are you today?”
“Much better.”
“She should,” Cleo said. “I’ve been waiting on her hand and foot. You know you’re not helpless, Claudie.”
Cleo was the antithesis of his mother—she was strong, resilient and resourceful. But Claudia, her older sister, was her Achilles’ heel.
“Cleo, please. I don’t want to argue today.”
“Me, neither. And I don’t plan on staying in every night, Claudie, so get used to it.” Cleo winked at Brodie. “How about a cup of coffee, cowboy?”
“I’ll settle for iced tea.”
“You got it.”
After Cleo left, Brodie searched for the right words and knew there weren’t any. He carefully placed his hat on his knee. “Mother, you can’t expect Cleo to stay home all the time. She’s sixty-four and enjoys her friends.”
“Men friends, you mean.”
“Whatever.”
“She’s been married three times and has absolutely nothing to show for it. You’d think she’d appreciate a roof over her head.”
He grabbed his hat and stood in a quick movement because he was about to lose every ounce of patience he’d been blessed with. “Cleo is not your personal slave and she has a right to her own life, whatever that might be.”
“You always take her side.” Claudia sank farther into the pillows with a hurt expression.
“It’s not about sides, Mother.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Tell you what. I’ll check in to getting someone to stay here when Cleo is out. That way it will be easier for both of you.”
“You know you remind me of your father when you do that?”
“What?” He was disconcerted for a moment.
“Your father. Tom always ran a hand through his hair when he was agitated. His hair was dark and thick like yours.”
She talked as if he didn’t remember his father, but he remembered him very well. When his father crammed a hand through his hair, Brodie quickly disappeared. That meant a stern lecture was about to ensue.
He shook the thought from his mind. “Mother, did you hear what I said?”
“I don’t want a stranger in the house. Why can’t you stay with me?”
That took the air right out of his chest. He and his mother weren’t close. They’d been estranged for a lot of years. When he’d left college, his father had told him to never come back home, that neither he nor Brodie’s mother supported his decision to ride professionally. And Brodie was no son of theirs if he chose that life. His mother was always the buffer between Tom and Brodie, but this time she stood stoutly behind her husband’s decision.
He knew they thought he would change his mind and they had to be united and strong in their stance. Somewhere inside him he found the courage to walk out the door, realizing he was leaving his childhood behind but hoping to find the man he was supposed to be.
The first two years he had no contact with them at all, then he called home one Christmas. That started periodic phone calls, which usually ended with his mother begging him to stop the silly foolishness of the rodeo. His father’s words were always terse. When his father had attended the national finals, they’d finally made their peace. He accepted that Brodie was different than him.
After his father had died and Claudia had moved to Dallas, he and his mother started building a new relationship. Talking to his mother for any length of time had always been a chore for him. The conversation always came around to his choices in life and how bad they were.
Hours with her could make him old before his time. But she was his mother and he loved her. A few hours weren’t going to kill him. Guilt was a powerful thing. It turned cowboys into sissies.
“It’s not like you have a wife or anything,” Claudia said at his hesitation.
“I have a ranch to run. It’s very time-consuming.”
“I never understood your interest in cows and horses. I thought you would outgrow it.”
He clamped his jaw tight. “No, Mother. That’s not going to happen.”
“I see that now.”
An awkward pause followed.
Claudia tied the bow on her bed jacket. “I am proud of your success, though. Your father was, too.”
“Really?” He didn’t quite believe that.
“Of course we were. It was just hard for us to accept your lifestyle.”
“You make it sound like I was into some sort of deviant behavior.” He clenched a fist to keep his cool.
She looked directly at him. “Why do you get so angry when we talk?”
“Maybe because you criticize.”
“Do I?” Her green eyes feigned innocence. “I don’t mean to.”
Brodie had had enough conversation. “It’s after ten. Aren’t you getting up today?”
“In a little while. Those spells take so much out of me and some days it’s just taxing to get out of bed.”
“Getting upset doesn’t help.”
“I know. I’m just a lonely old woman.”
The guilt bored into his chest like the horn of a bull. He bit the bullet and said, “I’ll stay with you when Cleo goes out.”
Claudia smiled. “Thank you, darling.”
He drew a deep breath. “But, Mother, we have to talk about your fear of being alone.”
She shifted uneasily in the bed. “You know I’ve never liked to stay by myself and ever since your father died it’s gotten worse. I know it’s irrational, but I can’t help it.”
“Maybe you need to get out more.” Recently she hadn’t been involved with her social functions.
“Maybe.”
“Call your friend Ruth and get back into the bridge group. You always enjoyed playing. And what about the Heart Association fund-raiser and luncheon? That’s your pet project and they need your help.”
