Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

all, the exact same eyes—not only the color, or the shape, but also the same mingled sense of dread and excitement.
    “Hello,” she said. “You must be Jon.”
    She held her hand out to me, and I shook it. She was wearing soft leather gloves that probably did very little to stave off Germany’s frigid temperatures. I eyed the well-tailored coat she wore, and the jewelry that flashed at her ears. Her hair was pulled back into a tight knot, and I could see that her diamond earrings were too large to be tasteful. It was with a sense of vindication that I realized there was one thing I’d been right about—she cared a great deal about her appearance and about the luxuries her son’s money could buy.
    “I am,” I said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” It was a platitude, and it came out with an edge, a bit too much of an emphasis on the word “finally.” Her smile faltered. I wasn’t sure if I felt guilty or smug.
    I stepped aside to allow her in. Her smile was broad and genuine as she shook my father’s hand, and then she turned to Cole.
    He stood completely still, his expression unreadable. She stared back with the same lack of visible emotion. Six years, and it was immediately clear that neither of them knew how to behave.
    She broke the silence first by stepping toward him, her arms out as if to hug him. “Cole, honey. I’m so happy to see you. It’s been too long.”
    He stopped her short by taking a step backward, away from her intended embrace. He took her hand instead. “Six years. I’m surprised you made it at all.”
    She blinked. I couldn’t tell if she was fighting tears or searching for a barb to throw back at him.
    “Never mind,” he said. He squeezed her hand and stepped forward to kiss her cheek. They were about the same height, albeit only because she was wearing low heels. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from the trip,” he said, letting her go. “You should sit down. George, will you get her bags? Jonny, take her coat. I’ll get you a glass of wine, Mother. I assume you’d prefer white?”
    “Whatever you have open is fine.” She perched on the edge of a chair as if she expected to have to run for the exit at any moment.
    “How was your flight?” my father asked.
    “Fine, thanks.” She smiled nervously at him. Cole had once hinted that she’d had plastic surgery, but her face didn’t have the stretched-plastic appearance of some celebrities. Nor did she have the overly plump lips I’d come to associate with collagen injections. If she’d had work done, it had been done tastefully and in moderation. “Has your stay been nice so far?”
    She asked the question of my father, but he looked pointedly at me. It was like when I was a kid and my Great Uncle Henry had visited and my father had scolded me to be nice and talk to him even though he smelled like mothballs and had underarm hair that was so long it often stuck out of his shirt sleeves. I couldn’t quite manage to smile, but I tried to force my face into a friendly expression. “It’s been good. The markets are wonderful. Have you seen them?”
    She shook her head, but her attention wasn’t on me. Cole had come back in from the kitchen with a glass of wine in his hand, and her eyes immediately locked on him. “No, although I’ve heard about them. Cole and his father came here for Christmas once, didn’t you?”
    He held the wine out to her. Not a glass of the red, which we’d been drinking. He’d opened a bottle of white for her. “We probably did.”
    She took the glass. Her gaze never left his face. “You must have been about twelve.”
    He turned away from her to join me on the couch. “I’m sure I don’t remember.”
    Of course he remembered. How could he not? “Weren’t you with them?” I asked Grace.
    She tilted the wine to her lips, apparently debating her answer as she sipped. When she spoke, it wasn’t to me. She seemed to be addressing the glass in her hand. “I don’t believe I was invited, but Cole talked of nothing else the next time I saw him.”
    “It was nothing,” Cole said. “I barely even remember it.”
    “Of course,” she said.
    They both looked away, up to the corners of the rooms, as if they might find an answer there, or an escape. As if there might be directions as to how they should each behave. The air felt heavy and oppressive—not with anger, as I’d anticipated, but with the grief of unhealed wounds and unspoken apologies. It was painful to watch them.