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

now.”
    “I know.” But I wasn’t ready to deal with it yet. I put my head in my hands and counted to ten. I thought about Cole’s words. I’m not as fragile as you think . No, he wasn’t fragile, but his hold on hope was tenuous at the moment, and I knew how desperately he needed it. And no matter how he tried to pretend he could handle anything on his own, eventually he’d turn to me. Whenever that happened, I had to be ready.
    I took a deep breath, stood up, and headed for the kitchen.
    “Jon?” my dad said when I was halfway across the room.
    “Yeah?”
    “Thanks for the watch.”
    It brought me up short, and I laughed before I could bother to wonder why it was funny. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

    C OLE already had his emotions under control again by the time I made it into the kitchen. He pretended nothing had happened at all, and I followed his lead. We generally had fun together when he cooked. In theory, I helped him. What I actually did was get in his way a lot, but it amused him to be forced to work around me. It was as if having me there reminded him that he wasn’t alone anymore. It gave him some kind of reassurance that he was needed and appreciated.
    “What’s all the bread for?” I asked when he began to cut a giant loaf of it into cubes. I also noticed he was consulting a cookbook, something I’d rarely seen him do. He seemed to keep most of his recipes in his head.
    “Bread pudding.”
    “Why?”
    “Why not?”
    “You don’t even like bread pudding.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    I could barely keep from laughing. “Oh, let’s see. How about that time in New Orleans? I suggested it and you said, and I quote, ‘Darling, please! Who on Earth would want to eat a lump of soggy bread for dessert? It’s too dreadful to contemplate.’”
    He rolled his eyes, unimpressed by my imitation. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
    I wasn’t though, and we both knew it. There was a reason he hadn’t wanted bread pudding back then, just as there was a reason he was choosing to make it now. It undoubtedly involved Grace, but he didn’t want to talk about it, and pushing him would get me nowhere. Besides, for the moment he was smiling and happy, and I had no desire to change that.
    I kissed the side of his head. “You’re impossible.”
    “I know, but you find it endearing, so it all works out perfectly, doesn’t it?”
    “I suppose it does.”
    Eventually my father and Grace joined us. They sat at the kitchen table, and we drank wine and talked about the trips Cole had planned for us. We were back on safe ground again, even if it did feel a bit tense. It wasn’t until hours later that things began to disintegrate again. We were just finishing dinner, and Cole was giving Grace a rundown of all the places we’d been through the course of the year.
    “Why so many?” she asked.
    “Why not?”
    She laughed. “You can’t hold still, can you? You’re just like your father.”
    It wasn’t an accusation. Her tone was light and conversational, but the light seemed to go out of Cole’s eyes. His smile turned wooden. “I don’t think I’m anything like Father.”
    “Honey, if that’s true, then what are we doing here? Why else would we have to fly halfway around the world to spend Christmas together?”
    “Most people like to travel.”
    “I suppose. Then again, most people don’t have your money, do they? It cost an arm and a leg to get here.”
    Cole slowly set his fork down as if he was afraid to keep it in his hand. He didn’t glance up again, but kept his eyes on his utensils when he answered. “I suppose I should have offered to pay your airfare.”
    “Well, it was awfully short notice. If I’d had more time to plan—”
    “Bullshit!” I said. I knew exactly how much money she received from him each month. I also knew how quickly she burned through it. It wasn’t as if she was draining him dry, but her cavalier attitude pissed me off. “He gives you plenty of money. It’s not his fault you can’t manage to hang on to any of it from one month to the next.”
    She blinked at me, surprised at my sudden attack. “I’ve never asked for a penny more. Not once.”
    “You’ve never asked for a penny less either, have you?”
    “Jon,” Cole said quietly, but I didn’t turn to him. I continued to glare at her across the table, waiting for an answer.
    She touched the diamond necklace she wore—not the one Cole had given her, I noticed—and closed her eyes as