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

The bed we were sharing suddenly felt cold.
    I was torn. On one hand, I felt sorry for her. She’d been young and without any kind of support. Certainly Cole’s father hadn’t helped matters any. Jon had always assumed that Grace avoided Cole because she was busy being a social butterfly. I didn’t think that was true. I sensed she was terribly lonely and had avoided her son simply because she didn’t know how to make things right. Still, I couldn’t understand how little effort she’d made. “You should have come to the wedding.”
    “I know.”
    “Why didn’t you?”
    “I was afraid.”
    “Of what?”
    “Of embarrassing myself.”
    Anger flared in my chest. “He’s your son. It was an important day for him. For both of them! And all you could think about was yourself?”
    “I don’t expect you to understand.”
    That was good, because I didn’t.

    J ON called early the next morning to let me know they were home but hadn’t met with Thomas yet. I hung up and lay in bed for a moment, thinking about the night before. I was nervous about facing Grace, not because of the sex, but because we’d gone to sleep with things tense between us. I couldn’t comprehend some of the things she’d done—telling Cole she’d meet him for Christmas but never showing up, not calling on his birthday, not coming to the wedding—and yet, I didn’t think she was a bad person. Not really. I thought she might be even more damaged than her son.
    I found her in the kitchen getting ready to make breakfast. “There’s coffee,” she said, pointing to the pot.
    “Thanks.”
    I poured a cup and sat at the table, watching her lay bacon in a frying pan and crack eggs into a bowl. “Are you the one who taught Cole to love cooking?”
    She shook her head. “I could never cook like that.”
    “I didn’t ask if you taught him how to cook. I asked if you’re the one who taught him to love it?”
    She bit her lip. “I guess I’d like to think so.” She put her head down so that her hair fell between us. I almost laughed at how similar it was to something her son would do. “I’m glad you talked me into coming.”
    “I’m glad too.”
    She turned the bacon, continuing to avoid my eyes. “You were right last night, you know. I’ve been a terrible mother.” That wasn’t exactly what I’d said, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t think she wanted me to. “I can still remember the day I lost him.” She took the bacon out of the pan, laid it in even rows on paper towels. “He was twelve. I’d quit traveling with them by then.”
    “Why?”
    She put new slices of raw bacon into the skillet. “I hated coming to Europe. I always ended up feeling stupid. New York was the only place where Nicholas had friends—well, business acquaintances, really—who were as crude as I was, so when he offered to let me leave, I moved there. But whenever the two of them came back from Europe, they’d stop in for a few days, and we’d pretend to be a family.”
    Cole still stopped in New York on his way home from Europe, more often than not, although he rarely stayed in the city. “I see.”
    “I’d been out partying the night before. I’m not proud of that, but it’s what I did back then. A lot. They’d just come home from Rome, and Cole was absolutely ecstatic about it. He couldn’t stop talking about the Coliseum and the Forum. He had this book with overlays that showed how it was back then compared to now, and he was trying to show it to me. But I was fighting with Nicky. You know how you do that, when they’re little? You’re fighting right over their heads, but you’re trying not to let them know?”
    “Yes, I know.”
    “Well, Cole kept trying to get my attention, saying, ‘Mom, look at this,’ and then….” She shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly how it came about, because I was so focused on his father. But suddenly Cole said, ‘Mom, you don’t understand.’ And I turned to him, and I said, ‘Darling, it’s not that I don’t understand. It’s that I just don’t care.’” She shook her head and reached up to wipe her eyes. I hadn’t realized she was crying. There had been nothing in her voice to give it away. “And I’ll never forget the expression on his face. It was like I’d slapped him. He just crumpled. He didn’t cry—I’m sure he thought he was too old for that—but he ran off. And still, I thought, he’ll get over it. But they left again that night, and later, I found