Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [58]
“Oh, Calla, how thoughtful. I’d love one.”
She hadn’t wanted her mother to think of her as thoughtful, but there was no help for that now. Feeling as though their roles had been reversed and she was the adult in the situation, Calla brewed a pot of mint tea and carried it out on a tray—with a cup and saucer and a plate of cheese and crackers. Her mother should be gaining weight, not losing it. She looked wretched, almost gaunt.
“Calla,” her mother whispered, “this is lovely. Thank you.”
She shrugged, dismissing the gratitude.
“Could you stay a few minutes and talk?” Sarah implored.
“What’s wrong with the baby?” No one had bothered to explain it to Calla—but then she’d made a point of not asking until now.
Her mother seemed happy to supply the answer and outlined what the physician had told her. Apparently, what she had was called an irritated uterus, which was a broad term describing the symptoms. It’d started with spotting early in the pregnancy. During even the slightest activity, the uterus underwent contractions. When Sarah lay down and kept still, the baby was safe, but the minute she was up and about, her uterus reacted. Sarah spoke about this at greater length than Calla considered necessary; it made her realize how lonely her mother was, how hungry for company.
Calla had intended to leave almost immediately, but now she was glad she’d stayed. Her mother was going crazy with all this unproductive time on her hands, and Calla discovered that she enjoyed being useful—and appreciated. Before long, she had a cup of tea herself.
She reached for a cracker with cheese. “Joe asked me about the Sweetheart Dance,” she commented, unsure why she mentioned the fact. It was something to talk about, she decided, something noteworthy.
“Was he inviting you?” Sarah’s look held hers.
Calla set the teacup aside and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. “If he was, I didn’t give him the opportunity to ask.”
“He’s a little late, isn’t he, seeing that the dance is next week?”
Calla nodded. “That’s what I thought. I didn’t want to give him the impression that he could ask me at the last minute and I’d leap at the chance to go out with him again.” Calla lowered her gaze. “But I would.”
“You’re still interested in him?”
Calla shrugged. Joe had hurt her, dumping her the way he had. He’d made her feel foolish…and undesirable. It wasn’t because of the things they’d done physically that she felt bad, although she had regrets in that area, too, but because she’d shared her thoughts. He’d gotten her to talk about her feelings and her problems. He’d seemed to understand and sympathize. She’d felt close to him, closer than she had to anyone, when out of the blue he’d announced that it might be best if they started seeing other people. Translated, that meant he’d met a cheerleader type with a lot more sexual experience. A girl who was willing to put out.
“I’m over Joe,” she said, although that wasn’t entirely true. “What I want is for him to be sorry that he broke up with me.”
To her surprise, when she glanced up she found her mother smiling. Calla bristled. “Is that funny?”
“No, no,” Sarah said, obviously hurrying to correct the impression. “It’s just very human. Everyone feels like that when someone’s done them wrong.”
They talked more about Joe, and drank another cup of tea. This was the longest conversation Calla had had with her mother in years. When she checked her watch, she was shocked to see how late it was.
“Would you like me to get dinner started?” She’d found a roast defrosting on the kitchen counter. If she stuck it in the oven now, it’d be done by about 7:30.
Sarah looked amazed at the offer. “That would be very nice. Meals have been pretty haphazard recently.”
Calla could well imagine. She knew what her grandfather was like when he came home from work; the last thing he wanted to do was cook dinner. Apparently Dennis felt the same way. Calla was absolutly certain that until she’d returned, her grandfather had eaten every meal out of a can or the freezer, unless he went over to Buffalo