Winter Garden

“Of course. ”

She saw how easy it was to make him smile and felt a pang of guilt. She wanted to lean down and kiss him. It used to be as easy as breathing, kissing him, but now it felt strangely bold, and she couldn’t quite make herself move toward him. She mentally added Read Jeff’s Book to her To-Do list.

He leaned back in his chair. The smile he gave her was a good effort; only their twenty years together allowed her to see the vulnerable underside to it. “Let’s go to dinner and a movie tonight. You need a break. ”

“Maybe tomorrow. Tonight I need to pay Mom’s bills. ”

“You’re burning the candle at both ends. ”

Meredith hated it when he said ridiculous things like that. What exactly was she supposed to stop doing? Her job? Caring for her mother? The chores at home? “It’s only been a few weeks. Cut me some slack. ”

“Only if you cut yourself some. ”

She had no idea what he meant by that, and right now she didn’t care. “I gotta go. See you tonight. ” She bent down, patted his shoulder, and left the house. She put the dogs in the fenced part of their yard and then drove down to her parents’ house.

Her mother’s house.

The reminder came with a pinch of grief that she pushed aside.

Inside, she closed the door behind her and called out for her mother.

There was no answer, which was hardly a surprise.

She found her mother in the rarely used formal dining room, muttering to herself in Russian. On the table, spread out in front of her, were all the pieces of jewelry Dad had bought her over the years, as well as the ornately decorated jewelry box that had been a long-ago Christmas gift from her daughters.

Meredith saw the mess grief had made of her mother’s beautiful face: it had sucked in her cheeks and made her bones appear more prominent; it had drawn the color from her skin until her flesh nearly matched her hair. Only her eyes—startlingly blue against all that pallor—held any semblance of who she’d been a month ago.

“Hey, Mom,” Meredith said, coming up to her. “What are you doing?”

“We have these jewels. And the butterfly is somewhere. ”

“Are you getting dressed up for something?”

Her mother looked up sharply. Only then, when their gazes really met, did Meredith see the confusion in those electric-blue eyes. “We can sell them. ”

“We don’t need to sell your jewelry, Mom. ”

“They’ll stop handing out money soon. You’ll see. ”

Meredith leaned over and gently scooped up the costume jewelry. There was nothing of real value here: Dad’s gifts had always been more heartfelt than expensive. “Don’t worry about the bills, Mom. I’ll be paying them for you. ”

“You?”

Meredith nodded and helped her mother to her feet, surprised at the easy acquiescence. Mom let herself be led up the stairs easily.

“Is the butterfly safe?”

Meredith nodded. “Everything is safe, Mom,” she said, helping her mother into bed.

“Thank God,” Mom said with a sigh. She closed her eyes.

Meredith stood there a long time, staring down at her sleeping mother. She reached out finally and felt her brow (it wasn’t hot), and gently brushed the hair from her eyes.

When she was confident that Mom was sleeping deeply, she went downstairs and called the office.

Daisy answered on the first ring. “Meredith Whitson Cooper’s office. ”

“Hey, Daisy,” Meredith said, still frowning. “I’m going to work from Belye Nochi today. My mom’s acting a little strange. ”