“There’s plenty going on in our lives!” Jenna almost blurted out the fact that she couldn’t get pregnant, but something stopped her. She wasn’t ready to discuss something as personal as that with her mother.
Lauren reached across the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. Jenna felt a rush of gratitude toward her sister.
“Talk to us, Mom. We want the truth.”
There was a long silence. Nancy cleared her throat. “Are you sure?”
Jenna felt a flash of foreboding. “Yes.”
Nancy stood up and paced to the window, keeping her back to them. “I’m selling the house because I can no longer afford it.”
“If money is tight then maybe—”
“Money isn’t just tight, Jenna. It’s gone. I’m broke and have been for a while.”
Broke?
Jenna looked at Lauren, who seemed as shocked as she was.
“But—how? You made a fortune with your paintings and it’s not as if you’re exactly a big spender.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother wearing anything new.
Nancy dug her fingers into the countertop. “Your father was a big spender.”
“Big spender? How big?” How much money could one man spend on the golf course?
“He went through money like water and unfortunately in the latter years of our marriage made none of his own. I didn’t realize until it was too late. I left him to deal with that side of things, as I left him to deal with the childcare. I thought we were an unusually modern couple, but it turned out I was deluding myself—something I did far too often. I’ve known for at least a year that I was going to have to sell, but I’ve been cowardly. Putting off the inevitable. I didn’t want to admit to being a failure.”
Jenna couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother vulnerable before. “You’re not a failure, Mom. Why would you think that?”
“This house has been in my family since it was built. My ancestors protected it, and I’m the one to sell it. I’ve let everyone down, including my own daughters.” She looked at Lauren. “The one time you need something from me, and I can’t give it to you. That’s not a good feeling.”
“I’m an adult,” Lauren said. “It’s not your role to support me. But are you saying Dad spent all your money?”
“I thought of it as ‘our’ money, but yes. He spent it.”
“That’s terrible, but surely you could make more? You’re a brilliant artist.” Jenna groped around for options. “Couldn’t you paint something new and sell it for a fortune?”
Nancy picked up a cloth from the side and folded it. “It’s been five years since I painted anything.”
Jenna felt a flash of shock. Five years? No. That wasn’t possible. “Mom?” How could she have not known this? “You stopped when Dad died? You were heartbroken.”
Nancy put the cloth down. “I wasn’t heartbroken. I was angry. So angry that for the first time in my life it clouded everything. I couldn’t see to paint. There was nothing in my head except anger.”
If Jenna had been shocked before, she was stunned now.
Lauren spoke first. “We don’t blame you for feeling angry, Mom. Dad left you in a bad way financially. I’m angry with Ed for much the same reason. It’s killing me because part of me is grieving and another part wants to yell at him. You must have felt the same way.”
“I wasn’t angry because of the money. At least not at that point. I thought I’d be able to keep the ship afloat, as I always had. It was the one thing I could do. Earning the money was my role. I thought I could paint my way out of trouble. I like to think I was confident, rather than arrogant.”
Jenna was confused. “But—”
“I was angry because of the way he spent the money. My money. Your money.” She grabbed an apron from the back of the door. “I should be cooking, not talking. Mack will be home from school and she’ll be hungry. You know what teenagers are like.”
“Wait. Mom, sit down.”
But her mother was rattling round the kitchen, pulling out bowls and weighing scales. “I thought I’d make a vegetable potpie for supper. Will Mack eat that?”
“Yes, but it can wait.” Lauren was on her feet. “How did Dad spend the money?”