She sighed but smiled as she hooked her arm in mine and walked me into the house.
Despite growing up in the painstakingly restored 1903 Neoclassical home, it never ceased to steal my breath when entering. I’d grown so accustomed to my cozy guest house that I’d forgotten how high the sweeping ceilings were, how polished the hardwood floors were, and how astoundingly grand each room and piece of furniture was. My mother always had an eye for restoration and decoration, and she’d outfitted the estate brilliantly—from the rich leather furniture to vintage pieces hand-plucked from dusty antique stores—she’d created a near-magical home for us.
And now, she couldn’t do those things she loved—spending long hours hunting for the perfect piece.
Not with her condition.
“You just missed your sister,” she whispered as if someone might hear us as we slowly made our way to the main sitting room. The floor-to-ceiling windows drenched the room and velvet chairs in golden sun, the heat enriching the leather-bound-book smell that permeated from the first editions perfectly lining the shelves making up the entirety of the east wall.
“I didn’t realize she was in town,” I said, settling into the farthest chair on the right—a favorite of mine because it offered an unobstructed view of the ancient oaks and whispering pines that dotted the estate grounds. As a little girl, I’d curl up with a book and open the windows to let in the southern breeze, the soft hissing of the wind blowing through the trees the perfect background noise when getting lost in a fictional world.
“I didn’t either,” Mama said, drawing me back to the present. I focused on her as she sat across from me. She looked tired. Paler than the last time I’d seen her. “Of course, you know I’m always happy to house my firstborn…”
Her words trailed off as she wrung her hands, and I reached over to squeeze one.
“What is it this time, Mama?”
A long, slow breath left her lips. “It’s nothing, really.” She waved me off with her free hand. I fixed her with the look she’d raised me on, the one that said I wouldn’t be lied to. “Well,” she relented. “I had hoped her surprise return was because she simply missed us. She’s been on her travels for months now.”
Her travels. A kind way of sugar-coating what my older sister actually did on a day-to-day basis, which was blowing through her inheritance, usually on luxury items, resorts, or booze.
“But she got into a bit of a bind in one of the clubs in Morocco, and she needed Harold to clean it up.”
“Not surprising,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. I loved my sister, but she’d never been considerate of other’s feelings and continuously lived her life like she needed to outrun herself. I’d wasted many a night fearful of the day I’d get a call from Mama, tear-soaked and grief-stricken due to my sister’s untimely demise—it’d be drunk driving or overdosing or being hit too hard by one of her many ex-husbands or lovers or something equally awful.
I surveyed my mother’s features, the sadness clinging to her frame and guilt chipping away at the eyes that were an identical shade of blue to mine. Something punched me in the chest.
“She didn’t get the test, did she?”
Mama shook her head. “Not that she’s required to. Lord knows I had a hard enough time when you tested. Even if you’d been a match, honey, I don’t know if I could’ve accepted the offer.” She patted my hand.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
When we’d found out my mother’s kidneys were failing, I’d immediately gotten tested as a potential donor. As did my father, a few of our close cousins, and several friends from my parent’s inner circle. None of us were a match, and I lived with that grief and anger every single day. It raged and roared in the tight box I kept it in, locked deep inside me as to not let anyone ever know how helpless I felt to save my mother. My favorite person in the entire world—the woman who’d raised me to be independent, to think for myself, to love fiercely, and to never take a single day for granted.
“If I would’ve been a match,” I finally said. “You would’ve taken it willingly, or I’d have Daddy haul you into the hospital kicking and screaming.”
She gaped at me, a smile lighting up her eyes. “I would never!”
I laughed softly and shrugged. “Either way, I would’ve given it to you.”
She squeezed my hand again. “I know, darling. You’ve always had such a big heart. You get that from your father, though most wouldn’t know it.”
“How long is Andromeda staying this time?” I tried to keep the contempt from my tone, but even my grace had its limits. My older sister had refused to get the test when I’d tracked her down to ask her—claimed if I wasn’t a match, then she wouldn’t be either, so it would be a waste of time. She’d stuck to that excuse even after I’d explained to her it didn’t work like that.