Page 8 of The Summer Swap

Kristen had seemed to gradually pull herself out of her debilitating grief and had thrown herself into work. She was busy, busy, busy, as if determined not to allow herself even a moment of space in which to think about her father.

It occurred to Cecilia that perhaps this exhibition was Kristen’s way of keeping her father alive.

She crossed the room now with a brisk stride and dropped into a crouch by Cecilia’s chair (flexibility courtesy of two yoga sessions a week and a private Pilates instructor) and took her mother’s hand.

“You’re sad, I know. Grief is a terrible thing. Relentless. Exhausting. You must feel devastated.” She squeezed, presumably to offer reassurance that everything Cecilia was feeling was normal.

Cecilia knew that nothing she was feeling was normal. She was supposed to feel devastated, but she didn’t. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grieving. She was. She’d spent a lifetime with Cameron. But the one thing she couldn’t admit was that she also felt free.

And she had yet to decide what to do with that freedom. For the first time ever, she had only herself to think about. It was both exciting and terrifying.

She breathed in a waft of her daughter’s perfume.

From this angle she could see that Kristen’s hair was freshly highlighted, her style a little softer than her usual blunt bob. Her dress was a figure-skimming swirl of blues and greens that could have been inspired by one of her father’s earlier watercolors. She looked younger somehow. Different.

For the first few weeks after Cameron had died Kristen hadn’t moved from the bed, but lately she seemed to have recovered her energy and today she was positively glowing.

“This must be very hard for you.” Kristen was looking at her with sympathy. “It’s emotional seeing so much of Dad’s art displayed together, isn’t it? I understand. It’s like seeing the story of his life.”

Cecilia blinked. Story of his life?

Knowing that a response was needed, she latched onto the one part of Kristen’s observation that was true. “It is hard.”

“I miss him, too. Every day.” Kristen’s eyes filled, tears never far from the surface when she thought about her father. “But this event is a celebration. It’s our chance to show the art world and his devoted fans who he really was. The whole of his career, beginning to end. And we’re lucky it’s such a beautiful day. We thought you could give your speech in the garden.”

She’d forgotten about the damned speech. Kristen had written it for her, and Cecilia had seen it only a few hours ago. She’d known immediately that she wouldn’t be able to deliver it. She didn’t want to talk about Cameron. She didn’t want to talk about their life together.

“I can’t do that.”

Kristen patted her hand. “That’s fine. We can cram everyone into the garden room if that makes you more comfortable.”

Cecilia stirred. “I mean the speech itself. I can’t give it, Kristen.”

Now would be a good time to confess she had no intention of going to the party. But she couldn’t stand the confrontation.

She was a coward.

Alarm flickered across Kristen’s face. “All you have to do is say a few nice words about Dad. It’s that easy.”

Cameron, Cameron. It was always about Cameron.

What had happened to her life? Where, in all this, was the real Cecilia?

“Mama?” Kristen sounded anxious and Cecilia sat upright.

“I won’t do it, Kristen. You speak if you want to, but I won’t.”

“But why?”

Because she wasn’t confident that the words that left her lips would be the right ones.

It was time to leave the past in the past. Time to move on.

“I’m too old to give speeches,” she said finally and Kristen stood up abruptly.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

Cecilia could see her mentally reordering her never-ending to-do list. She watched as Kristen checked her phone quickly, as if she was waiting for something.

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