Page 15 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“I know,” he says, tossing it all into his mouth. He leans against the side of the island opposite them, “but I’m thinking about moving upstairs so I don’t have to deal with Easton when he gets in.”

“He’s out of the country,” Leah corrects matter-of-factly. “I tried calling him before my surgery.” She lifts the skillet from the burner.

Wade stops mid-chewing to glare indignantly at the back of his mother’s head. “You called Easton, but you couldn’t call me.”

Leah tips the skillet over enough for the omelet to slide off onto a plate. “I told Delilah to notify you. Here you go, dear,” she hands Camille her plate, steam curling off of the omelet.

“Thank you,” she grins.

Wade’s frown deepens. “Your assistant left some vague message with my assistant about you having an outpatient procedure, but it sounds to me like you called Easton directly.”

Leah grabs the plate with the omelet she cooked previously. “I love you both equally,” she emphasizes, turning around to face Wade. “Your brother simply requires more hand-holding than you.” She hands him the plate. “Just look at what you did for me so far today.” She waves her hand at the diced-up ingredients. “Easton wouldn’t have woken up early to surprise me by cutting up all of the veggies for Omelet Thursday, much less remembered what day of the week it was.”

Wade narrows his eyes at her for a second before begrudgingly taking the plate and turning to set it on the island.

Camille smiles, examining Wade’s wide back. She loves seeing people take care of their moms. Her mother was taken from her far too soon, and here’s a grown man worth more money than she’ll ever see in her lifetime who’s still considerate enough to wake up early and help his mother cut up vegetables for breakfast.

He opens up the island drawer and turns back around with three forks in his hand. His thumb fans the forks out, offering one to Camille. She blushes.

“Thanks.” She looks up at him, noticing the left corner of Wade’s mouth curling, but he looks past her to Leah.

“Have you made your omelet yet?” he asks.

Leah faces him. “No, I…” her words fade as she abruptly stops. Her hand flies up to grasp the edge of the counter. Wade tosses the forks on the counter, going to her side. He grabs her firmly under her armpit to support her.

“Are you okay?” he gasps, leaning in to examine her.

Leah’s face is pale. “I’m not about to fall,” she mumbles, pulling her armpit free. “It’s the nausea,” she swallows hard. “I slept on my leg wrong last night, so I had to take a pain pill this morning.”

Wade looks down at her booted leg. “Shouldn’t you be using a wheelchair or crutches?”

“I have a knee scooter. It’s in my room.”

“I’ll go get it,” Camille offers.

“Good morning,” Delilah chimes.

Wade’s head snaps around. “Could you grab Leah’s scooter for her?” he asks.

Delilah pauses, looking between the three of them.

“She left it in her room,” Camille adds. “She’s not feeling well.”

Delilah spins around, retreating down the long hallway.

“Let’s go sit down,” Wade says, taking Leah’s arm more gently, turning his mother toward the living room.

Her cheeks regain their color, and she frees her arm from him. “Don’t fuss over me. I can still walk. I’m sick to my stomach is all.” She pats his wrist before turning off the burner. “I’m going to drink a seltzer water and eat some crackers. I’ll be fine.” She limps past them to the refrigerator. “Take Ms. Lee to the upstairs patio, would you? I had it set up for breakfast while you were in the shower.”

The frown returns to Wade’s face as he watches her at the fridge. “You set up the terrace by yourself, didn’t you?” He glances down the hallway. “You walked up and down those stairs. Don’t try to deny it,” he presses. When Leah doesn’t so much as glance in his direction, Wade adds, “And I know you had to use the stairs because you still haven’t had the elevator fixed.”

Leah finally looks over at him. “How do you know what I have and haven’t done in my house?”

“Because,” Wade replies, picking up his plate and fork, “when I heard that you’d be here after your surgery, I called Buck and asked him if it had been fixed.”

Leah limps to the couch, shaking her head. “You know how I feel about people sharing my business. Sounds like I need to remind Buck who pays his salary. I could trade him in for one of those professionals Nancy has—who locked her brother out of his own house until she said he could enter.”

“Don’t give Buck a hard time,” he says as Leah takes a seat on the couch. “He isn’t a company spy. He’s the best security you got. I asked him a simple question, and he answered it. That’s it.”

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