Page 108 of Season of Gifts

Fine never meant fine.

“Like this?”A glance at the elaborately framed mirror hanging above the Queen Anne console table made the problem clear: he’d mismatched the buttons on his pajama top.His quick adjustments forced Alice’s arms aside.“Yes, of course, thank you.I’ll just be a moment.”

“You won’t, though.”

The accusation sliced through him.Of all people, she ought to understand the demands of caregiving.But she’d left home rather than continue witnessing its unrelenting nature.Keeping his mother safe and healthy might be incompatible with the life he’d constructed for himself.Alice and Jay were perfect partners for that Henry, a man with no other significant commitments.Having his attention so divided was unfair to them.He couldn’t now even offer them the desire they craved from him.All of his careful building, and he’d failed to recognize the quicksand beneath his feet.Could they not grant him a few weeks to resolve the conundrum?Extend a measure of trust?

“I will make every effort to return with all haste.Will that suffice?”

Alice’s lips tightened.She turned her face aside; her eyes briefly closed.

“Her breathing and color are normal.She’s lucid and resting.I have the portable.”Raising her hand, she waggled the device, then clipped it to her hip before he could claim it.She met his gaze with a piercing stare.“And we have important things to talk about.Tonight.No more stalling.”

As if words could be more important than his mother’s life.

“I believe you fail to grasp the gravity of the situation, Alice.Breathing and color hardly scratch the surface of the signs I must keep watch for.Dehydration, dizziness, fatigue, confusion, depression—” The last one tripped coming out of his mouth, a stuttering whisper, and he stopped rather than allow his voice to break again.He moved to sidestep her, and she matched him.“This is ridiculous.You haven’t all of the relevant information, and I must be certain Mother is well.”

“She’s not depressed, Henry.”Alice held her ground, watching him with wary eyes, extending her hand to his chest as though he were a strange horse she meant to pet.That happy day at the tree farm had been so long ago.“But she is very worried about you, and so am I.”

“You don’t understand.”He hadn’t the time to explain; he hadn’t the right.Mother’s illness wasn’t to be discussed.

“I do understand.”

Family tragedies, yes.But the particulars of the risks surrounding his mother, not at all.“I realize that your father—”

“No.”Her clipped certainty came with fingers digging into his lapel.“I understand your mother.She told me, sweetheart.Now isn’t then.She isn’t hoarding pills and searching for peace in oblivion.”

She couldn’t know all of it.If she did, she wouldn’t be delaying him.“Or you’ve made her more guarded, and discerning her true feelings will become even more difficult.”Sleep would be out of the question tonight.“I will watch over her.Go to bed, Alice.Jay is far more in need of your admonishments and advice than I.”

Her mouth quirked toward a frown as she smoothed his pajama top.“Because you wouldn’t let him help you relax?”

As if relaxation should be the goal when he had obligations to fulfill.He stepped away from her soothing touch, from the calm she would impose when he needed his wits about him.Vigilance demanded sacrifice.“Because I have responsibilities here, and I cannot constantly be interrupting them to tend to your childish insecurities!”

Body still, face blank, she watched him.She said nothing.

His body thrummed with tension, his hands fisted at his sides, his pulse throbbing in his temples.

And still she said nothing.Patient and resolute, she held sway over him with no more than the steadiness of her gaze.She looked—

Like him.

Dom-face, Jay called it.Alice mirrored that neutrality to the most infinitesimal detail.

Alice was in full control of her emotions.And he was…

The fog gathered around him, pushed through him, left a rolling stomach in its wake.

He was not.Because the insecurities were not theirs but his.

He sagged to the floor, flailing for the side table and landing hard on his knees despite Alice’s leap forward.“I cannot—no apology can convey—”

“I love you,” she murmured, kneeling and cradling him, threading her fingers through his hair, reassurance in every stroke.

“My remarks were uncalled for.”The refuge of formality beckoned, parting the mists, and he turned his back on it.She deserved his heart, not his pretty words.“You know I don’t—” Mean such awful accusations.“That I would never—” But he had, he’d thrown the words at her, unthinking.“Nothing is more important to me—”

Could he even finish such a lie?His actions had proved him false.He’d done all his father had and more, thrown away love with his silence, buried himself in the work, in the minutia, when he ought to have focused on the deeper horizon, on creating the conditions for joy.

Alice pressed kisses in his hair.“Nothing is more important to you than taking care of the people you love.All of them.”

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