Page 46 of Waiting Game

“On how long it’d take for you to walk out.”

My lips quirk into a grin though I complain, “You know me too well.”

“You never could stand for his theatrics. You’re the only one he seems to respect. Though I’m sure he’s frightened of Cody now that he’s in the Royal Canadian Air Force.”

I wish I could argue, but I don’t. “You doing okay, Mum?”

“I’m fine, son. Let’s go for some tea. Mrs. Abelman’s assured me she’s set it up how we like it. I’m sure you need it after that long trip home.”

“Definitely,” I concede, though I hate tea and only drink it with her.

Sometimes, I forget how English she is. Then I have to drink her tea.

Mrs. Abelman’s like a ghost with polite poltergeist tendencies. Shit happens around her that makes our lives easier, so she’s not exactly antisocial, more all-knowing.

She’s long since stopped being a housekeeper. After Mum had to leave, she became our surrogate mom.

Poltergeist Abelman’s already acting up because there’s a tray waiting for us in Mum’s solarium. The water’s boiling hot in the same silver pot that she’s used since forever, and I watch her doctor the teacups in the only way that I can stomach it—three sugars with the smallest dash of milk.

When she passes me the cup, I study her, knowing that she’s got a question for me, but unluckily for her, I have questions too.

“What are you doing here, Mum? It’s not like you to leave Brazil if you can help it.”

Her jaw works, though she’s quick to control her facial expression. “To see my boys, of course.”

“As great as it is to see you, you could have met us in Saskatoon. Why come here?”

She fiddles with the handle on her teacup. “Colton called me and told me what’s going on with Callan.”

“And? Is he not Pops’s son?”

That has her hooting. “I only wish I’d been brave enough to find happiness with another man while I was existing under this godforsaken roof. No, unfortunately, Callan’s his spawn as much as you are.”

“Poor Callan,” I mutter, but I’m not offended by her words.

No matter what the Canada Revenue Agency believes, Pops’s main residence is hell—his kids are definitely spawn.

“So, you’re here to defend him?”

“Partly. When Colton told me that he’d asked Cody to come home as well, at his father’s request, I realized it’d be the first time in ages that I got to visit with all four of you at once. Plus, he’s stuck in a bed so I’ll never have to clap eyes on him. Win-win.” She graces me with a concerned if perplexed look. “Why’s he doing this, Cole?”

“He and Callan have never gotten along. Callan’s too much of a thinker for him. It’s like he’s punishing the ones who are willing to stick around because he never gives Cody or me as much shit as he does Colt and Callan.”

“He’s a horrid man.” Her hatred for Pops leaches into every word.

“He really is.”

I want to ask her what the hell she was thinking when she married him, but I don’t.

Victim shaming isnotthe way to go, even if, because of her choices, her kids became victims too.

Thank fuck for Colton is all I’ll say. Without him, us younger kids would have had it a thousand times harder.

“I won’t let him cut Callan out,” she warns.

“You’d probably have to talk to him first.” The prospect would make this trip home truly worth it.

She huffs. “You like hearing me yell at him.”

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