Page 45 of When Cardinals Appear

“You’re thinking about your mom, aren’t you?”

When I glanced at Rose, she was staring at me with a gentle smile. “Am I that transparent?”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh, then her face sobered. “And no. I don’t pretend to know every complicated detail about your relationship with your mom, but I’ve learned enough to understand the pressure she put on you.” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “She also talked about it once or twice.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She did? When? What did she say?”

“Oh, I don’t remember the specifics. She wasn’t very lucid at the time, but it was more her tone.” Rose’s eyes softened. “I think she regretted pushing you. She wanted you to be happy. By the end, she seemed to understand that what she thought would make you happy and what actually does are two very different things.”

“I’m just so worried that I’ll disappoint her.” I covered my face in my hands. If seeing me stuck in a loveless marriage was her worst fear, then mine was breaking my promise and smashing her dreams for me.

“As long as you follow your heart, Lanie, I doubt you could ever do that.”

I stared up at her, wishing I could believe that, but the truth was, I knew my mother better than that. Maybe she regretted some things when death came knocking, but I couldn’t imagine she would ever release me from the promise I’d made.

Rose stood and moved toward my shelves with a box. I wanted to protest that I would take care of the books, but I stopped myself. If we didn’t pack something, I might have to pay rent to the new owners.

She paused as a card fluttered out of one of the books. Her forehead creased as she stared at it.

“What’s that?” I asked, going to my dresser and pulling out an armful of clothes.

“A business card.” She turned to me, one hand on her hip. “For the therapist I recommended.”

“Oh, yeah, um, about that,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

“Did you even try to go?”

“Yes.” I dropped the clothes onto the bed and crossed my arms. “I didn’t like her.”

“How many appointments did you have?”

“Just the one.” At her expression, I rushed on. “But it was enough. Trust me.” Turning back to the clothes on the bed, I continued, “Besides, I don’t need therapy. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Rose retorted sarcastically.

I ignored her, folding the clothes and packing them into a rubber bin I’d found in the attic. But I couldn’t stop the memory of that awful appointment. Or the image of Dr. Grace Kelvin, with her spectacles halfway down her nose and her eyebrows raised in the most judgmental expression.

“What did she say that was so awful?” Rose asked, her tone gentler than before.

My fist clenched around the hem of a sweater, and I took several deep breaths before responding. “She thought I should confront Mom about all the things she did wrong before it was too late. Dr. Kelvin said that I was shoving my feelings deep down inside and not dealing with them in order to keep the peace.”

Rose laid a hand on my shoulder. “And what about that was wrong?”

I whirled around, my mouth dropping open in shock. “How can you say that? I had mere months to spend with my mother, and you think I should have spent them in a constant battle?”

“No.” She took the shirt from my hand and placed it in the box. “But I do think you’re pushing your feelings away, even now that she’s gone. You won’t say an ill word about her, despite the fact that even I know there were unresolved issues between you.”

My anger deflated, and I sank down onto the bed. “I’m not sure what good it would have done.”

“Perhaps not, and maybe Dr. Kelvin was wrong to insist you confront your mom.” She sat beside me. “But don’t you think you owe it to yourself to work through those issues in a safe and professional environment? Dr. Kelvin can be harsh, but I do believe she saw what we all do, what simmers within you beneath the surface.”

“I won’t go back, not to her, anyway,” I said. “If you have other recommendations, I’ll consider them but not her.”

“I understand.” Rose patted my hand. “It may even be better if you go to someone outside of the community, who doesn’t know you at all.”

“And what am I supposed to talk about?” My tone was haughty, but I suspected even Rose could see that it was to mask my fear. What would I learn in therapy about my mother, about myself? What did I stand to lose with that knowledge?

“If you’re not comfortable talking about your mom, you could talk about Nate, James, whether you should make California or Maryland your home.” She shrugged. “It’s your hour, but I do think you should try again.”

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