Mom presses a hand over her face, and a strangled sound escapes from her. I close my eyes, willing away my own tears.
“I’m sorry, Echo,” she says in a cracked voice. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”
Her words unravel whatever facade I’d been trying to maintain. Mom mumbles it again and because of her pain, my pain, I reach over and take the hand on her lap. She squeezes my fingers. I squeeze her hand back.
We sit like that—Mom holding my hand, me holding her hand back—for longer than I would have liked while still not long enough. There are so many good memories I have of my mother...so many more than the bad. But the bad are beyond bad. They were—what were Mom’s words?—life-altering.
Mom glances down at my scars, and I wonder what she sees. Our past? My future? Her mistakes?
“Do they still hurt?” she whispers. “Your arms? I’ve always wondered if the glass did something to the nerves that has kept you in pain.”
There’s still pain, just not the kind she’s referring to, but it somehow helps to know that she’s thought of me while we’ve been apart. “No, there’s no pain.”
What’s going on between us is a quiet acceptance of how life will always be—a give and a take. A phone call here and there. Visits over coffee as I grow stronger. It’ll be slow, it’ll be hard, and who knows if it will ever work. But as I look down at my scars I see the pattern I never saw before, and as I glance over at Noah, I see a love I never thought I could experience.
I’m the girl who jumps off cliffs into water. I’m the girl who is going to live not for her talent, but for the people in her life.
I turn to my mother and utter the only words that I can truthfully say. “I know that you never meant to hurt me.”
“I didn’t,” she whispers. “If I could undo it all, I would.”
“I know,” I whisper back.
The door to the patio opens again, and my mother moves so no one can spot the tear tracks on her cheeks.
“Echo?” asks Hunter as he stumbles into the middle of a family minefield.
I walk over to Hunter to give my mother the moment she needs. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he says in a way that indicates he’s aware that everything out here is not okay. Then Hunter notices my mother. “Oh.”
Oh.
“You must be Hunter Gray.” Mom extends her hand to him as she joins us. All smiles and good cheer. Only a smidge of mascara near the corner of her eye indicates we were melting down over our past family drama.
“I am.” Hunter graciously accepts her hand. “You have no idea how honored I am to meet you, Ms. Emerson. I’m a huge fan of your work.”
“Cassie,” she says. “Call me Cassie.”
A wave of disorientation hits me. Mom’s been divorced from Dad since I was in elementary school. That’s been years and years and... “Hunter, can you give me a few more minutes with my mother?”
He surveys us both then makes direct eye contact with Noah. When Noah nods, it’s like the two of them have reached some sort of weird male agreement.
“Find me when you’re done, Echo,” says Hunter. “There are people who would like to meet you.”
Hunter leaves us, and before Mom can say anything, I drop the question. “Why didn’t you change your last name?”
“Because,” Mom starts then stops.
“Because why?”
“Because...” Mom studies Noah, then the ground. “Because...”
The silence becomes strained until finally Mom stares straight into my eyes. “Don’t ever do what I did. Don’t take for granted what you have because it can slip away. I thought this—” she flutters her hand at the gallery “—was important. This is what I defined myself by. I loved your father, but if you want me to be honest with you, I didn’t love him enough, and he knew it. That’s why he fell for Ashley.”
Her face falls, and it’s painfully clear that she’s forcing the smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I should visit the powder room, and I believe you have people to meet. Maybe we’ll meet up again before the showing ends?”
I nod slightly, and Mom pivots on her feet and heads for the door.
“Mom,” I call out the moment her hand is on the door handle.
She peers at me from over her shoulder.
“Thank you for answering my question...for being honest. Can I ask a random question now?”
“I’d prefer random.”
“If you had a friend who was going to lose a great opportunity because of you, what would you do? Would you take it yourself, or step back to let them have it?”
Mom steps toward me. “Echo, no. Whatever it is that you’re thinking, don’t. This spot with Hunter will change your life and your career. Friendships come and go. It’s the way of the business. Shots like this come along once in a lifetime.”
And I have my answer. “Okay. I hear you.”
Mom blows out a long stream of air then releases a forced smile. “Just so you know, in case you contact me again, I prefer conversations other than most of the ones we’ve had this evening. I don’t like talking about what hurts.”
Like she did when I was younger, she tucks a stray curl behind my ear and lightly pats my face. For a second, I feel like I’m five as she gives me a genuine smile. “Enjoy tonight, Echo. You deserve it.”
As quickly as she swept into my life, she sweeps out. Mrs. Collins is right...locking up the pain has to be the worst way to live.
I blink, and it’s like the evening drops twenty degrees. Goose bumps form on my arms, and I run my hands over them. Mom said she did it wrong. Mom told me not to repeat her mistakes, but then she told me not to abandon the spot. A flood of nausea rolls through me. What am I doing?
With his eyes narrowed on me, Noah pushes off the wall. “Are you okay?”
“I need to talk to Hunter.”
* * *
A thousand handshakes later, one continual plastered-on smile, and a couple of not so forced laughs thanks to Noah, and I survived the evening...with a sold painting. A painting that’s still a work in progress.
Even though I’m dead on my feet, feeling as wound as a spring, and as strong as a jellyfish, I’m giddy. Very, very giddy.
I bounce on my toes, and Noah laughs one more time at me as I say goodbye to the painting of Aires. Its new home, once I’m done, will be in a gallery in New York City.