how well it would be received.
“Mom, what the hell are you doing in here?” Eric asked, staring at the huge mess on the counter.
“Oh! I’m making the fruit tarts for the party tomorrow.”
“Are you planning on feeding an army?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass. There are going to be a lot of people here. We have relatives coming from all over the place. I’m just trying to be prepared.”
“Okay, whatever you say, crazy lady,” he teased, scooping a thick finger into a bowl of lemon curd and licking it clean. “Where’s Maggie?”
“Emma kidnapped her and Brandon a while ago to go shopping in the Quad Cities. She said it was a last minute clothing emergency.”
“Heaven forbid,” Eric groaned. “And Dad?”
“Your father had a meeting at the hospital that he couldn’t get out of. It was scheduled for tomorrow, but the others were nice enough to meet with him tonight, instead. He’ll be home as soon as possible.”
“Mmm… mmhmm.” Eric continued to dip his fingers into different fruit mixtures and taste them, causing their mother to make clucking noises at him and shooing gestures with her arms. He finally laughed and backed away, holding his hands up in surrender.
Ethan stood back and watched the easy interaction between his brother and mother. They looked so natural and comfortable together. He thought he remembered being like that with them once, but it was so long ago that he couldn’t swear how much was memory and how much was imagination.
“Well, I’m gonna head up and unpack before Maggie gets back and starts stressing out over my wrinkled shirts,” Eric called over his shoulder as he walked toward the stairs. “Hey, how did her doctor’s appointment go today?”
“All clear,” she yelled back, looking straight at Ethan when her older son left the room. “Darling,” she sighed, “are you going to be alright?”
“I’m… managing,” he rasped.
“Are you?” Her knowing gaze bore straight into him. “I wish you would talk to us. You don’t have to carry this alone. We’re all here for you.”
“I know that.”
Her expression turned sad. “I hope you do.”
After an uncomfortable beat of silence, Ethan cleared his throat and made his excuses. “Listen, I think I’m going to lie down. I haven’t exactly been sleeping very well the last few nights.” He walked toward the stairs, but Barbara followed him.
“Do you need your father to prescribe something? I’m sure he would understand.”
“No!” he snapped, a little more sharply than intended. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that she had no idea what he had been through. “I’d rather not take anything, if I can avoid it. But thank you.” As he turned around and started walking up the steps, something caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed earlier.
Bright colors and swooping brushstrokes, with the all-too-familiar, pompously embellished “EJF” splashed across the lower right corner.
“I can’t believe you still have this,” he whispered, staring at the painting that was mounted on the wall in front of him.
“Of course I do, dear, don’t be silly. I love that painting. That was one of your first pieces.”
“That reminds me.” Ethan turned back to face her. He stuck his hand in his pocket and grasped the worn-out key again, rubbing it absentmindedly, as if it were an old lantern that would somehow make his mystery woman appear. “I’m going to be sticking around for a while. I just rented some studio space here in town—a shitty little apartment. I thought I might try to work a bit.”
Her answering smile was radiant. “Ethan, that’s wonderful! I think working again will help you through this. It might give you an outlet to channel your emotions. Plus, it will be lovely to have you around.” Then she added, almost in a whisper, “I’ve missed you.”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know. There could be times when I’m gone for days at a stretch. If I get absorbed by
Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis