Brigit took off the oven mitts, looking thoughtful. “For the first couple years after Darin died, I understood you were grieving. I know how hard it was for you. But as time went on, I began to wonder if you’d ever consider allowing other men into your life. You’re so independent. You’re a lot like me that way.”
Colleen continued with her actions, as though nothing was wrong, but Brigit’s unexpected openness made the questions she’d been repressing for the past few months pop into her brain.
Why did you do it, Mom? How could two people who loved each other so much have strayed? Part of her was desperate to understand how her mother could have betrayed Derry…how Derry could have betrayed her.
“Colleen,” her mother said softly, drawing her out of her thoughts. She went still when she saw Brigit’s expression. Her pretty face looked more lined than usual, weighed down by sadness and regret. Dread rose in Colleen’s breast. It reminded her of how she’d looked on that night last summer when Liam had confronted her about Lincoln DuBois.
They’d spoken of it on that night—Derry’s emotional upset at the time of the crash, Brigit’s affair with DuBois and the discovery that Deidre wasn’t Derry’s child. Brigit had been devastated by revealing those secrets to Colleen and Liam, but Colleen had remained strong, trying her best not to crumble when her mother was so vulnerable.
“Yeah, Mom?” Colleen asked in a false “everything is fine” tone.
“Does any part of your nervousness about Eric have to do with last summer?”
“Of course not,” Colleen murmured evenly, her heart thrumming louder in her ears at the knowledge that Brigit had somehow gleaned her private thoughts.
She glanced sideways when her mother didn’t immediately respond. Brigit’s mouth trembled.
“Because I want you to know something. I know everyone—maybe me most of all—has said you and I are alike over the years, but they’re wrong. I’m wrong, to always be saying that to you.” Brigit inhaled as if for courage. “The truth is, you’re stronger than me. I keep things to myself, while you were always comfortable with who you were. You were always confident enough to openly express your emotions.”
“Mom—” Colleen began, but her mother stopped her by holding up her hand in a halting gesture.
“Let me just say this, and it’ll be done. Mari told me about what you said to Janice Tejada at the engagement party—how Janice should go and talk to Tony while the emotions were fresh…get it all out in the open. I’m not sure how you got so wise about that sort of thing, but you certainly didn’t get it from me or your father. We hid our feelings and vulnerabilities…buried our hurt. We paid for it in the end. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you for being so open and honest about your feelings.”
“Your pride may be misplaced,” Colleen said, thinking of her cowardly avoidance of Eric because she didn’t know how to handle her attraction to him.
“I don’t think so,” Brigit said quickly. “Anyway, I won’t belabor this. It’s still a tender wound for all of us, and it’s a holiday. I’m only bringing it up because I know how your mind works. I’ve seen how you look when you’re second-guessing yourself, and you’ve really got yourself twisted into a knot when it comes to Eric. I just wanted to say, you and I—we’re two different women. I made mistakes in regard to love, and I live with that regret. But don’t make my regret yours, honey. Try to trust yourself.”
A shudder of emotion went through her. “Mom, I don’t know what to say.”
Brigit smiled and opened up a drawer. “You don’t have to say anything. I was the one who needed to do the talking. Now…after you’ve set the table, would you mind peeling some carrots for the relish tray?”
Colleen accepted the peeler her mother handed her, both relieved and sad their conversation was at an end. “Of course. And Mom?”
Brigit paused in walking toward the stove and glanced back.
“I know we’re completely different people. But I’ve always been proud to be compared to you.”
Brigit’s lips trembled. She came over and gave Colleen a quick but heartfelt hug before she resumed her cooking, averting her face. Colleen noticed her surreptiously wiping at her cheek with her apron. Poor Mom. Always so protective of her feelings, Colleen thought with a bittersweet mixture of fondness and sadness.
What her mother had said was true. They were very different women, but Colleen loved Brigit—imperfections, mistakes and all—just the same.
Brigit’s unexpected insight and advice had made Colleen feel a little less burdened by her worries. Nevertheless, when she heard the doorbell ring at six o’clock sharp that evening, her heart began to flutter erratically.
“That’s Eric. I’ll get it,” Natalie said, closing the refrigerator door. She’d come a few hours early in order to help with the cooking. Liam, Marc and Mari were already there, watching football in the family room with the kids.
“No, that’s all right,” Colleen said breathlessly. “He’s my guest. I’ll get it.”
Natalie paused in mid-stride, her eyes going wide.
“I…I hadn’t realized. That’s wonderful.”
Colleen gave her a smile—albeit a nervous one—and headed toward the front door. Before she answered it, she hurriedly tossed off the flats she’d been wearing while she cooked and slid on the heels she’d brought.
He stood on the front porch, looking very handsome in a dark blue overcoat, a starkly white shirt and a conservative black, white and burgundy print silk tie showing above the collar of his coat. In one gloved hand he held a bottle of wine, and in the other he carried a large basket wrapped in plastic. It was tied very artfully in an elaborate bow, making it seem especially frilly given the virile, broad-shouldered man who held it.
She smiled, and he returned it.
“Come in,” she said. “You’re right on time.”