I nod, confirming.
“Well, from what you told me,” she goes on, “you tried to make him understand how deeply you felt about it or how much it scared you, but he just didn’t quite understand—or want to believe it. And he sounds like an intelligent young man, so the only thing that would make him not see that is being blinded by the guilt he feels for his brother, his unwavering need to do whatever he thinks it will take to make it right.”
She hugs me and adds, “He wants you in his life—that much is clear to me—but forgiveness for the guilt he feels is the most important thing in the world to him right now, and nothing you or anyone else can do or say to him is going to change that.”
I stare at my hands in my lap, letting my mother’s words sink in. Because she’s right, and as much as I harbor my own guilt for leaving, I know she is.
We sit together for a long time in the silence. I feel like maybe she wants to say so much more to me, but in a way, like I needed to let Luke figure things out on his own, she’s doing the same for me in this moment.
Finally I feel her hand on my knee, patting it gently, and then she says with a smile in her voice, “I’ll make a deal with you.”
I look up into her smiling brown eyes.
“If you promise me that you’ll stop spending your hard-earned money on us, I’ll talk your dad into selling the boat and I’ll take your advice and start making some changes so that we can spend more time together.”
A little smile manages to break through my sadness.
“That sounds like a deal,” I say. “But you have to promise me that you’ll go on a vacation by next summer”—I shake my finger at her—“and going to Oregon to see Aunt Jana doesn’t count.”
She nods. “I promise.”
Then she takes me into a hug.
“I just want you to be happy, Sienna,” she says, pulling away. Then she tilts her auburn head to one side and adds thoughtfully, “I think you may be onto something—I don’t regret working hard to give you a decent life, but I do miss your father; maybe now’s the time to change that.”
My smile slowly gets brighter.
She pats me on the leg once more and gets up from the sofa, taking the hospital invoice from my hand.
“But no more of this,” she says with an air of demand as she tosses it on the coffee table. “Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
I leave that afternoon feeling a little better than I felt when I went over there, not wanting to be alone in my apartment and needing the comfort I knew I could get from my mom. And although nothing can lessen the fear and despair I feel in my heart knowing Luke will be in Norway soon, I at least feel better about my decision to leave him, because I know it was the right decision.
Cassandra knocks lightly on my office door before pushing it the rest of the way open and letting herself inside. My boss is dressed in a black pencil skirt and a crimson silk blouse; her breasts are pushed up to show cleavage where the top two buttons have been left undone. A thin silver necklace with an infinity pendant dips between them. Long, dark hair sits like a wave of chocolate behind her shoulders and down her back.
She steps up to my hardly ever used desk and places an itinerary printout and a brand-spankin’-new credit card in front of me.
“The Bahamas,” she announces with a proud smile and an air of tamed excitement. “You leave next Friday.”
But I don’t share her enthusiasm.
Glancing down at the itinerary, I think about the plans I already had for next weekend, the off days I put in for nearly two months ago so that I can go with my mother to visit her sister in Oregon.
“But …” I start to say, pause and look at the paper again, then back up at my bright-eyed boss who—hopefully—must’ve simply forgotten. “I’m supposed to be off next weekend,” I say carefully.
Cassandra waves a manicured hand in front of her and purses her lips. “Oh, I know, Sienna,” she says as if what she’s about to say next will make it all OK, “but I think the commission you’ll make from this job will easily change your mind.”
I set the itinerary on my desk and just listen to her talk—because it’s all I can do at this point.
“You’ll never guess who the client is,” she says, gesturing her hands. “Trent Devonshire”—my eyes pop open a little more, hearing that I’m supposed to be planning an event for a big-time soap opera actor—“and you’ll be pleased to know that it’s the best kind of job: Money is no object.”
Normally that might make me excited about planning an event because then I could go wild with ideas. But this time I’m not the least bit excited. And I’m not as enthused as Cassandra probably expected me to be that my client is the Trent Devonshire. He would be my first celebrity client.
“Cassandra, I’m sorry, but I really can’t work next weekend.” Her smile is beginning to fade, just a little, but enough that I know she’s not pleased.
“Oh, Sienna,” she says, tilting her perfectly made-up face to one side to appear thoughtful. “You’re my best,” she goes on, turning on the charm, “and I already told Mr. Devonshire that I was going to send him my best”—she points at me with a ring-covered index finger—“that being you. So what do you say? Can you take this weekend off instead, or perhaps the weekend after next? I really need you on this one.”
I sigh and slowly stand up from my desk, shaking my head.
“I really can’t,” I explain politely, and with disappointment for having to tell her no. “My mom and I have been planning this trip to see my aunt for a few months. They’re expecting us next weekend. I made sure to put in for the time off far enough in advance.” And you signed off on it and agreed to it, I want to remind her, but I don’t.