The House on Hope Street - By Danielle Steel Page 0,35

the fact that he could read now.

At seven o'clock, Liz suggested they call it a day, but he wanted to keep working at it for a while, and she finally talked him into going inside at seven-thirty.

“We still have a month to train, sweetheart. We don't have to do it all in one night.”

“Dad always said I had to do it till I couldn't stand up anymore. I can still stand up,” he said simply and she smiled at him.

“I think we should quit for the night while you're still standing. We can do it again tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he finally conceded. He had worked hard and he was exhausted, and when they walked back into the kitchen, Carole had dinner ready for them. It was roast chicken and mashed potatoes, with glazed carrots, one of Jamie's favorite dinners. And a hot apple pie fresh out of the oven.

“Yum!” he said with a look of delight, and he gobbled up everything on his plate while he chatted about the Olympics with his mother. He was genuinely excited about it.

He took a bath and went to bed right after dinner. He had to get up early for day camp, and she had some work to do. She took her briefcase upstairs and kissed him good night, and then set her briefcase down in her bedroom, and walked into her closet. They had a big walk-in closet that Jack had built for them. She used one side, and Jack's clothes hung on the other. And remembering what her mother had said on the phone that morning, she found herself looking at his things again, with more longing than she had in a while. It felt like everyone was trying to take them from her, and she wasn't ready to give them up, or forget him.

She found herself running a hand over his jackets again, and she held one of them to her face and smelled it. It still smelled of him. She wondered if his clothes always would, or if eventually the scent of him would fade away. She couldn't bear the thought of it, and she felt her eyes fill with tears as she buried her face in one of his jackets. She didn't hear Peter come in, and she jumped when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, turned and saw him.

“You shouldn't do that, Mom,” he said softly, watching her, with tears in his own eyes.

“Why not?” She was crying then, and he reached out and held her in his arms. He was not only her son, but her friend now. At seventeen, he had grown into manhood instantly when he lost his father. “I still miss him so much,” she confessed to him, and he nodded.

“I know. But doing this doesn't change anything. It doesn't help. It just makes it worse. I used to come in here too, and do the same thing, but it made me so sad I stopped. Maybe you should pack up his stuff. If you want, I'll help you,” Peter offered.

“Grandma said I should too…. I just don't want to,” Liz said sadly.

“Then don't. Do it when you're ready.”

“What if I never am?”

“You will be. You'll know when.” He held her for a long moment, and then she slowly pulled away and smiled up at him. The moment of sheer agony had passed, and she felt better as she looked at her son. He was a good boy, and she loved him more than she could tell him, just as she loved all her kids.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Thanks for being there for me, and for all the others.” He nodded, and they walked back into her room again, as she glanced at her briefcase. For once, she just didn't feel like working. Doing what she had just done, trying to hold on to Jack, by clinging to his clothes, and smelling his cologne on them, always made her feel worse after the initial indulgence. The positive aspects only lasted for a few seconds. But she only missed him more afterwards. It was what Peter had discovered, and why he had stopped doing the same thing, just as he had told her.

“Why don't you give yourself a breather tonight, just take a hot bath, or go to a movie or something,” he said wisely.

“I've got work to do.”

“You always have work to do. It'll wait. If Dad were here, he'd take you out. Even he didn't work every night the