“No.” She didn’t know how literally true that was. With Ireland sleeping in Eva’s bed and Eva sleeping in mine, I couldn’t risk going to sleep myself. There was only so much I could expect Eva to take, only so many times I could frighten her before it destroyed the love she felt for me.
“Christopher texted me a bit ago,” she said. “Guess Dad’s staying at a hotel.”
My brows rose.
She nodded, her face forlorn. “It’s bad, Gideon. They haven’t spent a night apart ever. At least that I can remember.”
I didn’t know what to say. Our mother had been calling me all day, leaving messages on my voice mail and ringing the penthouse so often I’d been forced to disconnect the main receiver so that none of the phones would ring. I hated that my mother was struggling, but I had to protect my time with Ireland and Eva.
It felt heartless to focus on myself, but I’d already lost my family twice before—once when my father died and again after Hugh. I couldn’t afford to lose any more. I didn’t think I could survive it a third time, not with Eva in my life.
“I just wish I knew what caused the fight,” she said. “I mean as long as they didn’t cheat on each other, they should be able to get through it, right?”
Exhaling roughly, I straightened. “I’m not the person to ask about relationships. I have no idea how they work. I’m just stumbling my way through, praying not to f**k things up, and grateful that Eva is so forgiving.”
“You really love her.”
I followed her gaze to the collage of photos on the wall. It hurt sometimes, looking at those pictures of my wife. I wanted to recapture and relive every moment. I wanted to hoard every second I’d ever had with her. I hated that time slipped away so quickly and I couldn’t bank it for the uncertain future.
“Yes,” I murmured. I’d forgive Eva anything. There was nothing she could do or say that would break us apart, because I couldn’t live without her.
“I’m happy for you, Gideon.” Ireland smiled when I looked at her.
“Thank you.” The worry in her eyes lingered and sparked restlessness. I wanted to fix the problems troubling her, but I didn’t know how.
“Could you talk to Mom?” she suggested. “Not now, of course. But tomorrow? Maybe you can find out what’s going on?”
I hesitated a moment, knowing a conversation with our mother was certain to be unproductive. “I’ll try.”
Ireland studied her nails. “You don’t like Mom very much, do you?”
Weighing my answer carefully, I said, “We have a fundamental difference of opinion.”
“Yeah. I get it. It’s like she’s got this weird form of OCD that applies to her family. Everyone has to be a particular way or at least pretend to be. She’s so worried about what people think. I saw an old movie the other day that reminded me of her. Ordinary People. Ever seen it?”
“No, can’t say I have.”
“You should watch it. It has Kiefer Sutherland’s dad in it and some other people. It’s sad, but it’s a good story.”
“I’ll look it up.” Feeling the need to explain our mother, I tried my best. “What she dealt with after my father died . . . It was brutal. She’s insulated herself since then, I think.”
“My friend’s mother says Mom used to be different before. You know, when she was married to your dad.”
I set my cooled coffee aside. “I do remember her differently.”
“Better?”
“That’s subjective. She was more . . . spontaneous. Carefree.”
Ireland rubbed at her mouth with her fingertips. “Do you think it broke her? Losing your dad?”
My chest tightened. “It changed her,” I said quietly. “I’m not sure how much.”
“Ugh.” She sat up, visibly shaking off her melancholy. “You going to be awake awhile?”
“Probably all night.”
“Wanna watch that movie with me?”