The Ahern Brothers Collection - Claudia Burgoa Page 0,126

to answer. But it’s just Mom.

“Is it Sunday?” I ask, taking several deep breaths to calm myself.

“How are you, darling?” She ignores my question.

It’s legit. She only calls me on Sundays.

“I’m doing well, Mom. Are you okay?”

“Can’t a mother call her son just to say hello?” she asks. Her tone is low, and she sounds a little sleepy.

“Any other mother, sure. You aren’t that kind anymore. These days, you have a schedule set and too little time to fuss around with us,” I explain. “What’s going on?”

“I was on the phone with Sterling,” she says, annoyed with my comment.

“My little brother gets Wednesday nights?” I joke.

“You're ridiculous. Of course not. Since I missed the opening of his gallery, I called him to congratulate him.”

“I understand you have a life, but how could you miss the opening?”

Mom used to travel to any corner of the world if she learned that Sterling’s pieces were on display. Even at an obscure café in Croatia where they had his painting on the wall. He’d gifted it to the owner of the establishment after they’d spent the weekend together. Mom doesn’t know that part though.

“We received the invitation with such short notice. I can’t just cancel my vacation. We’re already in Greece.”

I agree with that. What was up with that last-minute invite? Sterling told me about the party just a couple of weekends ago. Did he do it because of Abby?

“How long are you staying in Greece?” I change the subject. This is an issue between her and Slugger.

“At least until September. We might stay until next year if I get my way. It’s beautiful here. You should come over. Rest.”

“I’ve rested enough, Mom.” And I’m just reconnecting with Abby.

“Sterling mentioned his partner.” Her voice sounds warm and yet uncertain. “Did you know?”

“Why can’t you say her name, Mom?”

“Did you talk to her?” She ignores my question.

“Yes, I saw Abby last night, and again earlier today,” I answer. “What happened between the two of you?” I ask, hitting her with the question that’s been swirling inside my head for a long time.

Silence.

“You adored her, Mom,” I’m not letting it go—not this time. “You can’t just throw away five years of memories and love.”

Still nothing.

“How many trips did you two share? Abby was the daughter you’d always wished for and when she needed you the most …”

“I failed her.” The tightness in her voice and the pain laced through the words remind me of myself.

“I failed her when they brought her to us. I knew. It was so obvious. I ignored it. I thought that avoiding the subject would help her. If I didn’t acknowledge it, then it’d be fine. She’d be fine.”

“Mom, it wasn’t your fault,” I say with conviction. It took me a long time to understand it myself, but now it’s so clear.

“And then …” Mom continues, her voice lost. “When everything happened, I was in a terrible place, Wes. After Will died, my life felt like a lie. All those years I waited for him. I held onto the promise that soon it’d be the two of us traveling, enjoying the life he built. He lied to me. He knew he was sick and didn’t tell me. He spent his last days in his office.” She sobs. I hold onto the phone wishing I were near her. “I couldn’t just show up at the hospital and say: Hey, I’m here. My heart was weak and my soul nearly dead.”

“How about now? It might help you heal.” I don’t let it go. “You can’t just erase her from your life because you think you failed her. You didn’t. If it weren’t for you taking her to Europe after high school, or convincing her to travel around, she wouldn’t be here.”

“Wes, that’s all in the past. I have no idea how to get her back in my life.”

“You show up and open your arms, telling her how much you love her.”

“She’s not going to just let me in.”

“Mom, you’ve always told me to try. The worst thing that can happen to you is hearing a no. Which I doubt. Unless you judge Abby for what happened to her.”

“Wes, I don’t judge her. I admire her because of her courage. She’s a survivor.” Her voice breaks. “I love her.”

“Then, maybe you should tell her that, Mom.”

The line goes silent. I check to see if we’re still connected, which we are. I don’t say a word and wait. It’s taken me a long time to process