Page 40 of Double Exposure

I clear my throat. “This is not the time or place for this discussion. But now that you've brought it up, yes, I am sometimes. Confused.”

She tilts her head as if this takes care of the issue.

I don’t know if it’s the wine from the hotel or the beer Carter handed me at dinner, but I decide to take a deeper dive. “I am sometimes confused by your relationship.”

“I don’t see why. We’re married.”

I bite back what nearly flies from my lips, Maybe you shouldn’t be.

She sits stiffly on the edge of the sofa holding herself impossibly erect. Her voice training has left her with perfect posture. I feel terrible. Even though I didn’t say it, I think she knows what I was about to say.

My mother is incredibly strong. But right now, she looks small. She does seem genuinely worried and I'm not used to dealing with her like this. Once she was sick with the flu and I knocked on her door to bring her some tea. She opened the door, took it, and shut the door again. She didn't want me to see her in bed. Weak. Sick. God forbid, needy.

“I’m going to say this once Dove, your father is the love of my life and I can't bear that you think otherwise.”

The bitterness in her voice sucker punches me. “What?”

“I’m going to bed now. I can't deal with this, with you, and I don’t want to feel this way.” And then her eyes, always beautiful, fill with tears and I realize she does not want me to see her cry.

My heart, usually so rigid when it comes to my mother, is floppy. I put both arms around her. Instead of stiffening, she leans her chin on my shoulder. I can tell she’s holding her breath.

Then one long shaky sob erupts, and several hot tears leave a wet spot on my shoulder.

“Mom, are you crying?”

She reaches up to tighten her arms around me.

“Now I’m the one who can’t handle this,” I say, trying to work in a smile and handing her a tissue.

She wipes her eyes and blows her nose. We rise and I show her to Dad’s room. As we cross the room, she waves her hand at the front door. “Tell me about that man who saved you.”

“You mean Carter?”

“I heard the whole story, Jade.” She sits on the edge of the bed, her back still ramrod straight.

“So, you know Dad went rogue.”

She nods. “I spoke to your father from the plane,” she says and pulls the sheet back on the twin bed. I lift it so she can slide her legs underneath.

“I also know Carter Weston dug you out of an avalanche, carried you for three miles, and then took care of you in a blizzard.”

I didn’t know that part. The three miles part. I’m well aware of the other pieces of the story.

“Mom, I'm sorry I made you cry.”

“We are reserved people, Jade. But we love each other.”

Reserved?

That word hardly describes what I’ve grown up with. Is she gaslighting me? Maybe it is tonight. Maybe this is the time we unpack this.

“Mom, my whole life you guys were apart. You were in one spot. He was in another, and—”

“We have careers that take us in different directions.”

“You trust him?”

My mother sits up and reaches for another tissue. I hand her the box. “Of course, I trust him.”