“Seriously? I can understand going to ski in Aspen for a short trip, it’s a gorgeous place. But why the hell would you want to spend more than a few days in the cold during wintertime?” Laura asked with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
“Just call me snow bunny,” Tess wisecracked.
“Ugh. That is so not for me,” Laura said in a haughty tone. “Well, enjoy your freezing temperatures and snow. I’ll be hopping from beach to beach until May.”
“I expect nothing less,” Tess said flatly. “Well, I have to go feed Bubbles.”
“Oh, all right. Can’t believe you still have that dog. She must be old by now.”
“She’s only six.”
“I don’t know anything about dog years. Is that old or not?”
“No,” Tess said, not wanting to bother with the conversation any longer. “Thanks for calling. Glad to hear you’re fine. Take care, Mother.”
“Oh, you too, darling. Happy New Year! And listen . . .”
Tess braced herself.
“Go find yourself a nice, strong ski instructor to keep you busy while you’re in Aspen. Or a wealthy older man. Plenty of those around, I’m sure.” Laura sighed. “You’re not getting any younger, sweetie. Gotta get your first husband out of the way!”
Laura gave a shrill, dry laugh at her own joke. It grated on Tess’s last nerve. “Goodbye, Mother.”
“Bye, darling! Be good, but not too good.”
Tess ended the call and tossed her phone onto the far end of the couch with a grunt of disgust. Her mother’s words didn’t bother her; she’d learned to ignore them long ago. It was the general worry that crept in once in a while, like now. What if Tess didn’t know how to be a good mother? She’d had the worst role model possible. Her plan was basically to do the opposite of anything Laura had done . . . She hoped she’d be good enough.
All she knew was her own child would never know the heartbreak, anxiety, or disappointment of being abandoned by its mother. Growing up that way herself, she wouldn’t wish those feelings on anyone, and she’d certainly never perpetuate them.
* * *
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Annmarie smiled up at her son as he helped lower her onto the couch. “Dinner was delicious. The chicken was perfect, nice and juicy. You really can cook.”
“Well, I learned from the best,” Logan said, shooting her a little smile. “Glad you liked it.” For someone who claimed to like her meal, she hadn’t eaten much. He studied her as she made herself more comfortable, shifting to stretch out and lie down. Her skin looked drawn. She didn’t look like she was in the final stages or anything, but she didn’t look good either. He frowned, then felt his brows furrowing and schooled his features into neutrality. She wouldn’t want to see him frowning over her.
“I need to talk to you about something,” she said. Her gaze was direct.
“Uh-oh,” he joked, but uneasiness gripped his insides as he sat beside her.
“I’ve been thinking all week about this,” she began. “Given this a lot of thought. And . . . I’ve made a decision. I don’t want to do the radiation anymore.”
Logan’s heart dropped to his stomach. “What?”
“It’s not working, honey,” she said quietly. “All it’s doing is prolonging the inevitable. I’m tired. I’m tired of being so tired.”
He shook his head vehemently, a hint of bile rising in his throat. “I’m not hearing this. No. No way.”
“Logan—”
“Hell no. You can’t stop, Mom. Just no.”
“Why not?” She sat up and stared at him, a hard look on her face. “Logan. Honey. Look at me.”
He did, even as his heart thudded in his chest and blood pulsed in his head.
“We’ve fought hard,” she said quietly. “But I’m tired.” She reached out and put her hand on his knee. “Sweetheart . . .”
“I can’t have this conversation,” he said, dropping his head into his hands.
“We have to.”
“No, we don’t.” He looked at her again. “You keep fighting. You can’t give up. That’s it.” He shot to his feet.