Sherryl Woods - Flowers on Main

“The truth is, at first I assumed you’d called to speak to Abby, but of course you’d call her on her cell or at the new house or at her office. Is it Mick you’re calling for?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you,” Megan said, deciding to take advantage of the opportunity that had presented itself. She wanted to make amends to this woman who’d always been so kind to her. The overture was long overdue. “We didn’t get much time alone when I was there for the opening of the inn. You were unhappy I’d come, weren’t you?”

“At first,” Nell admitted in her typically blunt way. “But the visit went smoothly enough. I saw you were making an effort.”

“I was. I wanted it to be a first step with my children and with you. I know you were furious with me when I divorced Mick and left town.”

“Not furious,” Nell claimed. “Disappointed, and it was about the children, not me or even my son. I knew as well as anyone why you felt you needed to leave Mick. It saddened me that it had to come to that, but I couldn’t blame you.”

“Have I ever told you how grateful I am that the children had you?”

“They should have had their mother,” Nell said fiercely.

Though the remark stung, Megan agreed with her. “Yes, they should have. And I wanted them here, you do know that, don’t you?” she said, a pleading note in her voice. Nell O’Brien had mattered to her, and she’d always regretted losing that connection along with the rest of her family, to say nothing of losing the older woman’s approval.

“Seemed to me it was a halfhearted effort at best,” Nell said, not conceding an inch.

“I can’t deny it looked that way. Somehow I let Mick convince me they were better off with the two of you,” Megan explained. “I didn’t fight him and I should have. Once I was settled here, I should have fought tooth and nail for joint custody at the very least. I know that now, but my visits there were such disasters, no matter how often I came or how hard I tried, it seemed best to let them stay where they were happy.”

“Children don’t always know what we’re thinking. They only understand our actions,” Nell reminded her.

“Believe me, I know that. And the message I sent to all of them was that I didn’t care, when that was the furthest thing from the truth.”

Now that the door had been opened, Megan poured out all the things she’d felt back then. “I loved them so much I couldn’t bring myself to rip them from the life they’d known. I thought visits to me in New York would help make them feel part of my life here, but they were all so angry, none of them wanted to come and, when I insisted, they were sullen. Mick was so sure they’d come around if we gave them time. Instead, it allowed their wounds to fester. They ended up hating me.”

The explanation—too little and much too late—was received in silence. “Spilt milk,” Nell said eventually. “You and Abby have found a way back to each other. You’ll do the same with the rest of them.”

“I hope so. And that’s the other reason I was calling. Mick told me there’s something going on with Bree. Do you know anything about that?”

“A bit, but she just walked into the kitchen. Why don’t I let you speak to her.” Nell’s next words were muffled, but then she said, “You take care of yourself, Megan love. And come back soon for another visit. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Megan’s eyes filled with tears at the sincerity she heard in those words. “You have no idea how much it means to me to have you say that. I miss you, Nell. I really do.”

“Then you’ll pay us a visit soon. Now, here’s Bree.”

There was a pause and then Bree came on the line, her voice cool and clipped. “Hello, Mother.”

“How are you?” Megan asked, treading carefully. If she plunged right in with too many questions, she knew how quickly Bree was likely to end the call. There’d been too many other conversations over the years that hadn’t lasted past the pleasantries.

“Fine,” Bree said, her tone unyielding.

“Are you enjoying your time in Chesapeake Shores?”

“Sure. It feels good to be home.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll be there?”

“Actually I’m home for good,” Bree said. “Look, Mother, I’m really busy, so unless there’s something specific on your mind, I need to go.”

Bree’s calm announcement that she was staying in Chesapeake Shores stirred a hundred questions, none of which her daughter was likely to answer in a hurried phone call.

“I’ll let you go then,” Megan said reluctantly, then added,

“Bree, if you’re not going back to Chicago right away, you could come to New York for a visit.” She warmed to the idea. “We could see some plays together. I know how much the theater means to you. It would be fun.”

“Sorry, I don’t have the time right now,” Bree said, slamming the door on the idea. “Goodbye, Mother.”

She cut off the call before Megan could attempt to persuade her to make the trip or even to say goodbye. The abrupt and unsatisfying conversation wasn’t really unexpected, just disappointing.

It did accomplish one thing, though. Despite the fact that she was hardly an expert on Bree’s moods these days, even she could tell there was something wrong, and it was more than a lack of desire to chat with her mother. So, Mick and Nell had been right to be worried. She was, as well. Maybe time and her actions had stripped her of the right to her anxiety, but it was there just the same.

Her first priority when she arrived at her job at the gallery where she’d been working for the past fifteen years was to arrange for some time off. Once again, she’d be making a trip to Chesapeake Shores. Since the visit for the opening of Jess’s inn had broken the ice for these recent drop-ins, the prospect didn’t scare the living daylights out of her the way that one had.

The prospect of seeing Mick, however, did send a shiver down her spine. Fear? Anticipation? It was getting harder and harder to tell.

Bree carefully replaced the receiver after speaking to her mother and would have walked right out of the kitchen if Gram hadn’t ordered her to sit.

“I’ve poured you a cup of tea, and there are fresh orange-cranberry scones on the stove,” Gram said as she gestured toward a seat at the table.

Bree hesitated, wanting to bolt, but mostly wanting to avoid a discussion about her mother. “I really need to get over to the shop. There are a million plans that have to be made.” After doing just a few days of research, she was already starting to feel a little overwhelmed by how much she didn’t know.

“Your plans can wait a few extra minutes,” Gram said. “I know I won’t be able to talk you into the kind of breakfast you should have, but you can stay long enough to share a cup of tea and some conversation with me.”

“I don’t mind the tea,” Bree replied. “It’s the conversation I’d rather not have.”

“Now, that’s a fine thing to be saying to your grandmother,” Gram said, lapsing into an Irish lilt that came mostly from being raised in a home with two parents who’d come over straight from Dublin. Gram herself had grown up right here in Maryland.

“Sorry,” Bree apologized. “I just don’t want to talk about Mother.”

“You were rude to her just now,” Gram chided.

“I don’t know how else to be with her. She left us years ago. Am I supposed to forget that?”

“Of course not, but you seem to have forgotten that she tried repeatedly to get you to New York, either to stay or for a visit. You refused and your father allowed you to get away with that.” Gram gave her a penetrating look. “You know, of all of you children, you’re the one I would have thought would jump at the chance to go to New York. Isn’t that the ideal place for an aspiring playwright to be? Yet, when the time came, you went off to Chicago. You settled for regional theater, rather than taking your mother up on her offer to let you stay with her while you studied with some of the country’s best playwrights. Did you hate her more than you wanted your dream?”