Chapter 4

Well, hell. Rob watched Sarah’s car back out of the driveway. Just bloody hell. Talk about wasted opportunities. He’d had Fred and Casey in his house for almost a month and hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask Sarah out. And now she’d taken them home.

The phone interrupted his bitter thoughts. “Hey, Mum,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.

“Is Sarah still there?”

Something in her voice brought him to full alert. “She just left. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dear. Don’t be such a worry wart. I was going to ask her to pick up some things at the grocery for Hilda if she was coming back here this evening.”

“No idea what her plans are.” Regrettably, this was more true than he would like. “Give me the list. I’ll take care of it.”

His mother started dictating so promptly that he figured she’d set him up. “You know, Mum,” he said when she’d finished, “All you had to do was ask. I don’t have to be maneuvered into doing things for Sar—for Miss Hilda.”

“You are a sweet boy,” Violet said, her voice so innocent it made his jaw clench.

“What are you up to?”

“Why, nothing, dear.”

“You want something. What is it?” he asked in his most uncompromising voice.

Violet sighed. “You always were a suspicious little boy. I’m not up to anything and I don’t want anything. Except the groceries.”

Okay. She wasn’t going to admit to matchmaking. Maybe she wasn’t matchmaking. He swallowed a growl. He could use a little help here, but it didn’t look like any was forthcoming. He’d have to just keep on being right there every time Sarah needed something.

He was a patient man. And he’d never had any trouble attracting women before. The problem was that Sarah was important. But eventually, she’d look up and see him, not just a handyman.

He could wait.

****

Five weeks later, later, Sarah sat by the side of her mother’s bed, holding her hand. The familiar hospital sounds and smells washed over her, along with a sense of helplessness. She tried for humor. “Well, here we are again, Mama. If you’re going to be here every few months, maybe we could do some kind of time share deal, the way people do for vacations. Maybe we’d get a price break,” she said, and then wanted to bite her tongue. No need to worry her mother about money.

Hilda shifted, inching her arm with its heavy cast to another position. “At least this time, it’s only for a day.” She stopped, a panic-stricken expression on her face. “I will get to go home, won’t I? Not back to that Belladonna place?”

Sarah gulped. That look just about tore her heart out. I’m the strong one now, and I sure don’t feel strong. I can’t protect Mama from old age. I can’t even protect her from the medical system. “Yes, you’ll get to go home,” she promised, and hoped it was true.

Hilda relaxed against the pillow, relief replacing the panic. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden.”

She looked so defenseless that Sarah had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could speak. “You know you’re not a burden, Mama. Don’t ever think that.” A worry, yes. Lord only knew what she’d break next time. “But I do worry about you.”

“Don’t.”

Right. But Heaven help her, she couldn’t stop. “We need to talk, Mama.”

Her mother stiffened and glared at her.

Sarah tensed, but it had to be said. She took a deep breath and forced the words out. “About your living situation.”

“Sarah Gault, if you think you’re going to make me move out of my house and back to that nursing home just because I fell once, you’ve got another think coming. I’m perfectly fine at home in spite of this one little accident. It could have happened to anyone.”

The heart rate monitor spiked, and Sarah’s heart notched up to match. Perfect. In her eagerness to keep her mother safe, she was giving her a heart attack. “Mama, calm down. That’s absolutely the last thing on my mind. I’d never do that to you.”

“Well, all right.” Hilda frowned. “But you’re trying to manipulate me into something. I can tell. Just save time and come out with it.”

And have her refuse and dig her heels in? No way. This was too important. And no matter how much she didn’t want to give up her own home and move into her mother’s, it was the only way Hilda could stay in that big house. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

“Give it up, Sarah. I know you too well. You had the same look in your eye when you were determined to go to the prom with that awful boy, the football player, and you were only a freshman. After what happened, you can’t tell me that mother doesn’t know best.”

Sarah shuddered. The football player had raped his date and handed her over to his buddies for the rest of the evening. Mother certainly had known best that time. “Point taken. But this is different. I’m trying to ask you for a favor here.”

Hilda looked mollified but wary. “Yes?”

“I’d like to come stay with you when you go home.”

Her mother’s mouth set in a mulish line. “Why? Because I’m so old and feeble?”

Honesty was a fine line here. “Partly because I worry about you, yes.”

“Well, I’m perfectly fine. I keep telling you.”

“Mama, please. You’re not perfectly fine. You have a broken arm. You tripped over your own bedspread.”

“I’ll tailor the corners so that can’t happen again.”

“What if you fall over something else? It makes me sick to think about you lying there, not able to call for help.”

“I was perfectly able to get to the phone and call for help. Don’t overdramatize.”

“I’m not overdramatizing.” Sarah caught herself and smiled. “Well, only a little bit. But it worked well to have me there before, didn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it did.”

“Maybe you missed me. Just a little bit?” Sarah teased.

Her mother tried to hide a smile. “Maybe just a little bit. All right, Sarah. I’d be pleased to have you stay with me when I go home.”

Sarah crossed her fingers. “There’s more. I’d like to move back in. Make my stay permanent.”

“But I’m used to living alone,” Hilda said.

Sarah took a deep breath and played her trump card. “So am I, but Mama, it would really help me to save on the rent.” That was the truth. Boarding Casey and Fred, not to mention the caregiver and elevator, had put a dent in her budget. Thank goodness Rob had taken the animals and the caregiver wasn’t necessary any more.

But money just kept getting tighter and tighter, and the situation was only going to get worse. “I’m hoping you wouldn’t charge me as much as I pay now.”

“Hmph.”

Sarah smiled. That was her mother’s stock I’m-not-sure-about-this answer. “My lease is up for renewal this month,” she said.

“That’s very interesting.” Hilda wiggled the cast to a momentarily more comfortable position.

“Is the cast hurting?”

“The cast and everything else. At least it’s only an arm that I broke. Breaking a hip at my age would be much worse. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid.”

“You have to be more careful, Mama.”

Her mother ignored the comment. “I suppose you’d bring the animals.”

That was a problem. She couldn’t just throw out her middle-aged pets, even though her mother was more important. She squirmed and nodded. “I want to, but I’d worry about you tripping. You’re not used to having animals underfoot anymore.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hilda said, sounding impatient. “I’ve always had pets in the house. It’s only been a year since Pluto died.”

Did she dare trust Hilda’s assessment of her own physical condition? She was so used to having her mother be the authority, the final go-to person, that every time these doubts arose it was a fresh shock. “We could try,” she said slowly, relief and worry mixing into a toxic fizz in her brain.

Hilda nodded. “Good. I have been thinking lately that it would be nice to have a cat. Fred’s a good lap sitter. Not to mention that it would be nice to have a watch dog.”

“Casey’s certainly that. And Fred will never let you get up, if he has his way. He loves laps.”

“All right, dear. The truth is that I do enjoy having you in the house. I think I’d be a bit lonely without you.” Hilda paused, looked down, and raised her gaze to Sarah’s. “And I am just a little bit afraid to live alone. That dreadful moment when I realized I was falling...”

Sarah repressed a shudder. “I hope it never happens again.”

****

“I wish you’d keep your hair the way it is, Mama.” Sarah smiled at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “You look totally ‘with it.’ Or whatever the term is these days. I like it.”

Hilda grimaced. “Oh, nonsense, Sarah. You must be joking. I can’t face people with...a...a crew cut.”

“It’s not a crew cut. It’s short and spiky, and it makes you look like a ‘toadally hip chick.’ Especially now that the cast is off your arm.”

Hilda’s expression grew even more disapproving. “I don’t know where you pick up those expressions, dear, but I wish you wouldn’t. And I don’t look like what you said. I look like someone who has had her head shaved. Like a prisoner or worse.”

“I watch old movies. And you have had your head shaved. In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve just made an amazing recovery from a serious problem.” A recovery that the doctors hadn’t expected, Sarah had finally realized at the doctor’s office this morning.

“That doesn’t mean I am going to run around looking like some kind of cancer survivor. I’ve made an appointment with Lois at the Cut ’n Curl for a permanent, and I’m going if I have to walk.”

“Lois.”

“Yes, Lois. She’s been doing my hair since before you were born.”

It was Sarah’s turn to grimace. “I know.”

“What does that tone of voice mean?” Hilda’s nostrils were pinched. “As if I didn’t know.”

“It’s just that she’s been doing the same thing to your hair since, apparently, before I was born. Don’t you think a new hair style would be a nice change?”

“I like my hair the old way. Your father always liked it, too.”

That settled that, of course. Sarah tamped down a most unfilial surge of impatience. “I just don’t see why you can’t be a little more relaxed. It might help you enjoy life more.”

“I enjoy my life just the way it is, dear.” Hilda’s voice was prim.

Sarah gave up. “All right, Mama. We’ll go to Lois’s.”

All the way out to the car, she berated herself. Why ruffle her mother’s feathers? It only made life more difficult. Get a grip, Sarah. Admit it, you’re a rotten person, you miss the freedom of your own place. She fastened Hilda’s seat belt, walked around the car, and climbed into the driver’s seat before she had to admit that part of her wanted more freedom to be with Rob.

As if she’d read Sarah’s mind, Hilda said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. You were spending quite a bit of time with Violet’s son before you moved in with me.”

Sarah bit her lip. “Not really. Casey and Fred stayed at his place for a while and I visited them, but when I moved back to the apartment they were with me.” And she missed the moments there had been with Rob something fierce, even though she didn’t want to admit it even to herself. Rob had somehow managed to be around when she walked Casey, or needed a glass of wine, or just someone to talk to. It had been...memorable.

“Ah. I wondered. I suppose you thought I wouldn’t notice, but of course I did,” Hilda said. “I’d hate to feel that I was getting in the way of your life.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Sarah said, sidestepping the issue of her life. And of Rob Henderson, mysterious ex-military handyman. “You’re stubborn as a goat, of course, but definitely not in the way.”

****

Hilda dressed as quickly as she could and looked around her room to check for anything she didn’t want Sarah to see. Sticky notes really helped. The little reminders she’d started writing to herself so Sarah wouldn’t notice her occasional lapses of memory were working out better than she had hoped. Even though the lapses happened more often these days, they were one secret she was going to keep as long as possible.

She took the wonderful, blessed elevator downstairs, made tea, and settled herself at the little breakfast table by the bay window to let delicate jasmine-scented steam warm her.

She’d gone through a whole super-pack of yellow notes in the three months since Sarah had moved in, sticking little reminders all over her room. Today is Friday. Fix dinner at 7. Doctor appointment Monday. Today’s note read, Get more sticky notes. Maybe this time she’d try blue. Or that lovely soft pink that reminded her of Cabbage Roses, the ones that had started her passion for gardening and had resulted in the rose-patterned wallpapers in all the bedrooms.

Which reminded her—she reached dutifully for the pen and pad in her pocket—she’d better make a note that here in Crowley Falls, with its late-arriving spring, roses should be pruned in late April, not February. She’d been all the way out to the tool shed yesterday before she’d realized that rose pruning and snow weren’t a good match.

“Morning, Mama. You’re up early. And busy already. What’s up?” Sarah shuffled into the kitchen, one hand stifling a yawn.

“Good morning, dear.” Hilda shoved the little pad and pen into her pocket. “The ability to get by on less sleep is the only benefit of age that I’ve noticed so far.”

“Mmm.” Sarah filled the coffee pot and put beans in the grinder.

The whir stopped conversation for a moment and reminded Hilda that she usually started coffee for her daughter on the mornings that she got up first. It was the least she could do when she knew how much Sarah didn’t like her job. So she’d better get some of those neon-colored stickies too. Make coffee!

“I’ll be down to fix breakfast as soon as I’m dressed,” Sarah said. She dumped the coffee into the filter, switched the pot on, and trudged back upstairs.

A few moments later, Hilda heard water rushing in the pipes and knew Sarah was in the shower. She propped her chin on one hand and gazed out at the winter-sparkled yard. Pristine, glittering snow, deep green pine boughs peeking out from under their frosting, and, like a greeting card, one perfect, holiday-scarlet cardinal winging his way to the bird feeder that hung by the bay window.

If only the world in here could be as perfect as the one out there.

Snow billowed in an icy cloud, and black fur blurred past the window. The cardinal made a desperate leap into the air, and the neighbor’s cat plopped back to earth. He watched his intended breakfast gain altitude with an almost human expression. He was undoubtedly swearing a blue streak, but Hilda didn’t speak feline. He turned and headed for home, leaving the snow scarred with fluffy mounds of dry flakes and broken pieces of glittery crust.

A single bright feather floated down to land on the undisturbed snow ten feet from the feeder. Hilda stared at it. It looked like a smear of blood. So much for the perfect world beyond her window. She’d better just deal with the world she had.

She drained her cup and stood, the to-do list clutched tightly in one hand. Get dressed, Breakfast, Dishes, Buy more notes, she chanted mentally as she took the elevator upstairs. Get dressed, Breakfast, Di—

“What in the world are you mumbling about, Mama?” Sarah came out into the hall, looking professional and severe in her gray suit.

“Oh, you look nice, dear,” Hilda said. “I always like to see you in a suit instead of those awful striped bell-bottomed pants you used to wear.”

Sarah frowned. “Whatever are you talking about? I haven’t worn anything like that for thirty years.”

Hilda felt her face freeze. Oh, dear. What had she been thinking? For a moment, the memory of teen-aged Sarah, dressed in those hippie clothes, looking like a woman of the streets, had been so real. “I know that, Sarah,” she said. “I was just paying you a compliment, that’s all.” She edged into her room and shut the door before Sarah could say anything more.

She started to unbutton her robe and realized that she’d crushed a piece of paper in one hand. What in the world? Oh, yes. Her don’t-forget note. Get dressed, she read. Well, of course. It would be a sorry day when she forgot to bathe and dress.

Sarah was just finishing her breakfast when Hilda came back into the kitchen. She jumped up and took a plate from the oven. “I made a cheese omelet. I’ve been keeping half of it warm for you.”

When breakfast was finished and Sarah had gone off to work, Hilda rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Standing at the sink washing the omelet pan seemed like old times, like her life fifty years ago. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend that the last fifteen years hadn’t happened, that Eldon was still alive, that she’d be putting his dinner on the table at six, that he’d be beside her forever.

Oh, stop.

She dried her hands and hung the towel, carefully aligning the edges. Now what? The kitchen was tidy, except for a yellow note in the middle of the table. She picked it up. Oh, yes. Go buy more notes.

She’d better bundle up.

Boots. Check.

Coat. Check

Wooly hat. Check.

Purse, money, keys. Check. And gloves.

Hilda hummed as she let herself out the kitchen door into the garage and started her ancient blue Cadillac. Every time she went anywhere, she was grateful for the automatic door opener Sarah had installed a few years ago. Without it, Hilda would never be able to go anywhere. She’d be marooned. Trapped.

Once clear of the garage, she stopped. All right. Going shopping. For sticky notes. She had money and her list. Good. She glanced at the sign on the dashboard. Drive carefully, it said in big letters. Think, it said in bigger letters.

Obediently, Hilda sat back and thought. She was going downtown to the stationery store for sticky notes. She was leaving home. She had to remember something. Oh, yes. She reached up for the door controller clipped to the visor and punched the Close button. The door slid shut, and a quick glance around assured her that everything was as it should be to keep Sarah from noticing anything wrong. She’d move mountains to keep Sarah from knowing about these little lapses.

She carefully shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway, dreading the day when she could no longer drive.

****

“Stupid old bitch!” the driver of the sleek, black Lexus Hilda had nearly broadsided screamed, the words blending with the shriek of brakes. He brandished an upraised finger, slewed around a pedestrian, and sped away, tires slipping on the ice.

Hilda shuddered her car to a stop as soon as she had cleared the intersection. Bitch, no. Stupid, maybe. Old, yes, most definitely.

She was getting old.

Correction. She was old.

When the shaking stopped, she started the car, checked for oncoming traffic, and drove home. Slowly. Carefully. Very, very carefully.

At least she hadn’t gotten a ticket for running the red light. Even better, she hadn’t hit that rude man. An accident could easily end her up back in that Belladonna place, and that would be too much to stand. She’d never felt, or been, so helpless in her whole life, and that was only a taste of what the future held.

The nagging fear that never left her, not the fear of being old, but of being too old, helpless, dependent, kept her adrenaline surging all the way home.

“Mama,” her daughter called from the kitchen. “I was beginning to worry. Everything all right?”

Oh, dear. She had hoped to get home first and have a few minutes to collect herself before she faced Sarah. “Just fine, dear,” she called. “How about putting the kettle on? I’ll be right there.”

“It’s already on.”

Hilda scuttled into the powder room in the front hall, turned on the water, and leaned against the sink. Not yet. Not yet. I’m not ready. A splash of cool water and a quick brush through her hair and a cup of tea would make everything all right.

She blotted drops of water from her face before they could leave marks on the pale lavender silk of her blouse and leaned forward to look at herself in the mirror. An old woman looked back. Faded blue eyes and wrinkles weren’t really such a problem. After all, the softness of old skin was quite attractive. Really it was. In its own way. It was the sagging, jowly jaw-line that made her look older than she was. And she wasn’t that old. Not even eighty-four yet.

Eighty-three, you old fool. Eighty-three and a half. Plus a few months. Who did she think she was kidding? Hilda clamped down on that line of thought, pinned on a smile, and went to join her daughter in the kitchen.

“How was the meeting?”

Her heart sank. “Meeting? I went shopping.”

“I thought you said the garden club met today.”

Oh, dear. She couldn’t admit she’d gotten the day wrong. Again. Maybe she could distract Sarah. “No, dear, not today. But tell me about your day. Has Homer been unreasonable again?”

Sarah frowned for an instant, then smiled. “Oh, you’re not going to believe what he did today,” she replied. She put down the spoon she’d been using to stir a bubbling pot of stew and launched into a spirited rendition of the day’s incidents.

How dreadful that Sarah had to face such insults every day. Her daughter had dreams and plans, she knew, just as she knew she was the reason the poor child had to keep struggling with that awful job.

She’d never wanted to die, except for that awful time right after Eldon had been killed, but neither did she want to linger on for years as a burden to Sarah. And what would Sarah do when she was alone? More than anything, Hilda wanted to see her daughter safe. Safe and happy.

If growing old was frightening and unsafe, growing old alone would be a thousand times worse.

****

Sarah gave the dining room table one last buff with the polishing cloth and turned to leave the room. Done. She’d worked double time to get the house cleaned while her mother was out with Violet. If Hilda saw Sarah working so hard on a weekend, she’d start fussing again about letting the cleaning service go, and Sarah didn’t want to admit they could no longer afford outside help. Really, it was just amazing the number of things Medicare didn’t cover.

Today was garden club? Or was it one of the church committees? She never could keep track. All she knew was that in spite of using the walker when she was tired, her Mama stayed busier than any other three people.

In fact, she tried to do too much, and really needed to cut back. There had actually been a couple of times when she’d forgotten meetings and messages. That was overload. Stress. If only she would slow down and concentrate, everything would be all right.

But the less said about her driving, the better. Sarah was in a perpetual state of anxiety every time Hilda took the car out.

The phone shrilled, and Sarah jogged down the hall to pick up the kitchen extension. “Hello?”

“Sarah, this is George. I’m sorry...”

Sarah collapsed into the nearest chair. “Mama?” she croaked.

“Sarah, calm down. Your mother is all right.”

“Oh.” The word came out in a whoosh of breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Then what’s wrong?”

“It’s complicated, honey. Just come on down here and I’ll explain.”

“Where’s Mama? What happened?”

“I promise you, your mother isn’t hurt, but she had a little problem this morning. We need to talk about it.”

“Violet? She was with Violet.”

“Nope. She’d dropped Violet off home. She was alone. You come on down here and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“On my way, Uncle George.” Sarah dropped the phone, grabbed her purse and keys, and ran out the door. She’d known it was only a matter of time before something like this happened, whatever it was. Every image that spun through her mind was worse than the one before. She stepped on the gas.

The shrill of a siren had her checking the rearview mirror. Oh, damn. She should have known. Resignedly, she signaled and pulled over.

“Where’s the fire, Sarah?”

And of course it had to be Brent Henderson. His Aunt Violet would get all the details and Sarah would never live this down. “No fire, Brent. I just got a call from Uncle George.”

“I know. I only stopped you because you were driving like a bat out of—driving too fast. Figured you’d appreciate it if I didn’t let you kill someone.” He winked at her.

“Thanks.”

“Everything’s okay, Sarah. Just take it easy now. And don’t forget you owe me one.” Brent turned and strode back to his patrol car.

Sarah started the car and pulled back on to the road.

Apparently everyone knew what was going on. Everyone except her.

She could feel Brent watching her all the way down Poplar Street until she turned onto Main. Nothing like knowing you had the undivided attention of the traffic cops to make you a nervous driver. She pulled into a parking place in front of the police station without further incident, though, and closed her eyes.

Be strong. Be calm. Everything would be all right. George had said so. She squared her shoulders, climbed out of the car, and walked through the door of the police station.

“Morning, Sarah,” said the dispatcher. “Your mama’s waiting for you in the chief’s office. Just go on in.”

“Thanks.” Sarah gave her a tremulous smile and bolted down the hall to the door that said George Arliss along with an ornately-scribed Chief of Police on it. She paused for a minute to gather her strength and pushed the door open.

Her mother and George sat at his small conference table, sharing coffee and, apparently, pleasant gossip.

The chief looked up when she came in. “Sarah. Good Lord, girl, you must have broken the sound barrier getting down here. Didn’t I tell you not to fret?”

“Tell water not to run downhill next time, Uncle George.” The “uncle” was strictly a courtesy title for a man who’d been a close family friend as long as Sarah could remember. “What’s wrong?”

“Your mama had a little driving problem this morning and I thought we’d better all talk it over.”

“What. Happened?” She was going to scream if someone didn’t get down to details in about two seconds.

George patted Hilda’s hand. “Well, honey, Hilda here ran a red light and missed banging into my patrol car by about a cat’s whisker. I drove up onto the lawn over at the Sylvester Building and just about smashed into Miranda Hogbinder’s old Caddy to keep from getting hit, and don’t you know I’m going to hear about that. Miranda’s called the station four times already.”

Sarah turned to her mother. “Mama?”

“I didn’t see the light,” Hilda said. She didn’t meet Sarah’s gaze.

“Or Uncle George’s car?”

Hilda pouted, managing somehow to look more like a recalcitrant five-year-old than an eighty-something grande dame.

“Hilda, you’ve had three tickets for running stoplights or signs in the past month,” George said gently. “It’s time for you to stop driving.”

Hilda struggled to her feet. “No,” she said. “No. You can’t do that to me.”

George turned to Sarah. “Help me here, honey. You must have been worrying about this.”

Of course she had. And George didn’t even know about all the close calls, or about the two times Hilda had backed out of the garage and smacked into Sarah’s battered old VW. “Mama, he’s right. You know how often we’ve talked about this. We should be grateful no one is hurt.”

Hilda ignored Sarah and glared at her old friend. “George, how can you do this to me? You said everything would be all right. You told me in plain words that you weren’t going to give me a ticket. You promised.”

“Well, Hilda, I’m not going to give you a ticket.” George leaned back in his chair and managed to sound soothing and avuncular. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take some action here. My job is to keep the people of Crowley Falls safe, and in this case, that means yanking your driver’s license.

“You’re not a safe driver anymore, and a woman as sensible as you’ve always been ought to be glad to stop before something terrible happens. What if that had been Mrs. Dobbs with a car load of Sunday School kids this morning instead of me? Or Violet Henderson in that pretty pink car of hers? You could have killed someone. Not to mention smashing up that antique Cadillac that Eldon loved so much. I won’t even bring up how you might have hurt yourself enough to end right back up in Bellonna Gardens.”

Hilda turned her head away from him.

“Aw, come on, Hilda.”

“I don’t notice you ‘yanking’ Violet’s license. She’s not exactly one of those professional drivers, like that Mario Andretti Eldon always talked about—”

Sarah met George’s gaze over her mother’s head. No way was she going to say that Violet had always been a better driver. “I guess she’s slowed down some, Mama. And she hasn’t gotten any tickets lately.”

“Hilda, honey,” George said. “You’re not making sense here. This has nothing to do with Violet or anyone else. I know it’s hard, but this is one time that I’ve got to be the police chief as well as your old friend.”

“Some friend,” Hilda snorted.

“I am being your friend. If I weren’t, I’d have given you another ticket, and you’d be headed for court with the recommendation that your license be revoked. I’m giving you a chance to do this privately. No one has to know, Hilda. You can just say that you’ve decided to stop driving before you have an accident.”

Hilda turned away and refused to look at him.

“Sarah, talk some sense into her, can’t you? Unless you agree with her.”

“Absolutely not. Mama, he’s right. You have to stop driving. I’ve been so worried about you lately, every time you get in the car.”

“It’s so easy for you two.” Hilda’s face was red with emotion, and her voice rose with every word until she was shouting.

Sarah couldn’t remember ever hearing her mother shout.

“You’re not the ones who will be cooped up at home,” Hilda went on. “You’re not the ones who will lose your independence. You’re not the ones who will be totally dependent on others.”

“Mama. Stop.” Sarah put her hand on Hilda’s arm. “Please. Sit down. Let’s have another cup of tea and talk about this.”

Hilda threw Sarah’s hand off and drew herself up to her full height. “I do not want to sit down. Nor do I wish to have any further discussion with either of you. I can see that you’ve made up your mind, George, and that somehow you’ve gotten Sarah to agree with you. I believe there is nothing more to be said.” She walked to the door. “Sarah, perhaps you would be kind enough to drive me home. Unless you intend that I should walk.”

The sarcasm meant her mother was really and truly ticked. Fueled by a mixture of fear and relief, Sarah’s temper snapped and she couldn’t stop herself. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Mama, stop being so childish.”

Just as she’d known, that was the wrong thing to say. The minute the words were out, Sarah regretted losing her temper but it was too late. They lay in the air, almost visible, a mute reproach.

Hilda gave her a stare so frosty Sarah thought her bones might shatter from it before she stalked out the door.

Sarah drove home, the icy silence inside that car much colder than the snowy landscape outside. Not that she had expected anything else.

In spite of the frozen hostility, she had to swallow an inappropriate giggle. They must look so funny, she and her mother, in the ancient VW, not looking at each other and leading a procession. Brent drove Hilda’s shiny old Cadillac, and a police car trailed behind to take him back to the station.

Now that she knew Hilda wasn’t hurt and hadn’t killed anyone, her brain was functioning. “Mama,” she said when they got inside the house. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about what this means to you.”

“Have you.” Not a question. A flat statement that implied disbelief.

Not ready to make up, then. They disagreed so seldom that Sarah scarcely knew how to handle this. Not that she had any options. Her mother marched into the elevator and swooshed upstairs without another word.

With any luck, she’d be more reasonable after a nap. Or a good sulk. Serving her mother’s favorite meal of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and pecan pie couldn’t hurt, either. Sarah put away the vacuum cleaner and tote of cleaning supplies and spent the afternoon cooking.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” she said as soon as her mother came downstairs at dinner time.

“I know you are,” her mother said, drooping into her chair. “In all fairness, I have to admit that my driving isn’t what it used to be.” One side of her mouth quirked up in a humorless smile. “I’m resigned to my fate.”

Sarah heaved a sigh of relief. That was more like it. The unreasonable, shouting woman in George’s office wasn’t the mother she’d known all her life. “Thank goodness. I know this must be awful for you, but you’ve always been so sensible, Mama.”

Hilda’s fingers twisted and crushed her napkin, and she ignored her dinner. “Of course it’s terrible. I’ve been independent for more years than you’ve been alive, and now I’m dependent on others for every trip outside my home. No last-minute dashes to the grocery store. No spur-of-the-moment lunches. I’ll have to ask for rides to every single club meeting, to every church function. It’s unbearable.”

“We’ll work it out.”

“I’m sure we will. Do you think I should apologize to George? I’m so embarrassed about losing my temper in his office. What must he think of me?”

“That you were very stressed. But perhaps it would be easiest if you wrote him a note.”

“Of course, dear. That’s a splendid idea.” Hilda looked marginally happier, and began to eat.

So everything was smoothed over. For now. The flash of resentment she felt was unavoidable, Sarah told herself. She’d already given up her own home and taken over the housekeeping and finances. Adding the job of chauffeur wasn’t that big a deal.

Except that life had just taken another one of those left turns into unknown territory, that was all.