Coming to a Crossroads
Author
Marie Ferrarella
Reads
19,5K
Chapters
20
Prologue
The waitress carefully placed the two steaming cups of coffee on the table, setting one in front of each woman, then took a step back.
“Sure I can’t interest either one of you ladies in a sweet roll or a doughnut?” she asked, looking from one woman to the other. “They were just baked this morning, and I can personally testify that they’re absolutely heavenly.”
Cecilia Parnell knew her friend Ruth was eager to be alone with her so that she could tell her what was on her mind. Instinct told Cilia that this had nothing to do with the house-cleaning business she’d built from the ground up and now ran with the help of a small squadron of exceptionally competent workers.
“Perhaps later,” she told the waitress with a warm smile.
The waitress nodded. “I’ll check with you then,” she said and withdrew.
The moment she did, Ruth Bellamy sighed and leaned in over the small table. She had picked up a napkin even before the coffee had been brought to their table and she had begun working at it. She had quickly reduced the napkin into something resembling confetti.
When she spoke, Ruth’s voice quivered with emotion. “I’ve never thought of myself as one of those mothers.”
“One of those mothers?” Cilia questioned, waiting for her friend to elaborate, although she had a sneaking suspicion she knew what Ruth was trying to say and where this was all headed.
Ruth nodded, her fashionably styled silver-gray hair moving ever so slightly first against one cheek and then the other.
“The ones who interfere with their children’s lives. Not that Liz has been a child for a long time.” A bittersweet smile curved her lips as she recalled earlier times. “She wasn’t even one when she was a child.” Pride entered her voice. “She was the responsible one, always so serious, always so willing to shoulder responsibility—more than her share of responsibility,” Ruth qualified, looking both proud and embarrassed at the same time.
Ruth blinked back tears, the shredded napkin in her hands now utterly useless.
Without a word, Cilia took a silk handkerchief—a recent gift from her daughter—out of her purse and handed it to Ruth. The latter took it and dried her eyes, then pressed the handkerchief back into Cilia’s hand.
“I don’t know what I would have done without her these last few years. She put her plans for college on hold without even telling me so that she could get a job and help me handle all those hospital and medical bills from Howard’s treatment.”
A sad smile curved the corners of the attractive widow’s lips. “You’d think there’d be some sort of an unspoken understanding that said that if the patient didn’t make it, the grieving family left behind was absolved from having to pay off the rest of the outstanding bills.” Ruth was doing her best not to cry again. “It’s only fair. I mean, they didn’t live up to their part of the bargain. They didn’t save him, so why should we...?”
She stopped abruptly, as if suddenly realizing what she was saying. Ruth flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to carry on like this. I guess I’m still dealing with my own emotional fallout.” She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “I’m afraid I’m not ready to deal with Howard’s passing yet.”
Leaning over the table, Cilia put her hand over her friend’s, infinite comfort in the small gesture. “I understand, Ruth. Believe me, I understand. When I lost my husband, it felt as if I was the only one in the world who had gone through this kind of tragedy. I promise it’ll get easier. Not immediately, but slowly, bit by bit, it will. You won’t stop missing him, but it will get easier,” she told the other woman.
Ruth took in another long breath. “I didn’t ask you to meet me for coffee to come apart in front of you like this.”
Cilia smiled understandingly and did her best to sound encouraging. “I know. Take all the time you need, dear.”
Ruth framed her coffee cup with her hands, drawing in the warmth. She carefully took a long sip, hoping that would somehow help steady her nerves. To an extent, it did.
“Anyway, what I was trying to say is that Lizzie put her whole life on hold to help me deal with the bills and, eventually, with Howard’s loss. He was her stepfather,” she said even though most of her friends had known that. “But he adored her, and the feeling was mutual. He was better than her own father had been.” For a moment, she allowed herself to reflect on the past.
“I know,” Cilia told her quietly.
“Howard was always able to talk to Lizzie even when I couldn’t—not that she was ever a problem,” Ruth said quickly, “but she was kind of headstrong and, well—” she shrugged haplessly “—you know what it’s like between mothers and daughters.”
Cilia smiled and nodded, her own set of memories slipping in. “Oh, I know, Ruth. Believe me, I know.”
“Anyway, she worked really hard to make sure all of the bills were paid off before they got out of control. Because of that, she didn’t have any kind of a life. She certainly didn’t have anything that could have remotely passed for a social life. By now, she should have had her degree and gotten not just her MRS but her MOM as well,” Ruth said, a fond expression on her face.
“Does she want those?” Cilia asked, thinking that perhaps her friend was putting her own hopes and dreams on her daughter. It had been known to happen. These days, not every woman wanted to sacrifice a career for raising a family.
“More than you could possibly guess,” Ruth told her with feeling as she thought of her daughter. “But when Howard got sicker, she just pushed all that to the side. She took any job she could, holding down two and at times three part-time jobs so I could be at Howard’s side. Well, those bills are finally all paid off now, but my debt certainly isn’t.”
“You’re referring to your debt to your daughter,” Cilia guessed knowingly.
Ruth nodded. “I most certainly am. I feel that because of her huge heart, which had her doing—as she put it—the right thing, I owe Lizzie as much as I can provide toward helping her get that college degree. But most of all, I owe her that home and family she couldn’t even let herself think about because of what she felt was her obligation.”
Ruth looked at her friend. “But in order to do that, I need help. Professional help. Your help.”
Cilia knew the woman was referring to what she and her two best friends did as a sideline. Matchmaking. She nodded.
“Let me see what I can do,” she promised Ruth. “And I’ll get back to you.”
“I have suggestions,” Ruth added, an eagerness entering her voice.
This time it was Cilia who took a deep breath, bracing herself. “I’m sure you do.” Cilia turned and looked around for the waitress. Spotting the woman, she waved for her to come to their table.
As soon as she was close enough, Cilia said, “I think I’ll have that sweet roll now.”
The waitress beamed.
