Promises Promises

Chapter 5

I thought often about the gigantic shift that move must've caused in my mother's life after such a monumental loss. She never wanted to leave Italy, but children have so little input on the big things when they're small. 

Adjusting to America wasn't easy for her, and watching her on the patio that day, seeing the pain that lingered in her eyes and circulated through her body, it was clear the world only continued to withhold its kindness.

She was halfway through the apple when I checked my phone for the time. We had to leave in an hour. The physical therapy office was only a few minutes away, which I was grateful for as we wouldn't have to rush. I had to admit, I was kind of enjoying the quiet with Mom.

I leaned back in my chair, admiring the way her hair seemed to sparkle in the sun. At fifty-two, a rich brown was still holding strong, but her head was sprinkled with shiny strands of gray. I thought it looked sort of magical.

When she cut another piece of apple, she surprised me by not bringing it to her mouth, tossing it in the yard instead. It landed in the grass with a light plunk, and a small laugh escaped my mouth.

"What was that for?"

She turned to me with a rare smile and shrugged. "The deer, of course."

"Of course," I echoed, shaking my head.

"What?" Her smile grew and I relished in the pretty lines that formed around her lips, the evidence of wisdom and strength, emanating the happiness she managed to find amidst everything life threw at her. She held the apple up. "The deer love these Cosmo apples that Spencer brings over."

The sound of his name made my heart hiccup, but I stayed focused. "Cosmo? I've never heard of that variety."

"They're special. A hybrid from...Washington," she said slowly, eyebrows dipping together in thought. "No, they're not called Cosmo. It's..."

As her words trailed off, so did my mind...

Spencer's still bringing her apples?

That's so...sweet of him.

Shit. Stay focused, I reminded myself.

"Cosmo," Mom repeated, bringing me back to the patio. But then she shook her head, and her gaze breezed past mine on the way to study the clouds, looking embarrassed.

It made my chest ache. One of her first symptoms was brain fog, and it had only gotten worse in the eight years since her MS diagnosis.

"Well, whatever they're called," she continued softly. "Spencer picks them up from a grocery store all the way over in Renlow Park since the market in town doesn't carry them."

"That's nice of him," I muttered, allowing myself to feel another ache entirely. That confusing and kind, insufferable soul of his. "Should you really be sharing them with the deer? I mean, if he goes to all that trouble to bring you special apples from three towns over, maybe the deer can have something else."

"Why shouldn't they get the good stuff, Davina?" When she looked over at me again, I was happy to see a touch of mischief in her eyes, the business of her forgetfulness left behind. "Are they less worthy since they're animals?"

"Well, no, but..."

"They were here first, you know."

"Yes, I know," I grumbled. My mother, the animal advocate. "But that just means they know their way around the forest and can find their own apples."

"Ahh," Mom scoffed and waved a dismissive hand in my direction. "Sembri tuo padre."

Her words straightened my spine. Most of her Italian escaped me, but I understood that statement loud and clear.