life revolved around her husband, her daughter, and her neighborhood. To Annabelle’s knowledge, her mother had never set foot in this mall—she said the atmosphere was much too pricey and snobbish, preferring suburban discount stores and clearance sales.
Now she wore department store makeup and designer jeans— jeans , for heaven’s sake—and seemed impossibly happy. Hurt stabbed at Annabelle. If her mother was happy with all the trappings Martin Castleberry could provide, had Belle been unhappy while living with her father?
“Annabelle?”
She blinked her mother’s worried face into focus.
“Are you feeling all right, dear?”
“N-never better.”
“Is everything all right at your office?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, Mike said things were actually quiet. She’s keeping an eye on Shoakie for me, too.”
“Such a nice girl.” Her mother lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I can’t understand why neither of you beautiful young women has been snapped up by a husband.”
“Mom—”
“Speaking of which, I have something for you, dear.”
Annabelle watched her mother rummage in a huge black tote, half afraid she would whip out a six foot accountant. Instead Belle withdrew a small black velvet jeweler’s box with a silver bow and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Baffled, she removed the bow and opened the lid of the hinged box. A familiar small square diamond in a white gold setting winked back at her, and a lump immediately lodged in her throat. “Your engagement ring?”
Belle nodded. “I want you to have it, and I know your father would be pleased.”
Blinking rapidly, she shook her head. “But Daddy gave you this ring—”
Her mother shushed her. “It was going to be yours someday anyway, and this way you’ll have it to enjoy for many years. Try it on.”
With shaking hands, she slipped it onto her left ring finger, honored to wear the symbol of her parents’ matrimonial promise, but troubled to see it leave her mother’s hand. “It’s a little big,” she murmured, turning the ring freely.
“We’ll have it sized,” he mother said, nodding with approval. “It’s beautiful against your long fingers. And there’s still plenty of room for other rings,” she added with a wink.
Annabelle swallowed, but the lump remained. “Thank you.”
Her mother clasped her hand. “You’re welcome.”
She stared at her mother’s hand and a question she’d pondered yesterday resurfaced. “Where’s your…?” A flush warmed her cheeks and she let the question die on her lips when she realized she might not want to hear the answer.
“My wedding ring?” Belle filled in. “I took it off,” she said, pulling her new engagement ring up to her knuckle to reveal a dip in her flesh made from wearing a band for thirty-some years. A warm smile played over her mouth. “But it will always be close to my heart.”
Hurt plowed through Annabelle’s chest, leaving a wide, raw furrow. Protest hovered on her tongue. No, don’t divest yourself of Daddy’s things…don’t forget the life you had with him…don’t forget who you are. Instead she simply stared at an unfamiliar, sophisticated version of her mother and wondered how much more of her she would lose before this situation ended.
A waitress came by to deliver fresh-squeezed orange juice and to take their orders, bridging the bittersweet moment. While her mother communicated her somewhat complex order—she was counting her fat grams—Annabelle slipped off the ring and tucked the box safely into her purse.
“So,” she said when they were alone, forcing cheer into her voice and lifting her glass. “What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?”
“I was hoping you’d help me choose a wedding gown.”
She swallowed hard and the tart citrus burned her throat. “A wedding gown?”
“And your dress, too, of course. I was thinking a mother-daughter combination, you know, like when you were
Now she wore department store makeup and designer jeans— jeans , for heaven’s sake—and seemed impossibly happy. Hurt stabbed at Annabelle. If her mother was happy with all the trappings Martin Castleberry could provide, had Belle been unhappy while living with her father?
“Annabelle?”
She blinked her mother’s worried face into focus.
“Are you feeling all right, dear?”
“N-never better.”
“Is everything all right at your office?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, Mike said things were actually quiet. She’s keeping an eye on Shoakie for me, too.”
“Such a nice girl.” Her mother lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I can’t understand why neither of you beautiful young women has been snapped up by a husband.”
“Mom—”
“Speaking of which, I have something for you, dear.”
Annabelle watched her mother rummage in a huge black tote, half afraid she would whip out a six foot accountant. Instead Belle withdrew a small black velvet jeweler’s box with a silver bow and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Baffled, she removed the bow and opened the lid of the hinged box. A familiar small square diamond in a white gold setting winked back at her, and a lump immediately lodged in her throat. “Your engagement ring?”
Belle nodded. “I want you to have it, and I know your father would be pleased.”
Blinking rapidly, she shook her head. “But Daddy gave you this ring—”
Her mother shushed her. “It was going to be yours someday anyway, and this way you’ll have it to enjoy for many years. Try it on.”
With shaking hands, she slipped it onto her left ring finger, honored to wear the symbol of her parents’ matrimonial promise, but troubled to see it leave her mother’s hand. “It’s a little big,” she murmured, turning the ring freely.
“We’ll have it sized,” he mother said, nodding with approval. “It’s beautiful against your long fingers. And there’s still plenty of room for other rings,” she added with a wink.
Annabelle swallowed, but the lump remained. “Thank you.”
Her mother clasped her hand. “You’re welcome.”
She stared at her mother’s hand and a question she’d pondered yesterday resurfaced. “Where’s your…?” A flush warmed her cheeks and she let the question die on her lips when she realized she might not want to hear the answer.
“My wedding ring?” Belle filled in. “I took it off,” she said, pulling her new engagement ring up to her knuckle to reveal a dip in her flesh made from wearing a band for thirty-some years. A warm smile played over her mouth. “But it will always be close to my heart.”
Hurt plowed through Annabelle’s chest, leaving a wide, raw furrow. Protest hovered on her tongue. No, don’t divest yourself of Daddy’s things…don’t forget the life you had with him…don’t forget who you are. Instead she simply stared at an unfamiliar, sophisticated version of her mother and wondered how much more of her she would lose before this situation ended.
A waitress came by to deliver fresh-squeezed orange juice and to take their orders, bridging the bittersweet moment. While her mother communicated her somewhat complex order—she was counting her fat grams—Annabelle slipped off the ring and tucked the box safely into her purse.
“So,” she said when they were alone, forcing cheer into her voice and lifting her glass. “What’s on the agenda for the rest of the day?”
“I was hoping you’d help me choose a wedding gown.”
She swallowed hard and the tart citrus burned her throat. “A wedding gown?”
“And your dress, too, of course. I was thinking a mother-daughter combination, you know, like when you were
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