Page 31 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

“Thanks for the dinner.” Ihugged my mother goodbye at the door. “Ipromise I’ll visit again.”

“Come back anytime you want.” She moved to hug Erin. “And you, don’tbe astranger. Feel free to join him.”

“Iappreciate it, Mrs. Cooke,” Erin replied, polite, kind, Erin-like.

“Don’tmake me repeat myself.” My mother wagged her index finger at her, her hazel eyes playful. “It’sDeborah.”

“Deborah. Good night.”

My body buzzed with joy, afeeling Ihadn’texperienced in thirty-three years.

Ididn’twant this night to end, playing scenarios in my head on how I’dask Erin for acoffee or awalk, anything to hold on to that shrivel of happiness.

“Your parents are lovely.” She looked at me during the drive home, sounding just as awake as Iwas. “Definitely not murderers.”

“Never said they were.” Irubbed my beard, acrooked smile forming on my face. “So, I’mnot tired.”

“Me neither.” She chuckled and massaged her belly. “It’dtake me years to fall asleep with all that sugar in my system.”

“Itold you her cakes were good, never said they were diabetes approved.”

It brought out more chuckles from her, asoothing sound to my ears and with alastIt’snow or neverthought, Iasked her, “Would you like to come over for tea? Decaf, Ipromise.”

Before Ihad achance to promise her it’dbe as friends, she nodded emphatically. “I’dlove to.”