Page 13 of The Sun & Her Burn (Impossible Universe Trilogy #2)
LINNEA
“ I was worried you wouldn’t ever be very beautiful.”
I closed my eyes for a moment as I ripped a few weeds out of the garden beds by the front door.
It helped to take a second to shore up my shields when Miranda acted out like this.
The problem was, she hadn’t been the kindest mother before her frontal lobes had started to atrophy, and now that the disease was progressing, she was downright cruel much of the time.
“Life is hard for ugly people like you,” she continued blithely from the Adirondack chair I had set up for her in the yard.
It was a hot morning, and I had a few hours between my audition that morning and my shift at the restaurant later that evening, so I thought it would be nice to spend it together in the garden.
I didn’t particularly like the chore, but I always felt better out in the sun, and Miranda loved flowers, so I tried to keep the garden thriving for her.
“Life isn’t difficult for ugly people, Miranda,” I said calmly. “And ugliness is subjective. Everyone has something beautiful to offer the world.”
She laughed. “You’ve always been such a funny thing. Savvy always called you the ugly duckling. Where is she? Have you been keeping her calls from me?”
I sighed. Savannah hadn’t called in ages.
The last time she’d been by to visit, Miranda had accused her of stealing her baby, her film roles, her lovers, and a vintage Prada purse she claimed Robert Redford had given her.
Savannah had left ashen-faced and never returned even though Miranda accused Mrs. Ramirez of the same things every week.
“She’s been busy, but Bobbi called and she said she would visit you next week. Won’t that be nice?”
Miranda sniffed and studied her nails, painted a sunny yellow by yours truly. “Bobbi is a cow.”
“Miranda,” I said patiently. “She’s one of your best friends.”
“She can be both things,” she pointed out. “Just like you can somehow be my daughter and be so ugly. Clearly, you didn’t get my genes.” She peered at me. “Though at least you got my breasts. You used to be flat-chested just like a boy.”
She devolved into making a series of clicks with her tongue, a tic that came with her FTD.
We had a doctor’s appointment next week, and I was both anxious and nervous about it.
She seemed to be declining faster lately, and I worried about what would happen when she needed full-time care, such as assistance with the bathroom every time.
For now, our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Ramirez, was a Godsend who didn’t mind looking after Miranda while I worked for ten dollars an hour, as she ran her sewing business from her house and could easily do it from the guest room I’d converted into my design studio.
However, she wasn’t a qualified nurse, and despite hours of research on FTD, neither was I.
We just simply didn’t have the money to get better care.
Whatever money Miranda had made as a young actress had been spent nearly as fast as she could earn it, and her husbands had the good sense to protect themselves in their prenups.
Wyndam didn’t know how bad it was. Otherwise, he might have offered to help us.
However, I felt bad asking for his money when Miranda had broken his heart by cheating on him.
Dad and my uncles had offered, but they didn’t have a lot of money to spare even though their charter boat company was doing better than ever.
I knew Dad even considered moving out to help me with her.
He and Miranda had never spent more than a few hours in each other’s company since I was born, so I couldn’t just let him uproot his whole life.
The only thing that made sense was for me to move out and do what I could for her.
Dr. Jamshidi, Miranda’s doctor, said that typical life expectancy with FTD could range from seven to twelve years.
We were on year four of her diagnosis even though I only moved in a year and a half ago.
Sometimes, when I was alone at night in bed, exhausted after a day of caretaking and working but unable to sleep, I wondered if I could really sacrifice another four to eight years of my life for her.
“Linnea?”
I startled, turning to see Miranda staring at me with clarity, her hands twisted in her lap, and her mouth twisted with fear.
“What’s happening to me?” she whispered.
I abandoned my trowel and gardening gloves to go to her, crouching in front of her chair and gathering her cold hands in mine.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said softly, rubbing my thumbs over her knuckles. “You’re okay.”
“I don’t feel like myself,” she admitted weakly. “I don’t like it here.”
“Okay,” I said, forcing the words through my tight throat. “Do you want to go inside?”
She clicked her tongue again as she struggled for the words. Finally, she nodded, but when I tried to stand, her hands tightened on mine.
“You won’t leave me, will you?” she whispered fiercely, leaning forward to bare her teeth at me. She hated to brush them now, and I had to pay a dentist to visit us at home to examine one of her broken crowns because she refused to go in. “You won’t leave me like all the rest of them.”
“No, Mom, I won’t leave,” I promised as I always did, tipping forward to press my forehead to hers.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, her frantic breathing slowing until she was slouched against me.
“Okay, let’s get you inside,” I murmured, moving to her side and wrapping an arm around her back to help her stand.
“Let me help.”
I looked up to see Sebastian on the pathway.
He wore black sunglasses, white linen shorts, and a black button-up shirt undone at the top of his chest, revealing a swathe of bronzed skin and some chest hair visible in the gap.
Even without the celebrity, he would have been extraordinary limned in sunlight, smiling gently at me as if he wanted nothing more than to help me.
My throat went dry.
Taking my silence for acquiescence, he moved forward to Miranda’s side and helped us stand her up.
“Clark,” Miranda said sharply. “Where are my flowers?”
Sebastian chuckled. “I left them in the car so I could help you in the house, Miranda, but I’ll grab them for you.”
“Good man,” she praised because she always had a ready smile and a compliment for a handsome male.
Miranda shuffled her way into the house with Sebastian and me on either side of her for support, and she sighed wearily when we helped her into her velvet chair in the living room.
“It’s too hot,” she complained. “Linnea, get me a cold glass of white wine.”
I didn’t argue with her even though she wasn’t allowed to drink anymore.
Instead, I moved into the kitchen with a tight smile for Seb and got some cold lemonade from the fridge.
When I returned to the living room, he was gone, but Miranda didn’t seem to mind, already flipping through the latest issue of Vogue .
“They almost asked me to be on the cover in ’99,” she told me for the millionth time. “Willa Percy couldn’t make it last minute, so they asked me . But then Francis asked for a divorce, and it got ugly.” She pouted. “Why are men never very nice to me?”
“I don’t know if some men are ever very nice to anyone,” I told her as I handed her the lemonade.
Her fine motor function wasn’t great, so she spilled some on her shirt, but I was ready with a napkin to mop it up.
“Some men are,” she crowed, spilling even more lemonade as she clapped her hand against the glass.
The happiness on her face so transfixed me that it took me a second to look for the cause of it.
Sebastian stood in the doorway with an armful of flowers—a large bouquet filled with white and pink freesia and lilies—and another beautifully made blue glass vase stuffed with yellow flowers, including a few varieties of orchids.
“A man should always bring a beautiful woman flowers,” Sebastian said, as he handed the freesia bouquet to Miranda, who giggled in delight.
But he was looking at me.
And when he handed the flowers off to Miranda, he closed the space between us with a few long strides and brought the yellow flowers up between us.
“Yellow reminds me of you,” he said softly, just for me. I watched as he plucked a daisy from the stem, brushed the hair away from my ear with his fingers, and hooked the bloom there. “As warm and vital as the sun.”
“Sebastian,” I murmured, because it was the only word I knew how to say at that moment, absolutely struck dumb by his sweetness.
“Linnea,” Miranda called too loudly. “Put these in water for me. I don’t want them to wilt before Bobbi can see them. When was the last time someone brought that old hag flowers, hmm?”
Sebastian bit the edge of his lip to hide his smile, but I gave in to mine, shaking my head slightly as I took my flowers from him.
“Thank you,” I said, rolling to my toes to brush my lips along the edge of his jaw because that was as high as I could reach even though I was fairly tall. The texture of his inky stubble made me shiver.
His warm hand found my hip, branding me through to the bone. He tipped his head into the kiss, smoothing his own mouth over my forehead.
“Anytime.”
“Linnea!”
I laughed a little breathlessly as I pulled away to grab her flowers, taking both bouquets into the kitchen.
Sebastian stayed back with Miranda for a minute, but finally made his way into the back when I had finished cutting the stems and put them into a Waterford crystal vase Miranda refused to sell.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I told him. “But you’ve made her month, honestly. She loves pretty things, especially when they come from pretty men.”
He chuckled, eliminating the space between us until he was right at my back. I shivered as his fingers traced my ear and the flower he’d set there then trailed down my hair to my low back where the waves ended.
“I wish I could say I did it for Miranda,” he admitted. “But I think I’m becoming addicted to your smile now that I’ve seen it in person again.”