Read Online A Love to Call Her Own by Marilyn Pappano - Free Book Online

minute.
    Returning to her own chair, Lucy hoped he couldn’t see the plate of food she’d stashed. She was embarrassed about choosing both a cinnamon roll and a cheese Danish, even if it was her lunch, but she would be humiliated if she got caught hiding it.
    â€œI guess I should ask how she’s doing.” Ben’s voice was deep, heavy with the Oklahoma accent she’d learned to love. There was a reason the state produced so many country music stars, and in her opinion, that accent was part of it.
    â€œIt’s going to take a while to accept that it’s not just a bad dream, that George is really gone, that all their plans and their hopes and future are gone. It’s a big adjustment.”
    His gaze locked on his hands. Long fingers, short nails, just as she’d expected of a surgeon. Those hands wielded instruments that made people’s lives better; they helped people to heal. Could he do the same for his mother? Would he?
    â€œHas she told you?”
    The question was unexpected, his tone a shade vulnerable. “What went wrong? No.”
    His stiffness returned. “Just as well. Her version probably wouldn’t have much in common with the truth.”
    â€œEverything in our past is colored by our perceptions,” Lucy said gently. Ben had his truth; Patricia had hers; and reality might be one, the other, or somewhere in between. But the stern look he shot her didn’t encourage her to pursue the subject. “Do your sisters also live in Tulsa?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWill they be…” She paused to consider her words. Coming to the funeral seemed a little too blunt, checking on their mother a little too presumptive. “Visiting Patricia?”
    He gave her another of those looks and changed the subject again. “You seem awfully young to be friends with her.”
    Lucy smiled. Mike had always told her she was pretty, but when you smile, you’re incredible . Just the memory was enough to make her smile and, sometimes, feel incredible. “Don’t you have friends who are younger or older?”
    â€œAcquaintances. But most of my friends are in my age range.”
    â€œMine, too.” Fia was the youngest of her besties, but they still related. Patricia was probably the oldest of her local friends, and about the same age as her mother. “I live on the next street over. Our backyards connect. When they moved here from Louisiana, I brought a pot of gumbo, bread pudding, and pralines to welcome them to the neighborhood, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
    â€œI’d be friendly for gumbo, bread pudding, and pralines, too,” he muttered.
    Lucy smiled again. Everything else about her might be just average, but her food was exceptional. Joe would eat at her house three times a day if he could manage it.
    â€œWhen was that? When you brought the gumbo.”
    â€œAbout a year ago. George deployed four months ago.” And those four months would have been easier on Patricia if she’d had family to offer her emotional support. Had she tried her best to protect her kids from the fallout of the divorce? Had their father kept them away from her? Had she willingly given up her claim to them?
    Lucy’s friend Therese’s stepchildren’s mother had done that, and now she was nothing more than a bit player in the kids’ lives. Of course, Catherine Matheson didn’t care—yet. Someday, Lucy was sure, she would regret it, like Patricia did.
    â€œYou don’t sound like you’re from around here,” Ben remarked.
    â€œI grew up in El Cajon, California. My husband got orders to Fort Murphy about eight years ago and…” Arms open to embrace the neighborhood, she finished, “I’m still here.”
    The hint of a scowl wrinkled his forehead. Had Patricia’s past mistake been falling in love with a soldier? Had she already been divorced from Ben’s father, or had she left