WAKE (Wattpad edition)

12. Birthday present.

{Cary}

Cary borrowed a dress shirt and a dark sweater from Pete and brushed his hair back from his face the way his mom liked. He had nicked himself shaving and leaned over the sink, pressing his fingers to the cut under the corner of his jaw. He could feel his heart racing along under his fingertips and his face was white under its tan in the mirror. He reviewed all the things she had said on Sunday, trying to guess how this was going to go.

He tried not to hope. He tried not to imagine her smiling at him. He steeled himself for her to be stiff and cold, taking him for a token birthday dinner to appease her sense of what a mother should do.

He hung onto the sink and shut his eyes, trying to pray. He didn't have words for how frightening it was to feel hopeful like this, so he just stood there trying to send that to Jesus and breathe in some kind of peace from the steamy bathroom air.

Pete dropped him off at the restaurant on the way to a meeting. "You all right?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows in concern.

Cary nodded, his hands sweating.

"You're sure she can drop you back home? My meeting isn't done until 9."

Cary nodded again. "See you tonight," he said in a dry voice.

She was late. He couldn't sit still at the table, so he was pacing with his hands stuffed in his pockets when the patio door opened. Beverly was in a light summer dress, and he didn't think it was his imagination that her face lit up to see him. She crossed the patio, standing on tiptoe to kiss both his cheeks. "Happy birthday, Cary."

The smell of her perfume filled his nose and he blinked, his eyes stinging. "Thanks, Mom," he whispered.

Her eyes kept glancing at him over her menu, and he tried to smile. "How's Liam?"

"Growing every day," she said lightly. "Just as he should be."

The reminder stung. He had missed so much—and he was going to keep missing so much of his brother's life.

"What will you order?" she asked.

Cary opened his menu and tried to make sense of the items on the page. "The usual, I guess."

"Not the half order, I guess," Beverly said.

Cary closed his menu. She'd missed some things too. "No."

"Were you working today?"

He nodded, and she cupped her chin in her hand, looking openly at him. "Tell me about what you do."

"It's pretty boring. Just—putting shingles on people's roofs."

"Like the work you did with—Mr. White. Framing." There was the barest hitch when she said his name.

Cary ducked his head. "Yes. That's how I got the job—someone in his church needed a guy and Pete—Mr. White—told him I would be good."

She was still smiling at him, lifting her eyebrows. "And you were."

His ears got hot. There were years of history behind them when he had been anything but good. "Working on it."

There was a gap in conversation and he fished for safe questions he could ask. "And you? Is work going good for you?"

"It is. I can focus on my clients in a way—I wasn't free to before." He met her eyes and saw the person he had always hoped was in there, a woman who knew exactly what was going on, even if she would say nothing about it. "Since Phillippa came to help," she finished.