Excerpt of Blackberry Winter by Cheryl Reavis

For some reason, the drive from D.C. into Arlington was less hair-raising than usual this morning. Loran Kimball tried to put her worry aside enough to be happy about it. She wanted — needed — to see her mother today, and for once she might actually arrive only minimally stressed by the Beltway traffic.

She never knew what to say to Maddie these days, what to do. She didn't know if coming to visit so often was making things easier for her or not. She couldn't tell without specifically asking, and even if she did ask, she could never be certain of the accuracy of the answer. Maddie was so adept at seeming to indulge an inquiry, but, truly, she was the quintessential self-contained "private person." Not standoffish. Not rude or unfriendly. Just private. She didn't respond with precise answers to the things people asked her; she responded with whatever she wanted them to know. And, as far as Loran could tell, Maddie's illness hadn't made her any more forthcoming. She was quite willing to make some morbid joke about her imminent demise, but she was typically sketchy regarding what was actually happening to her body and how she felt about it. Loran had only lately come to recognize that she had never really known with any certainty how Maddie had felt about anything — except in the strictest parent-child context. She knew Maddie's Rules of Etiquette and Social Behavior inside out, but Maddie herself was, and always had been, an enigma. What little real information Loran had gleaned about her mother had come from the example she'd set, not from anything she'd said. Did her mother have hopes and dreams beyond getting herself and her daughter educated and well-employed? Loran had no idea, and, at this late date, she wasn't at all certain she wanted to find out, not when it was too late for Maddie to realize them.

She gave a quiet sigh and made the first of a series of turns that would take her deep into Maddie's peaceful residential neighborhood, driving slowly down the tree- lined streets toward the bungalow where Maddie lived, for once paying attention to the houses and the front yards as she passed. They all reminded her of 1950s television somehow, of a world where families thrived intact and where wives stayed at home, mindlessly happy and wearing high heels and pearls, women who never worried about anything beyond the boundaries of their neatly manicured yards. They kept their houses and raised their children themselves, while their husbands went out into the real world every day and earned a decent living. It was not the kind of place she would have thought would appeal to Maddie, but clearly it had. Maddie had been living there ever since Loran had graduated from college eighteen years ago.

"Oh," Loran said out loud as her mother's house came into view. Maddie was an early riser, but her driveway shouldn't be empty this time of morning. Her car was gone and the drapes at the windows were still drawn — a sure sign that her daylight-loving mother wasn't at home.

Loran pulled sharply to the curb and parked. She hadn't called first to let Maddie know she was coming today, and her immediate thought was that Maddie's condition had worsened, that she had unexpectedly taken herself to the hospital again, and she hadn't called yet to let Loran know.

Except that Maddie was Maddie, and it was just as likely that she wouldn't call at all, if she could help it. Loran didn't want to think that she might be physically unable to use the phone — but either way, it was a contingency she had planned for. She had the patient-information number at the hospital programmed into her cell phone.

When the woman at the hospital answered, Loran made no attempt to try to explain or to justify the reason for her call.

"I'd like the room number for Ms. Maddie Kimball, please," she said, spelling both names.

There was a pause, one filled with the staccato clicking of computer keys.

"We have no one listed by that name," the woman said.

"It's possible she could still be in Emergency," Loran said, trying to keep her voice steady and not grip the phone so tightly.

"I'm sorry. That name hasn't been entered into the system."

"If she just arrived —"

"All patient data should be entered right away. You could try again later, just in case there's been some unforeseen delay."

"Thank you," Loran said. She snapped the cell phone shut and stared out the windshield. "Okay, Maddie, where are you?"

Out hitting the yard sales? Gone to meet some other early bird for breakfast? Either would be unlikely, Loran thought. She had no choice but to wait. She had the key to Maddie's house and she rummaged through her purse until she found it.

She glanced at the bright blue sky as she got out of her vehicle — the new and far too expensive SUV Maddie called the domestic version of a Sherman tank — and walked toward the back door. It was going to be a beautiful fall day, crisp and clear. A group of children rode by on bicycles. Someone was burning leaves somewhere — probably illegally.

Loran stopped abruptly when she reached the carport. The back door was slightly ajar. She hesitated, then pushed it open wider and stood on the threshold, ready to run if she had to. She listened intently and she could hear a child babbling somewhere in the house and a man's voice. After a moment, a portly bald man wearing a bow tie came into view. He was carrying a little girl and holding Maddie's red watering can.

"What are you doing in here?" Loran asked bluntly.

He looked around in surprise. "Oh — we're just watering the plants," he said, clearly unperturbed by the question. He held up the red watering can for Loran to see.

"Water pants," the little girl echoed and the man smiled at her. She smiled at him in return, then gave him a hug. "Hi, Daddy," she said.

"Hi, little miss," he said to her. "Aspiring linguist," he said to Loran.

Loran stared at him. "You are...?"

"Andrew Kessler — this is Sara — we live next door."

"Nest-or," Sara said, making her father smile again.

"You have to be really careful at this stage," he said to Loran. "They're a walking instant replay, only the replay might not be instant. It might show up three days later in the middle of church." He proceeded to water the herb pots on the kitchen windowsill.

"Do you...know where Maddie is?"

"Yeah — she gave me the address. Or the vicinity, anyway."

"Where is she?"

"You are...?" he asked pointedly, in the same way she had done.

"Her daughter."

"Oh, yes. Loran. We nearly stole your name and gave it to Sara, didn't we?" he asked the child.

Sara nodded solemnly. "Could you give me the...vicinity?" Loran asked. "Sure. I don't see why not."

"Did she say how long she'd be gone?"

"Nope. Not really," he said, watering another plant. "Nope," Sara echoed.

He set the watering can on the counter and reached for his wallet. It took him a moment to shuffle Sara, who didn't want to be put down, and the contents of his billfold until he found a slip of blue paper.

"I'll need that back," he said as he handed it to Loran. She looked at the paper. Lilac Hill had been written in her mother's careful hand, with a phone number below it.

What and where was Lilac Hill? "It's a North Carolina phone number, I think," Andrew Kessler said helpfully. "She said something about the mountains. That's about all I know."

"Was she — did she — ?" Loran stopped, not quite knowing how to frame the question. This man might be allowed into Maddie's house to look after her greenery, but that didn't mean he knew anything about her health.

"She seemed fine," he said, still being helpful. If he thought it odd that Loran didn't know about her mother's travel plans, it didn't show. "Better than I've seen her in a while, actually. Kind of excited about going."

Loran moved to the pad beside the telephone and scribbled down the number, then handed the blue paper back to him.

"Thank you," she said absently, trying to process the information he'd just given her.

"Will you be staying for a while?"

Loran looked at him blankly.

"Do we still need to come and water the plants, is what I'm asking."

"Yes. I won't be staying. Thanks for doing that, by the way."

"Oh, it's our pleasure."

"Pay sure," Sara said, and this time Loran smiled.

"She's very...pretty," she said, but she'd been about to say

"lucky." Little Sara Kessler had a father who clearly wanted to be in her life, to talk to her, to carry her around with him — something far beyond Loran's experience.

"We think so," he said. "Well, that's it for today. Come on, little miss. We're off to wake up Mommy and take her to McDonald's."

"Mommy!" Sara cried, clasping her hands together. "That's right! Mommy! It was nice to finally meet you," he said to Loran, making her feel slightly...absentee, in spite of the fact that she had never neglected Maddie. She had come to Arlington as often as she could.

She stood and watched him walk back across the yard. At one point, he set his daughter on the ground and they continued the rest of the way hand in hand, underscoring something Loran had realized a long time ago. Some men were meant to be fathers — and most men weren't. Clearly, her own hadn't been so inclined.

She thought suddenly about leaving the house this morning and about Kent, cranky and half-asleep when she'd tried to tell him about her restless night and her impulsive decision to go to Arlington again. He'd made a token offer to come with her, but he hadn't meant it. She hadn't really wanted him to come along. What she had wanted — needed — was some small indication that he understood a little of what she was going through. They had lived together for months. Her mother was dying, and her heart was breaking, and he had given her...nothing.

She was still watching as Andrew Kessler and his daughter carefully climbed the steps to their front porch and went inside the house. Step-climbing was clearly another much appreciated milestone. She tried to imagine Kent taking that kind of delight in a child's simple accomplishments and couldn't. He wasn't interested in being a father, or a husband. He was interested in living unencumbered and in having a large corner office with his name on the door — not unlike herself. She and Kent made a beautiful, career- minded couple. Everybody said so. Loran and Kent. Kent and Loran. Wunderkinds of the investment world. She knew that Maddie didn't like him much, regardless of the fact that she'd never said so. Loran had never quite gotten up the courage to ask why not. As inaccessible as Maddie's thoughts might be, one did not want to ask her for an honest opinion unless one was ready to hear it.

"Maddie, Maddie," Loran said wearily.

She didn't understand any of this. Her mother was a home- body. She didn't take unplanned trips, even when she'd been in the bloom of health. Apparently, Maddie expected to be gone for a time, or she wouldn't have made plans to keep her philodendrons and her windowsill herb garden alive.

She just didn't expect to be gone long enough to have to inform her only child.