She watched them for a moment, listened to their voices and laughter, but then her mind drifted somewhere far from the sunlit kitchen in Napa—this place that offered peace—to her home in New Orleans and her boutique. What would happen to it all if she didn’t get better? Who would manage things if she couldn’t return? The idea of letting go, of surrendering control of those things that she’d built, simply made her stomach turn and feel unsettled. She hadn’t let herself really think about it until now. But the truth was staring her in the face. She needed to start putting things in order. She needed to contact Daphne, her realtor, consider selling the house, maybe even the boutique. Both had been her pride and joy for so long. The house where she’d built a family with Harry, raised Mila. She now needed to say goodbye to it. Saying farewell to the boutique, well, that would be the worst of it all. It was something that she had worked so hard for, but now she didn’t know if she had the energy to keep on fighting for it.
She swallowed hard, with her eyes fixed on the window now as she looked out upon the patio and the pool, but not really seeing any of it. Bianca had always been the one who handled everything in her life, making the hard decisions. Even when married to Harry, they constantly bumped heads about how things should be run, both in the home and their marriage. She had her own mind, her own way of doing things, and sometimes she tried to wear the pants in the house. Thatinfuriated him. He wanted to lead, be in control, and have the final word. But Bianca had never been one to fall in line easily. She didn’t know how to be quiet when something felt wrong. She flat-out refused to shrink herself just to keep the peace. And that was their constant battle—his need to be obeyed, her need to be heard.
Now, she felt as if she was losing control, like the things she held dear were quietly slipping away from her. Her home, her health, her business, her daughter’s trust—once she discovered the truth. She was even losing her sense of self. The steadiness she once prided herself on had been replaced by uncertainty, and no matter how hard she tried to tighten the grip, life was moving fast, and without her permission.
“Earth to Bianca,” Remi said, leaning on the edge of the kitchen island.
Bianca looked up, caught off guard. “Hmm?”
“You disappeared for a second.” Remi’s tone wasn’t judgmental but aware. She walked over, brought the mug to her. “Here you go.”
Bianca reached for the cup. “Thanks.”
“You okay?” Remi asked, her voice quiet enough so the girls wouldn’t hear.
Bianca managed a smile, “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
Bianca was tired of lying and being secretive about things. It was secrets that had her in conflict with Remi, and she didn’t want to be in that place anymore.
She looked down at her tea and then at Remi. “I was just thinking … about everything. The house in New Orleans. The boutique. All those things that need to be handled.”
Remi sat next to her on the couch. “Well, they don’t need to be handled today. You should focus on healing, on getting well. Nothing is final.”
“I’m just so used to handling things.”
“I know you’re trying to make peace with the idea of not being here anymore, but B, the truth is, you’re still here,” Remi said. “And all that stuff that you’re stressing about will work itself out.”
Bianca’s voice trembled. “You’re right. I just don’t want things to fall through the cracks.”
“If you don’t get yourself healed, you won’t have to worry about any of those things. You, yourself, will fall through the cracks.” Remi touched her hand. “Just allow yourself to relax for once.”
She swallowed, her voice soft. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“You’ll figure it out, because at this point you don’t have a choice.”
Remi was right.
There was one thing that she needed to take care of right away. Slipping outside to the patio, Bianca tucked her cell phone into the pocket of her bathrobe. She sat in one of the patio chairs, soaking up the evening sun for a moment before pulling out her phone. Her fingers hovered, then dialed a number that she hadn’t dialed in a long time—Harry’s.
He answered on the second ring. “Hello, Bianca.”
“Hello, Harry. Is this a good time? I’d like to talk.”
“I’m in traffic on the I-10. Looks like there’s been an accident, so I’m not going anywhere fast. Go ahead.”
“I wanted to talk to you about Mila. She’s thinking about switching schools in the fall, and I think it’s a good idea. She’d be closer to home—closer to you—”
“She mentioned it already,” he said, cutting her off.
“Oh.” A bit of silence followed. Bianca wished Mila had told her that. It would’ve spared her this awkward phone call.
“I also know you’re sick again,” Harry said. “That the cancer’s back.”
A lump formed in Bianca’s throat. She braced herself, for judgment, for blame. She waited for him to say that it was karma. That this was the price she was paying for all her wrongs.
Instead, he said, “I just wanted to say … I hope you find your way back to good health.”