Eyes Wide Open (The Blackstone Affair #3)(54)
Author: Raine Miller

“How do you know about green-olive?” She actually smiled a little.

“I put Bump dot com in my favorites and check it religiously, just like you suggested. We have a green-olive this week, and next week we get a prune.” I winked.

“I love you,” she whispered very softly, and ran her hand through her hair.

“I love you too, my beauty. So very, very much.”

The attendant arrived with the hot towels and drink service. I got the wine, and Brynne got cranberry juice on ice. I waited until she took a sip. I didn’t want to have to force-feed her, but would resort to persuasion tactics if I had to.

To my surprise and relief she seemed to enjoy the cranberry juice.

“This tastes really, really nice.” Another sip. “I’m picking up your words.”

“I can assure you that you still sound like my American girl, baby.”

“I know that, I mean I’m picking up the words you say, like saying ‘this tastes nice’ instead of saying it ‘tastes good.’ It’s rubbing off from being around you so much,” she said.

“Well, since you’re never getting rid of me, then I guess that means I’ll have you speaking like a native in no time.”

“Well, you can certainly try.” She sipped some more juice and looked a bit brighter.

“By the time green-olive is born, you’ll be unrecognizable as a Yank, I’m sure.”

Her face lit up. “I just realized something kinda cool.”

“What’s that?” I asked, intrigued but happy to see her more animated than she’d been in many days.

“Green-olive will call me Mummy instead of Mommy or Mom.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “Seems a little weird . . . but I suppose I’ll get used to it . . . and I like the way it sounds.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You’ll be the best mum green-olive has ever known.”

She smiled at me briefly, but then it went away just as fast as it had appeared. “Not like mine, that’s for sure.” The hurt and anguish rang out loud and clear in her words.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.” I shook my head, not wanting to badmouth her mother, but finding it very hard not to.

“You mean bringing her up.”

“That too,” I countered. I really didn’t want to get into the complexities of Brynne’s relationship with her mum, but if that’s what she wanted to discuss, then I could surely give my opinion. I just hoped I didn’t have to.

She saved me by asking a different question. “What about your mother, Ethan?”

“Well, I barely remember her. All I have now are the memories suggested by the photographs mostly. I think I can remember things about her, but I’m probably just imagining those experiences because of the subject of the photos and the stories Dad and Hannah have shared with me.”

“You said you got the wings tattooed on your back because of your mom.”

No, I don’t want to do this right now.

I almost sighed, but I just managed to hold it in. I knew better than to shut her out in this moment. Brynne had asked me about the tattoo before, and I know she wanted me to share with her now, but I just didn’t feel ready for that yet. Not here on a public flight under tragic circumstances. This wasn’t the right time, nor the right place, for me to let out those emotions.

The salmon showed up just then and reprieved me.

Brynne continued to sip her juice and avoided the food, which wasn’t bad at all for airline fare.

“Here.” I offered a forkful of fish, deciding if she wasn’t going to eat on her own, then I would feed it to her myself.

She eyeballed the bite carefully before opening her mouth to accept it. She chewed slowly and deliberately. “The salmon is nice, but I want to know why the wings remind you of your mom.”

So that’s how this game would be played, huh? Emotional blackmail in exchange for eating a meal . . . I offered another bite of fish to her.

She kept her lips pursed together. “Why that tattoo, Ethan?”

I took a deep breath. “They’re angel’s wings and since I think of her as such, it was very fitting to have the wings across my back.”

“That’s a beautiful idea.” She smiled.

I offered a fresh bit of salmon, which she accepted with no argument this time.

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Laurel.”

“It’s pretty. Laurel. Laurel Blackstone . . .” she repeated.

“I think so,” I told her.

“If green-olive is a girl, I think we have a perfect name for her, don’t you?”

I felt my throat move as I swallowed hard. And it wasn’t from eating the salmon. Her suggestion meant something to me—something deep and very personal.

“You would do that?”

“I really do love the name Laurel, and if you want it, then . . . yes, of course,” she answered, her eyes a little brighter than before.

I was stunned, utterly humbled by her generosity and willingness to give to me such a beautiful gift, especially in a time of such horrible grief for herself. “I would love to name our girl Laurel after my mum,” I said truthfully, before holding up a small piece of bread torn from a roll.

She took the bit of bread and chewed it slowly, never taking her eyes off mine. “Good, that’s settled then,” she said softly, her voice wistful and sounding rather far away.

I imagined what she might be thinking about, so I went for it. “And if our green-olive is a boy?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She started to cry. “I want to . . . name him Thom-m-mas,” she managed, before breaking down right over the Atlantic Ocean, in a first-class cabin, on British Air flight 284, the red-eye, San Francisco to London Heathrow.

I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head. I held Brynne and let her do what she finally needed to do. She was quiet about it and nobody even paid any attention to us, but still it hurt me to have to witness her going through this next step in a very normal process.

The flight attendant, wearing a badge with the name Dorothy and a soft Irish burr, clued in, though, and rushed right over to offer assistance. I asked her to take away the dinner and bring us an extra blanket. Dorothy seemed to understand that Brynne was grieving, and worked quickly to get the food removed, the lights turned out and a blanket for us to cover up. She took extra care of us for the remainder of the flight, and I made sure to thank her sincerely for her kindness when we disembarked several hours later.