The Reckoning by Christie Ridgway

but who you are.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œBut you need to remember we care about you and always will. Though I’m afraid I don’t buy this diagnosis of your tears.”
    Linda wiped at the last of them with the soft napkin. “It’s the head injury.”
    â€œLike a Hallmark commercial is a head injury.” Nan laughed. “Being touched emotionally by a tragic story or the sight of your son in the sunshine isn’t about being injured, Linda. It’s about being a woman.”
    It’s about being a woman.
    Linda glanced back out the window, just as Emmett looked inside. His green gaze caught hers, held it. She remembered again the feel of his lips on hers, his strong, wide hand on her shoulder.
    And she worried that being a woman wasn’t something she could ever recover from.

Five
    A few days later, Linda awoke to strange, cooking-type sounds from the kitchen. Emmett wasn’t a big-breakfast person, so she lay there, trying to think if there was something going on that day she had yet to remember. Nothing came to mind.
    Lifting herself onto one elbow, she glanced at the open notebook on her bedside table.
    Today is Sunday.
    There was nothing beyond that simple phrase, which meant she had no specific plans for the day. Which meant she should make plans to spend time with Ricky. Just the thought made her feel anxious and inadequate, so she rolled back onto her pillow and considered going back to sleep. But the noises from the kitchen continued, so curiosity prompted her toclimb out of bed and slip into her robe. She was reaching for the doorknob when there was a light rap on the door itself.
    Pulling it open, she faced no one, until she dropped her gaze from adult level to child level. There stood Ricky, a tray in his hands, an uncertain expression on his face. “Happy Mother’s Day?” he said, more as a question than a greeting.
    â€œI— Oh.” Linda swallowed her surprise and shuffled back. Mother’s Day. “Thank you.”
    Ricky’s mouth moved into a small scowl. “It’s supposed to be breakfast in bed,” he said, jerking his chin toward the tray.
    â€œOh! Well, I…” This was a test, Linda realized in dismay. This was a test and she’d already failed the first question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know….”
    â€œNo harm done.” It was Emmett, coming up behind the boy. “Scoot back under the covers and then Ricky can serve you as he’d planned.”
    Linda couldn’t move fast enough. She followed the directions, sliding between the sheets, robe and all. Then she looked over at Ricky, trying to appear expectant instead of nervous. “This is such a pleasant surprise.”
    Ricky gave a little roll of his eyes, and her stomach dipped. She sounded stilted and formal, even to her own ears. Another red mark. She kept silent as he settled the tray onto her thighs.
    â€œYou have juice and coffee, and Emmett helped me make pancakes and bacon. He said you’d like them.” The little boy’s gaze challenged her for the truth.
    â€œI do like them. Thank you, thank you very much.” She lifted the napkin off the tray to reveal something made of construction paper and crayons. “What’s this?”
    Ricky backed away from the bed and stared down at his shoes. “A dumb card they made us do in school. My teacher likes us to do dumb projects.”
    Linda picked it up. “It doesn’t look dumb to me.”
    â€œIt’s dumb,” Ricky said. “Really, really dumb.”
    She looked over the card. Apparently Ricky had inherited his artistic talent from her, which meant, unfortunately, no talent whatsoever. But what the stick figures and boxy structures on the face of the card lacked in verisimilitude, he’d made up for with a riotous use of color. The sky was very, very blue, the sun a blaze of orangeish yellow, and one of the persons depicted had