Braden stood in front of his closet and plucked a gray blazer from the row of jackets hanging there. He slipped it over his white shirt and headed for the door of his apartment, pausing to look around the living room on his way out.

It was a modest place, paid for with his salary from the Bureau rather than the money that had been sitting in his trust fund since his father died eight years earlier. That money felt tainted, and Braden still hadn’t figured out how to use it without remembering their last, vicious argument.

He wasn’t particularly attached to the apartment, but it was close to Nora, and that meant something to him. Their drinks and dinners and the times they met for a walk on the beach meant something to him. He’d spent years using work as an excuse, and now that he’d left the Bureau it would still be an excuse, although in an entirely different way.

But not tonight. Tonight there would be nothing between them.

He pulled the door closed and stepped into the night air, heavy with the scent of jasmine and salt as the ocean rolled in a block from his apartment. He was getting into his car when his cell phone rang. He looked at the display, hesitated, then picked up.

“Mother,” he said. “What’s up?”

“What kind of way is that to answer the phone, Braden? Really!”

The sound of her voice in his ear brought back a million memories. A million times that she’d mediated between him and his father. He remembered the way her voice had trembled during the last big argument between them. The way she had raged at him at his father’s funeral.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said. “I’m on my way out.”

“There’s never a good excuse for bad manners,” she said.

He pictured her in the big house in Seattle, the bedrooms long empty, Monty, the little Dachshund she loved like a second child, sliding across the wood floors. Was she lonely? He knew if she asked she would say no, but he wondered if it would be true. It had been a couple of months since he’d seen her, and he resolved to visit soon. It was a short flight. All the unspoken words between them were no excuse.

“I know. How are you, Mother?”

“I’m fine, dear. Monty caught a cold last week, but you don’t want to hear about that and I don’t want to tell you about it.”

He laughed into the phone as he backed out of the carport and into the alley that separated his building from the one next door. “What do you want to tell me about then?”

“Nothing in particular,” she sniffed. “You’re my son. I wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m fine.” He paused, contemplated telling her about quitting the Bureau, then thought better of it. His decision to join the military had not gone over well, and his move to the Bureau after his father’s death had only been further proof of his rebellion from the old money, political office, and corporate power that had been a hallmark of the Kane family since his great-great-grandfather had struck it rich during the gold rush. “I might be out of town for a bit though.”

“Really? Is it another special project?” It was as close as she’d come to asking about his work.

“Something like that,” he said, pulling into traffic. “But I’ll stay in touch.”

There was a long moment of silence. “I hope you will.”

Something in her voice unsettled him. “Are you all right, Mother?”

Her chuckle was brittle. “Of course. Everything’s just fine.”

He wasn’t sure she was being straight with him but there was nothing he could do about it from where he was, and it was obvious she had no intention of telling him anything now.

“If you say so,” he said. “I’m going to come for a visit soon, I promise.”

“That would be fine.” She said it stiffly, like he was another engagement on her social calendar. Another charitable board meeting or fundraising event.

“I’ll call soon and we’ll plan something. I love you.” He’d never had trouble saying or feeling it with his mother in spite of the aloofness she wore like a shroud. It was his father who had seemed to hold the key to words Braden could never say. Words he hadn’t been able to say before his father’s death.

“Yes, me too, darling. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up without saying goodbye.

He rolled down his window, breathing in the ocean air to clear his head. His mother’s voice brought the past too close. It was too easy to get lost in his mistakes. In the regret and anger that had already taken up too much space in his life. The past was the past. Reliving it as some kind of penance was a waste of time. There was no way to change it. No way to undo it.

He’d had enough of regret. And enough of playing by the rules, too.