by Julia London
That sounded like some textbook statistic to Hannah, and she wasn’t convinced that Mason wouldn’t always hate her for being his mother. Who could blame him? What other fifteen-month-old had lost his mother to drug treatment? Hannah could picture the moms in her old neighborhood, the ones who scheduled play dates and cooked vegetables into their kids’ treats and didn’t allow television. She couldn’t picture any of them losing their grip to drugs so completely as she had.
She feared seeing indifference on Mason’s baby face. Or, worse, seeing no recognition at all on his face.
The thought that Mason might not know her made Hannah physically ill. Once, during her first few nights in the transitional house, she’d dreamed Mason could speak, and he told her he couldn’t talk to strangers. She was the stranger. Hannah had awakened herself by groping for the imaginary pill bottle on her nightstand.
Or perhaps her worst fear was the one she deserved most of all: seeing Mason look at Holly with the love he would have had for his mother if she hadn’t screwed everything up. Seeing him run to Holly, want Holly, smile at Holly.
But when Hannah was feeling good, she had a whole other set of reasons why she’d not yet been to see Mason. She didn’t want to upset his secure little world again until she knew what she was doing. What if … what if he did know her and wanted to be with her? What if Holly wanted him to go home? Hannah could hardly bring him home to live in a transitional house. She had to be on her feet, able to take care of him fully.
Until she’d come back to Austin, she hadn’t even been certain she had a job. But Rob had made sure her job was still open, and Hannah was starting back to work after the first of the year.
Hannah had given herself her own little deadline for having everything ready for Mason. She had roughly two months yet to do in the transitional house. She felt a little stronger every day, one step further away from the grip of addiction. Hannah didn’t kid herself—she was an addict, and she would always have to be on guard. But she was finally feeling capable of living without drugs.
In March she would have a new job and a new house, and she would have Mason. And on Christmas Day—today—she couldn’t stand it another minute. She decided it was time to reacquaint herself with her son.
The old homestead looked exactly as it had during those long months when her mother was dying. The same days Hannah would exist in a fog drinking and eating pills like candy.
Hannah’s gut was churning; she couldn’t relax. Her hands hurt from gripping the wheel of Rob’s car. Her legs were stiff from the tension of her knees being locked.
A wisp of smoke was snaking up out of the chimney, and the lights of the kitchen were shining warm on this cold, wet wintry day. In the backyard Hannah could see a smattering of toys, including a red car with a yellow top. When she’d last she seen her son, he was crawling. Now he was riding in a kid’s car.
Around by the shed was Holly’s little car. There was also an old pickup truck. That made Hannah’s stomach dip again—someone else was here. So much for the quiet scene between sisters that Hannah had desperately prayed for.
She had no idea how long she sat looking at the house and the cars and the toys, trying to summon her courage. She began to imagine backing up and driving back to Austin. “No,” she said, and abruptly opened the car door. Once it was open, she couldn’t go back. She had to get out. She had to walk. And she had to see—had to see—Mason.
Clutching the gift she’d bought her child—a truck, because she had no idea what else to give him—Han-nah trudged up the walk and up the porch steps. Someone had fixed the sag in the middle of the second step with new plywood. She stepped onto the porch and made herself knock on the door.
Hannah heard the footsteps on the stairs, heard voices, and pleaded with herself not to be sick, not to crumble, not to weep.
The door swung open and Holly, her sweater on inside out, stood before her. She looked angry, which, Hannah thought, was not entirely unexpected. She hadn’t called in so long, not even to say she was coming. “Merry Christmas,” Hannah said softly.
Holly just stared at her in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m back,” Hannah said. “I told you I’d come back. I came to see you.”
“Today?” Holly said. “Just like that, you show up?”
“Lala.”
Hannah heard Mason’s voice from inside the house. It wrapped around her heart and squeezed the blood from it. She gasped for air, put her hand against the house to hold herself up. Holly was standing in the door, blocking her sight of him. “May I see him?” she asked her sister. “Holly … please. May I see him?” Her voice was full of desperation.
“No,” Holly said.
“Holly …” The man’s voice behind her sister was soft and low. “It’s okay, baby.”
Whoever the man was, Holly listened to him. She was glaring at Hannah, but she stepped aside.
Hannah saw him then. Mason was standing a few feet behind Holly, hanging on to the man’s leg. He was wearing a red sweater with Santa on the front, and little sweatpants, and there was the red mark of something on his cheek, impressed into his flesh while he slept. Mason took a few steps forward, peering at the door.
Holly opened the door wider, and Hannah tried to step across the threshold, but she fell to her knees instead, her eyes locked on her baby. He’d grown so much! He stared at her curiously and moved cautiously forward to wrap one plump arm around Holly’s leg as he stared at Hannah.
“Baby, it’s me. It’s Mommy,” Hannah said, her voice breaking. Mason leaned his head against Holly’s leg.
He didn’t know her. Hannah’s worst fear had come true—he’d forgotten her. Hannah thought she would never be able to get up, not under her own power. She would stay here, all the blood and life leaking out of her. “You’re my baby boy,” she said, vaguely aware that tears were sliding over her cheeks. “You’re my best and special boy, did you know that? Mommy loves you, Mason. Mommy loves you so much.”
God smiled at Hannah then. He smiled at her through Mason, because her baby smiled at her and said, “Go.” He said, “Go,” and walked forward to Hannah. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned back, lifting him off his feet, holding him close. She closed her eyes against the tears that were now pouring out of her. “Mason,” she whispered, “my baby.”
But Mason began to squirm, wanting down. Hannah reluctantly let go of him and he ran back, ran to Holly and wrapped his arms around her legs. Holly leaned over and picked him up. “Come in,” she said to Hannah, and when Hannah looked up, she saw the tears on Holly’s cheeks, too, before her sister turned away and walked deeper into the house, carrying Mason.
By the time Hannah had managed to get to her feet, Holly had put Mason at the coffee table, where he stood, rolling a toy truck on the surface.
“Want me to take that?” Holly asked.
Hannah followed her gaze. She’d forgotten the gift she was holding, the paper torn and soggy where she’d held it so tightly.
Holly took it from her and handed it to the man. Hannah noticed him for the first time. He was tall and handsome, with longish black hair and vivid blue eyes. “This is Wyatt Clark,” Holly said, and glanced at the man. “And as you might have guessed, Wyatt, this is my sister Hannah.”
Hannah self-consciously pushed her hair behind her ears. “Hi,” she said. Mason blithely made a sound like a motorboat as he moved the truck around the table.
“I need to get his milk,” Holly said, and walked out of the living room.
Hannah glanced nervously at Wyatt Clark. He was regarding her curiously, like an oddity. No doubt Holly had told him everything.
She averted her gaze and walked around to the front of the old plaid couch, stepping over new toys and settling on her knees beside the table. “Mason, what have you got there?”
Mason held up the truck. “Car,” he said.
“Truck,” the man muttered.
Mason brought it around and set it down in
front of her. “Thank you,” she said, smiling at him. She ran her hand over the top of his head. His hair was longer now, and darker than she remembered. He’d grown so much. So tall, turning from baby to boy.
“Car,” he said again.
“Oh, Mason.” Tears were blurring her vision again, but Hannah picked him up and sat him on the table before her. “Look how big you are!”
Mason responded by pulling on the button of her jacket. “Bah bah bah bah.”
“If you don’t mind, it’s time for his snack,” Holly said.
Hannah hadn’t even heard her come back, but she didn’t resist as Holly took Mason from the table and put down a sippy cup of milk and some Goldfish crackers and grapes sliced in half. Mason picked up a grape and shoved it into his mouth with his palm, then slammed his palm on the table. “Bah.”
“I should have called—”
“Yes. You should have,” Holly said curtly.
“Please, Holly,” Hannah said low. “I will answer all your questions. But I had to see him.”
“I don’t think you’ve earned the right to see him,” Holly said. “Do you really think you can show up on Christmas Day with a gift and everything is all right?”
“No. Of course not.” Hannah could see fear in Holly’s eyes. She knew that fear; she felt it in her marrow.
“Then what are you doing here?” Holly demanded.
“I told you, I came home. Finally.” Hannah eased herself up high enough to take a seat on the end of the couch.
“What does that mean, you ‘came home’?” Holly asked. “Are you through with the treatment?”
“I’m through with the inpatient treatment. I’m in a transitional house now. And … and I will always be in a twelve-step program.”
Mason returned to her with another truck and put it in her lap. “Car,” he said.
Hannah smiled. “Pretty car.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek, lingering on his soft skin. He smelled like baby lotion. Mason went back to his snack.
Holly’s arms were tightly folded across her chest. Her armor, Hannah thought. Wyatt Clark was standing in the arch between the living room and the dining area, his hands in his pockets. He was barefoot, Hannah noticed. He was standing over Holly and Mason, she realized. He had that look about him, that protective, don’t-mess-with-my-family look.
“Will you sit down a moment, Holly?” Hannah asked. She noticed her own hands were balled into fists and pressed tightly into her knees.
Holly’s gaze flicked over her; she pressed her lips together but then sat on the opposite end of the couch from Hannah.
Hannah smiled a little. “I’ve been sober for one hundred and fourteen days now.”
“Okay,” Holly said uncertainly.
Hannah had often wondered how she had become such a raging addict and Holly had escaped that fate. “I signed a contract that I would stay in a transitional house so I can learn how to resume my life and not succumb to stress.” That was what the literature called it, succumbing to stress. A very polite euphemism for using again. “I’ve been in two weeks and I have seventy days to go there.”
Holly said nothing; she watched Hannah impassively.
“Doggie,” Mason said, and put a stuffed doggie in Hannah’s lap. She smiled warmly and shook the little dog at him. He reached for it again.
“He looks great, Holly,” Hannah said. “He’s beautiful. You’ve taken such great care of him.”
“Are you surprised?”
“I’m not. If I’d had any doubt of it, I never would have …” Hannah hesitated; she couldn’t think of an appropriate word.
“Dumped him?” Holly finished for her.
That was the right word. Hannah looked down. In the course of her treatment, she had promised herself that she would at least be honest with herself about what she’d done. Owning up to it was part of the program, no matter how painful.
“I am going back to work after the first of the year,” Hannah said, soldiering on, past the pain, past the truth.
But Holly responded to that by suddenly burying her face in her hands.
“Holly?”
Holly looked up; her expression was desolate. “Why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to do with it? How am I supposed to react to you showing up out of thin air?”
“I … I thought you’d want to know,” Hannah said uncertainly.
“Why, Hannah? You didn’t seem to think I needed to know that you were taking drugs, or hiding them in the toilet, or stacking your empty wine bottles in the shed. You didn’t seem to think I needed to know that your husband was cheating on you. But here you are, on Christmas Day, and suddenly I need to know it all. I want to know why now. What exactly are you here to tell me?”
Hannah was taken aback; she hadn’t really thought of this meeting from her sister’s viewpoint. She’d thought that it would be uncomfortable, that Holly would be angry, but she hadn’t really thought of anything but her need to see Mason, and even that thought had to compete with her constant impulse to drug herself. “Well,” Hannah said, trying to sort through her thoughts. “I guess I am here to tell you that in a couple of months I’ll be ready to take Mason home. If … if you can hang on that much longer, that is.”
Holly stood up so quickly that she hit the coffee table and knocked over Mason’s sippy cup. In two strides she was at Mason’s side. She snatched him up and held him tight, using her hand to press his head to her shoulder. “You’re not taking him.” Her voice was shaking.
Mason started to squirm. “Down,” he said. “Down!” But Holly buried her face in his neck.
Hannah gaped at her sister. She was not prepared for this—she’d never dreamed Holly would want to keep Mason. She struggled with her own thoughts and emotions—disbelief, anger that Holly would presume to keep her son, sympathy for her sister—when Wyatt calmly walked into the room. He put his hand on Mason’s back. “No one is taking anyone anywhere today,” he said to Holly, and stroked her arm. “Take a breath.” He slowly peeled her hand away and took Mason into his arms. He touched two fingers to Holly’s chin and gazed in her eyes a moment.
And then he said to Mason, “Let’s go see what happened to that fool dog,” and carried the baby out of the room.
Holly waited until he’d gone before she sank down on her knees and splayed her hands on the coffee table, staring at them.
Hannah was holding her breath. She felt dizzy. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. She wished she’d taken Rob’s advice and brought him along. He’d know what to say. “It looks like I’ve botched this,” she said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to say it that way. I didn’t understand … I mean, obviously, I want to do what works for you—”
“What works for me?” Holly snorted. “Look, the bottom line is that I can’t let Mason go until I know you aren’t going to do this again.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s what you say,” Holly said, then stood up and moved to the mantel, where she fidgeted with one of their mother’s figurines. “You can’t have him, Hannah. I won’t let you waltz in here and just take him after all he’s been through. Mason has stability here. It would be irresponsible of me and grossly unfair to him to put him in that situation before it is abundantly clear that he will be safe.”
Hannah’s pulse began to race. “That’s my son,” she said as calmly as she could manage.
“You gave birth to him, that’s true,” Holly said. “But that’s where it ends, for all intents and purposes. The few months you had him you were on drugs. Then you dumped him. You voluntarily gave him up. Now you’ve come out of intensive drug treatment and you think you’re ready to be a mommy again? If you think I am going to hand him back after all that, especially to a drug addict, you can forget it. I’m looking out for Mason here. Are you?”
Hannah flinched, inwardly and outwardly. Holly made her sound so ugly, so vile. “I am not going to use anymore.”
“Be real,” Holly scoffed. “Do you know what the r
elapse rate is? I’ve known a dozen people like you—the first time you have issues, you will drink or take a pill. It’s a slippery slope, you know that, I know you do. And if you fail, what happens to Mason?”
Hannah had not expected this. She felt strangely adrift, without answers. Mason was her reason for staying clean; he was the end all and be all. He was what got her up in the morning and tamped down her temptations during the day. She’d never dreamed, not once, that Holly would try to keep him. Be calm. Breathe deep.
She stood up. “I admit that I have done something very wrong. It was awful, and believe me, I will spend every day for the rest of my life feeling like shit for it. But, Holly, why do you think I did it? Why do you think I brought him to you? Because I knew I needed help. I knew that giving him to you was my only hope of getting help and getting well so that I could come back to take care of him like I should have been doing all along. I told you I’d be back.”
Holly’s eyes widened. “Are you insane? You were so high when you came to my apartment, it’s a wonder you didn’t slam right into the moon!”
“Let’s not do this—”
“So you think you can wreck my life and then come home several months later and it’s all over? Just because you say so? No way, not this time, Hannah. I won’t give Mason up. I was with him when he learned to walk and to talk. I have devoted myself to him!” she cried, throwing her arms wide. “You can’t just come in here and rip out my heart or his on top of everything else!”
“Oh … oh, Holly,” Hannah said sadly. She understood completely, understood exactly what her sister was feeling, because the heart had been ripped out of her, too.
“We were having Christmas,” Holly said stiffly. “I am respectfully asking you to leave.”
