by Lilly Wilde
My first instinct is to toss the scrap of paper, but something she said sparks an idea, so I tuck her number in my pocket and send Jimmy a text, updating him. No point in both of us hanging around.
I glance over the room and let out a sigh before stepping closer to Mama. I stare at her for a long stretch of time. She looks peaceful. Youthful, even. I press a kiss to her forehead and take a seat beside the bed, my hand resting on hers. Minutes stretch into hours before she shows signs of consciousness. Figuring she’ll be hungry, I step out and make arrangements to have some decent food brought in.
Later, when I’m placing a tray on the bed table, Mama’s eyes flicker to mine and there’s a glimmer of recognition.
“Are you okay?”
She stares blankly.
“It’s me. Branch.”
“Do you think I don’t recognize my own son? Come over here and give your mama a hug.”
She looks like Mama, and except for the croaky voice, she sounds like Mama. Still, I can’t help but wonder which version of Mama is inviting me to step closer.
I push the bed table aside and lean down to her. She wraps her arms around my neck, and for the first time since hearing she was missing, air seems to finally move through my lungs.
I make sure she eats, noticing the color return to her cheeks with each bite. And I sit and talk with her for hours. I actually talk to her. Not to some bizarre rendition of Mary McGuire, but to the mama I try to hold in my memories, the mama I want for Jace.
And that’s how I spend my afternoon.
Talking.
Reminiscing.
Laughing.
As if nothing’s wrong.
As if she didn’t scare the living fuck out of me.
As if she didn’t leave my kid brother at home by himself for days.
I listen. And I can’t help but smile at her while she goes on and on about one of the new neighbors and their horde of cats. Mama hates cats.
I even find myself laughing again. And if I hadn’t seen the many sides of Mary McGuire, I’d swear she was fine.
But I know she isn’t.
And I know she never will be.
January 6, 2017
I WATCH MAMA WITH JACE. His forehead is smooth, his smile gentle. He seems more relaxed now that she’s finally home. I wonder if this is the first time she’s disappeared on him, or if it’s simply the first time he’s called me about it. I make a mental note to ask him later. Once he heads off to his room, I sit on the couch and broach the conversation that always ends badly.
“You can’t go off your meds, Mama.”
“I don’t need those things. They mess up my insides,” she says, a distinct quaver in her voice. “Have me feeling things that aren’t real.”
“That means it’s time for a new cocktail of drugs. You can’t go without them and you know that.”
“I said, I don’t need them,” she repeats, her voice creeping higher.
“I’m not here to argue with you.”
She peers at me with narrowed eyes. “Why are you here, Branch? For your ‘parade day’?”
I ignore her jab and deliver the threat that tightens my gut. “Either you stay on the meds, or I’m taking Jace back with me. It’s your choice.”
“No. No. No. You can’t do that! You can’t,” she pleads, her expression frantic. “Jace is the only thing I have left, and we need each other.”
“Then act like it. You have to be responsible. You can’t leave an eleven-year-old kid at home for days by himself.”
We pause our conversation when Jace enters the room, his happy appearance falling as he glances between the two of us.
“Why are you two always fighting?” he yells and turns to Mama. “You’re the reason he won’t come home more, aren’t you?”
Her eyes flicker from me to Jace, an anxious expression crossing her face. She attempts to compose herself and reaches out to him, but he turns and rushes from the room.
“See what you’ve done,” she says. “You drop in from your highfalutin life and turn my baby boy against me.”
“Jace called me. What was I supposed to do? Should I have called Dad? You know he won’t come within a hundred feet of you after what you pulled the last time he was here.”
“That was not my fault, Branch. He had no business bringing his whore and her kid to our home.”
“Not this again. You need to let all of that shit go, Mama.”
“Branch Warren McGuire. Don’t you dare speak to me like that!”
“Like what? It’s the truth. Every time I’m here, it’s the same story. ‘Dad made promises.’ ‘Dad lied.’ ‘Dad cheated.’ ‘Dad needs to burn in hell.’ I’m tired of hearing about what he’s done or hasn’t done. Talking about it isn’t going to change anything. Don’t you get that?” I hate to be curt with her, but she makes it next to impossible to be any other way.
She shakes her head in denial, her eyes filling with tears.
“Why not focus on something you can change? Like getting in with Dr. Blake, finding a new cocktail of drugs, and staying on track?”
“Even now. After all that man has done to us, you still side with him over me.”
By now I’ve had enough. She hasn’t acknowledged anything I’ve said. And once Dad’s name is mentioned, everything else fades to black. And the same applies for me at this point. I tune it all out. Running a hand through my hair, I rest my head in my palms while she continues to berate the man I suspect she still loves. I’ve heard this story so many times I can recite it in my sleep. Mama wants to go on and on about shit that doesn’t matter anymore. So I let her.
“Branch, do you hear me?” she asks when she finally notices my lack of response.
I half-heartedly lift my gaze to hers. The years I’ve tried to forget flash through my head, and I see my mother for who she is. I see eyes that match mine and I wonder if my anger will one day become the mental instability that sits in the shadows of hers. “I’m done with this, Mama. I’m gonna check on Jace.”
Last night didn’t get me anywhere, but today I won’t accept Mama’s backtracking. I hear her moving around in the kitchen and I join her.
“Good morning,” she says when I sit at the table.
“Mornin’, Mama.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” she says. “And to make up for it, I made these special for you.” She sets a plate of strawberry-banana pancakes in front of me. This was the remedy as a kid. No way will I stuff this crap into my body now. She knows that. But to increase the likelihood of this discussion going down a little easier, I make a gesture and take a few bites.
“What happened? What’s the real reason you stopped taking your medication?” I gulp a full glass of water to push down the shit I didn’t want to swallow.
“I told you yesterday.”
I watch as she moves around the kitchen, not convinced I know the whole story.
“I caught your game against the Patriots. Still my little star quarterback,” she says, her eyes shining as she smiles at me. “You and that arm are gonna end up in the Hall of Fame one of these days. Mark my words.”
She’s almost as much of a football junkie as I am. Though it didn’t start out that way. She hated my playing. Always afraid I’d get hurt like Dad. When she accepted I was going to play regardless of her fear, she came around. Now she’s one of my biggest fans, and she knows I love talking football with her. But using this topic to divert the reason for my visit is not going to work.
I push the plate aside and lean forward, elbows to table. “I made an appointment with Dr. Blake for you.”
Her smile fades. “Why?”
“I told you. You need to get back on track.”
“Branch, I’m fine. Do I look like I’m sick in the head to you?”
“This is not up for debate. You’re going,” I tell her, my insides twisting when I see the hurt in her eyes.
“I’m the parent here.” A tear slides down her cheek. “I’m the parent,” she repeats,
her finger jabbing her chest for emphasis. “I decide if I want to go to a damn head shrink.”
“And I have custody of Jace.”
I watch as everything she’s holding up starts to crumble. I hate threatening her with that, but it’s the only play I have when she gets like this.
More tears stream.
“Why do you hold that over my head? Would you actually take away the one thing I have left in this world? Do you resent me that much, Branch?”
“I only allowed him to stay because you were doing what you promised.”
“You allowed him to stay? With his own mother? Who do you think you are, Branch? Jace is my son. Mine.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, but if you aren’t doing what you should in order to be the type of mother he needs, then he can’t stay here with you.”
“Did Jace say something? Or is this all your doing? Maybe this is your way of getting back at me for something that’s out of my—”
“Don’t dare say this was not in your control because it damn well was,” I say, the rage I’ve been nursing sweeping through my frame. “You left him alone for four fucking days, Mama!”
Shame shoots across her face and she turns away from me.
And I’m losing my patience with her, something I try to avoid, but her obstinate behavior has ripped the last of my tolerance. “You will get the help you need, and if the threat of losing Jace is the only way to—”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll go to your damn doctor.” She slams her cup on the counter and storms out of the kitchen.
We drive the few miles to Dr. Blake’s in silence. She’s angry with me. I know that, and I deal with it, as I always have in the past. She puts up a similar fuss with the doctor, but once she realizes she has no choice, she gives in, tells him her latest symptoms, and he advises her on a new set of meds. We get the new prescriptions and head back to the house.
A half hour or so later, I pass the pills and a glass of water to her. “Dr. Blake says it takes anywhere from one to three weeks for these to take full effect, but they should at least start to kick in within the next forty-eight hours.”
She reluctantly takes the pills from my hand. “Does that mean you won’t let me out of your sight for the next two days?” she asks, her tone bitter.
“I hired a nurse.”
“How convenient for you, Branch. I forgot how much of a hardship it is for you to be around your own mama,” she spits out.
My jaw ticks and I let out a slow breath. “She’s a friend of Jimmy and Loretta’s. I’ve already met her. You have, too, but you may not remember. Her name is Christina. You’ll like her.”
She whips her eyes to mine. “Does it matter if I don’t?”
I disregard her question and wait on her to swallow the pills, then check under her tongue when she’s done. She’s angrier now. And she will be for a while.
When the nurse finally arrives, I make the introductions. As expected, Mama is aloof, refusing to acknowledge Christina’s presence. She crosses her arms over her chest, and after giving the perky, young nurse a once-over, she grimaces her disapproval and walks away.
I look down at Christina, not sure if Mama’s reaction was due to the inappropriately tight and revealing nurse uniform, or to the idea of being monitored. Probably both. After giving our guest a tour of the house, I show her to her room, give some last-minute instructions, and head off to find Mama.
“I’m gonna head out, all right? I promised Jimmy I’d help out at the garage. I’ll be back in time for dinner.” I go to kiss her on the cheek, but she turns away from me. “Mama, you know I’m only looking out for you.”
She pretends as if she’s not listening, humming a tune I’ve come to recognize over the years. My eyes follow her as she grabs a bowl of fruit and heads out of the kitchen. She goes to the sewing room. I follow her, wanting to say something but not knowing what that something is. She pulls out her crochet needle and starts picking through a basket of yarn.
Her back is to me, but she knows I’m still watching her. “I’m proud of you, Mama,” I finally say.
She starts to hum louder. And I know I’m wasting my efforts, so I give up.
Looks as if I’m in for another round of the silent treatment.
My sigh is heavy as I step away from her, exit the room, and walk out of the house. She said she was the parent, but why does it seem like all the responsibility rests on my shoulders?
May 5, 2008
“ARE YOU GONNA MAKE IT to my party tonight?”
I’m in the school cafeteria with a group of friends chattering incessantly about the potential epicness of Hayley’s birthday party. Her parents are out of town and trusted Hayley’s Aunt Terri to serve as the official party patrol. But since Terri isn’t much older than us, we’ll have carte blanche to do whatever we want—hence the potential for epicness!
“Yep. I most definitely am!” I almost pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. I’m actually going to a party. Eeek!
“A few kids from Dawson are dropping by, too,” Hayley says, her pretty hazel eyes growing wide.
“Code for Ren Walker is dropping by,” I tease.
“Fingers crossed. He’s really cute and he said he’d bring a few friends.”
“Code for hot jocks,” Angela chimes in, munching on a carrot stick and waggling her dark brows.
“So Ragan, you’re honestly coming?” Hayley asks, unable to mask her surprise. “Cassidy is actually letting you out? I’m betting she’ll change her mind at the last minute because she thinks you need to study.”
I shrug. “Study what? We have only one more week of school, and my last final is next period.”
“Yeah, but knowing her, she’ll want you to know every word listed on our graduation program.” Hayley laughs.
No one knows that my sanctioned getaways from The House of Hell only extend to school and work. So when asked why I never hang out, I lie and say it’s because my parents are crazy strict about my studies. That’s the only reason I figure they’ll accept.
“That sounds like something she’d want but so not happening.” I laugh, playing along with the lie. “I’m good to hang out tonight.”
Patty won’t mind at all. Of that, I’m 100 percent positive. My friends aren’t aware of my living arrangements. Nor are they aware of my two lives—the one I spun for those outside of home and the real one. I’ve always been too afraid to let anyone—even Hayley—know about the real one. And even if I did have the notion to reveal the horrific details, there’d be consequences. Keeping quiet is my only choice.
“I can’t believe we have to wait until June to graduate,” Angela whines. “The building committee should’ve had a backup plan. Idiots.”
“True. But hey, we’ll be the first graduating class to walk across that stage,” Faith adds.
“Yeah, we should do something crazy that will go down in history.” Angela scans our expressions before revealing her suggestion. “Like mooning the audience.”
Angela’s ill-conceived idea is quickly dismissed and the conversation shifts back to the birthday bash. Angela, Faith, and Hayley chat in excited blurbs. About the party, the booze, the guys, and everything else a parent-free celebration could entail. Even with the bubble of excitement in my chest, I somehow mentally check out of the conversation, wondering how it would have been to have a healthy family like Hayley’s. To look forward to celebrating my born day.
I’d never had a birthday party myself. The first time I asked Cassidy for one, she laughed, saying I was too horrible of a child and I didn’t deserve a party. I took her words at face value, so the next year, I tried to prove her wrong. To do everything right and show her I was the exact opposite of horrible. But for all my efforts, I was still beaten on a routine basis and there was no party. According to Cassidy, I was a very bad girl and bad girls weren’t allowed to have parties. Still determined, I asked for one the following year. And the next. Always receiving the same answer. I came to realize that no matter h
ow well-behaved I was, I’d never have a birthday party.
And as unbelievable as it sounds, Hayley’s will be the first one I’ve ever attended—outside of those for my stepsiblings. When I received any kind of party invites from friends in the past—and there had been several over the years—I was conveniently “studying” or “sick,” and therefore unable to attend. That wasn’t too far from the truth, considering the outcome—my impressive GPA, and thanks to a mother who used drugs the entire time she carried me, my immune system was shot to hell, so I was typically sick every other week anyway.
I awake in a strange bed, my brain foggy as to how I landed here, but I vaguely recall falling asleep next to someone. It must have been Hayley, but where is she? And why is the house so quiet? I rush to sit up and discover I’m completely naked.
Another detail that makes zero sense.
I stumble out of bed and search for my clothes. Panties under the pillow. Bra dangling from the lampshade. Shirt on the floor. Pants on the chair near the closet. What the hell happened last night? I dress in a rush—relieved that my cell is still in the back pocket of my jeans—and head out of the bedroom to find Hayley and some answers.
“Who are you?” I ask, shocked to find a tall, slender stranger in my friend’s kitchen.
“Guess you overconsumed on quite a few things last night,” he says with a silly-looking grin.
My brows scrunch. “What?”
He takes a sip of whatever is in his cup. I assume it’s coffee.
“You seriously don’t remember me?”
“Oh, forget it. It’s too early in the morning for charades. Any coffee left?” I reach into the cupboard for a mug.
“No more K-Cups, but I made a fresh pot,” he says and takes a seat at the kitchen table. He’s still staring at me. A mocking smile traces his lips before he sips the coffee.
“Should I be sending out the stranger-danger call?”
He laughs. “Go ahead, but I doubt anyone answers. They all went to IHOP. So it’s just you and me, sexy.”
