Next up was ‘Silver Wings’, the song we danced to at the summer festival. As I listened to the words, I realized how sad the song really was.
I paused the music to make a trip down to the vending machines by the motel office. The dry Sacramento air was a sharp contrast to the humid Illinois weather. And while it would have been a great place for a vacation, it felt wrong. It didn’t feel like home.
After I made my selection of unhealthy junk food, I went back to my room. Chips didn’t really qualify as dinner, but homesickness had left me without much of an appetite.
After slipping on Travis’s shirt, I pushed play and lay back on the bed while I listened to the music. I hugged the pillow, wishing it was Travis.
When I heard ‘From the Ground Up’ and ‘Kiss Me’, I got really turned on because it reminded me of our first time together.
When Queen’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ came on, I laughed because I knew he was making fun of my pathetic snowboarding skills.
With every song, my longing for Travis grew. It had barely been an hour since we said goodbye and I already missed him so much.
It wasn’t until the end of the list that I got really emotional.
The two last songs were ‘Already Home’ by A Great Big World and ‘Quit Your Life’ by Mxpx. Neither of the songs had been a part of any event over the last few weeks. Travis added these for a reason.
I’d never even heard the last one before. But as I listened to the lyrics, I knew this was coming straight from his heart. It perfectly described our simple life in Tolson, and I was reminded of the way he asked me to stay with him. He hadn’t even tried to hide the vulnerability in his eyes.
I’d wanted to say yes.
It broke my heart to say no.
The rough, scratchy hotel sheets smelled like bleach, so I buried my nose in the shirt and took a whiff. Instant comfort.
For several minutes, I shamelessly sniffed Travis’s clothes. I probably looked like a lunatic, balled up on the bed, smelling a shirt.
After the last notes rang out, I burrowed into the covers and prayed for sleep to come.
TRAVIS
Driving away from Angel was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do. I had to force myself not to look back at her as I was walking away, because if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.
Every mile marker on the highway mocked me. The further away I got, the heavier my chest felt. It felt like there was a weight sitting on me, and with every mile that stretched between us, another pound was added.
My body rebelled at the idea of leaving her behind. Everything inside of me told me to turn back.
But I just kept driving, leaving jagged pieces of my heart along the way.
ANGEL
Drifting in that place between asleep and awake, I had about ten blissful seconds before I remembered where I was.
It was a happy place.
A place where Travis had his arms around me. A place that smelled like fresh cut grass and the wind rustled the cornfields. A place where I could feel dandelion fuzz tickling my nose.
Then I opened my eyes.
I realized it wasn’t dandelion fuzz that was brushing against my face—it was my own hair. And the rustling sound wasn’t the cornfields—it was the rattling of the old air conditioning unit by the window. The drab colors of the motel room came into focus as I blinked.
Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the popcorn-textured ceiling. The queen-size bed felt massive and cold. I knew waking up without Travis was going to hurt, but I didn’t realize just how much.
As I trudged to the bathroom to get ready for the day, I felt like I actually had to remind myself to breathe because the tightness in my chest was so overwhelming.
I thought about the many mornings I’d be waking up alone in the future and I wondered if this was really worth it.
What was I even doing here?
I’d been so focused on the end goal—rebuilding a relationship with my mom—that I didn’t realize what it would feel like to be here by myself.
It felt extremely lonely. Even lonelier than after Claire passed away. Because now I knew what it meant to feel like I belonged somewhere.
But that somewhere wasn’t here.
Did I really want to be in California?
Immediately, I felt guilty. My mom was here and this was my chance to have her back in my life. What if she regretted leaving me? What if she needed me?
Moving into the hot spray of the shower, I forced myself to think about visiting the prison later and I felt a hint of excitement.
I was going to see my mom. That was what I needed to focus on. I’d been waiting for this moment for the majority of my life.
As I did my best to push all thoughts of Travis and Tolson from my mind, I thought about what it would be like to be face to face with my mom for the first time in over ten years.
*
Sitting at one of the visitor’s tables, I nervously shuffled my feet on the linoleum floor while I waited for my mom. The visitor’s room was large with gray walls and several tables throughout. A few vending machines sat at one end of the room. I took out the three dollars I had in my pocket and thought about getting a snack for us, but I had no idea what my mom liked. Deciding to wait for her so I could ask, I refolded the bills, then slipped them back into my pocket.
Wiping my sweaty palms on my dark wash jeans, I quietly repeated Beverly’s words. “Expectations are your friend. Don’t sell yourself short.”
As I finished my little pep talk, I noticed the people sitting at the table next to me giving me odd looks. I sent them an apologetic smile then clasped my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting.
I caught sight of short blonde hair by the doorway, and even though she looked much different than I remembered, I instantly knew it was my mom. The bright fabric of the jumpsuit she was wearing didn’t do her fair complexion any favors. I always did hate the color orange.
Standing up quickly, I braced myself for some kind of greeting as she came closer. I’m not sure what I was expecting. A hug maybe? Even a handshake would’ve been better than nothing.
I’d had more hugs in the past few weeks than I had in my whole life. Sad, but true.
Hugs were normal to me now, so I was disappointed when she just pulled her chair out and sat down.
Now that she was closer, I was able to tell how much she’d changed since the last time I saw her. The skin on her face was weathered and her hair was so thin in some places I could see her scalp. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and there was no warmth behind her gaze.
“Angel,” she said and I slowly sat back down across from her. “You’re the last person I expected to see on my visitors list. You turned out real pretty. Even prettier than I was at your age.” While her compliments were nice, her tone was distant. Cold. “How old are you now?”
“Eighteen.” I tried not to feel hurt that she didn’t know my age. Did she even remember my birthday?
“So, what brings you out this way? You’re a long way from home.”
The first response that came to mind was that I didn’t have a home anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that out loud.
“Claire died,” I said quietly.
She nodded. “Yeah, they told me a while back. I’m sorry about that. Not much I could do about it in here.”
“I understand,” I said, wanting her to know I didn’t hold a grudge. I wanted her to know I forgave her and we could start with a clean slate. “And, well, that’s the thing. You’re the only family I have left now—”
“You didn’t come all the way out here for me, did you?” she interrupted me. “I can’t be any help to you while I’m locked up.”
“But you’re getting out soon. I thought maybe I’d find a place for us. I can get a job. We could start over…” I trailed off from my rehearsed speech because she was slowly shaking her head.
“Angel, I can’t be your mom. I wanted to love you. I tried for seven years to lo
ve you and I just couldn’t,” she said, completely emotionless.
I sat silently because I couldn’t process what she was saying.
“I wanted to love you, but I couldn’t,” she repeated. “I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“No,” I whispered.
I really didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand. Weren’t mothers supposed to love their children? It was simple biology. The laws of nature and whatnot.
This wasn’t going how I pictured at all. Not even close. She wasn’t happy to see me. She wasn’t surprised or mad or confused.
She was completely indifferent.
That was worse than any worst case scenario I’d thought of.
Pulling out the postcard, I set it on the table in front of me. “You sent this to me.” I tapped it with my finger twice before sliding it over to her. “Why?” I demanded.
She studied it as if it was the first time she’d seen it, then flipped it over to see her name scrawled on the back.
“I was probably high as a kite. Most things I did back then didn’t make any sense.” She shrugged and slid it back towards me.
“But you remembered I liked the otters…”
She gave me a look of pity and it was the first emotion I’d seen from her during our meeting.
“Listen, honey,” she said, but the term of endearment didn’t sound affectionate. It sounded condescending. “Don’t rearrange your life for me. I wouldn’t do it for you.”
And there it was. The cold, hard truth.
I felt so stupid. This whole idea had been so stupid. I was the fool who traveled over three thousand miles to see someone who left me and never looked back.
At least now I knew where I got my straightforwardness from. Heartbreak mixed with anger—mostly anger at myself—and I knew I needed to get out of here.
The chair I’d been sitting in made a terrible scraping sound against the floor as I pushed away from the table.
I pulled the three dollar bills out of my pocket and placed them on the table between us. “For the vending machines.”
She picked up the money but didn’t say anything. Not even a thank you.
I looked at the stranger still sitting across the table, and suddenly I knew that’s what she was—a stranger.
“It’s your loss,” I said. “I know that’s a clichéd thing to say, but I mean it. I could be one of the best people you’ve ever met and you don’t even know it. You’re missing out.”
I walked a few steps before I turned back and said the last word I’d ever say to my mother. “’Bye.”
*
As much as I tried to hold back, several tears and sniffles escaped on the bus ride back to the motel. No one seemed to notice. Either that, or they didn’t care. Maybe it was common for people to cry while riding away from the prison.
Ten years of hopes and dreams were just… Gone.
The bus came to a stop and the tears fell steadily as I stepped off onto the curb in front of the motel. A wall of intense midday California heat hit me but I barely noticed.
I swiped at the wet tracks coating my cheeks but they were quickly replaced with more tears. I sat down on a nearby bench and took out the tissues I’d known I was going to need.
When I bought them, I’d imagined they would be used for happy tears. I’d come prepared for a heartfelt reunion. Obviously, that was just wishful thinking.
Letting out a shaky sob, I mentally beat myself up for being the way I was. Naïve. Trusting. Gullible. Unrealistically optimistic.
My mother’s brutally honest words repeated over and over again in my mind.
Don’t rearrange your life for me. I wouldn’t do it for you.
I took out the old postcard and looked at it through blurry eyes. It was a lie. A silly dream I’d conjured up out of nothing. My mother didn’t send this to me because she was thinking of me or missing me. It was the result of some drug binge she couldn’t even remember.
She didn’t abandon me because she loved drugs more than me—she left because she didn’t love me at all.
Suddenly angry, I ripped it up. I ripped and tore and shredded it until tiny unrecognizable pieces slipped through my fingers and blew away in the breeze.
Burying my face in my hands, I cried for the past relationship that had been lost and the future relationship that would never exist.
My motherless life flashed before my eyes.
I would never get to hear her say she was proud of me. I didn’t realize until now how much I’d longed for those words. There would be no sewing lessons or piano duets. No cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning.
She wouldn’t be there on my wedding day. She wouldn’t help me pick out the perfect dress and she wouldn’t cry in the front row because her baby girl was getting married.
When I had kids of my own, she wouldn’t be there to answer pregnancy questions or give me motherly advice. Someday when my child was sick and I was scared and I needed someone to talk to, I wouldn’t be able to call her.
She would miss my whole life and she was okay with that.
It was what she wanted.
I gave up everything to come here. To give her a chance. To make things right with her. I left the place that felt like home and the people who had quickly become like family.
I’d left the love of my life for this.
Maybe now I could give up on this silly California dream. I could go back to Illinois, back to Travis. Maybe I could build a life there.
But as comforting as those thoughts should’ve been, I couldn’t get past the devastation I was feeling. My heart was too busy mourning the loss of my mother.
TRAVIS
When you’re young and you’ve never been in love before, it’s easy to live in the now. Because you have no idea what’s on the other side of now.
I wasn’t prepared for the pain I was feeling. It actually hurt.
And now I knew why they called it heartbreak, because it felt like my chest was splitting in two. I rubbed the area over my sternum, trying to ease the ache I felt deep inside.
Before Angel came along, I was happy.
I had a good life. Great, even.
I thought I had everything I needed. Family and friends. A job I loved.
At the risk of sounding like a complete sap, I’d say she was the missing piece I never realized was missing in the first place. Angel filled up a place in my heart that had never been touched before.
And now, her absence left a void that felt enormous. So empty.
My biggest regret was not telling Angel the depth of my feelings for her.
That I loved her. I loved her so much it hurt.
I lost count of how many times I’d almost said the words. But I’d been a complete pussy about it and kept my mouth shut.
I told myself the reason was because I didn’t want to scare her away. That it was too soon.
It was a pathetic excuse. The truth was, I’d been a coward. I was too afraid she wouldn’t say it back.
Well, fuck that.
The regret ate away at me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I was half-way across Utah when I decided to turn around. This wasn’t something I wanted to tell Angel over the phone. Even if she didn’t say it back, I still needed to see her face when I said the words.
Unfortunately, it meant I’d be delayed by two days getting back home.
I fueled up at a truck stop outside Salt Lake City, then decided to call Hank.
“Yo,” he answered on the third ring.
“Hey, ah, I’m not gonna make it back in time,” I said, feeling guilty for putting him in a tight spot. “I’m sorry.”
He let out an obnoxious laugh. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I already had a rental truck on reserve, just in case.”
“Seriously?” Sometimes he knew me better than I knew myself. “I’ll pay for it. I’ll pay back whatever it costs.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You just do what you need to do,
son.”
“Thanks, Hank. You’re awesome.”
“Ten-four,” he laughed, then hung up.
Although I felt bad about it, there wasn’t anything that could’ve kept me from going back to Angel. Lucky for me, my boss was a pretty understanding guy.
After setting my phone back down in the cup holder, I put the semi in gear and headed west. Motivated by the thought of seeing my girl, I drove straight through the night.
As I pulled into the motel parking lot, I wasn’t sure if my excess of energy was coming from all the coffee I drank or the anticipation of being with Angel again. Maybe it was a little bit of both.
I hopped on the balls of my feet as I knocked on her motel room door.
No answer.
I checked the time on my phone and realized she was probably visiting her mom right now, so I decided to wait in my truck. After finding a good country radio station, I leaned back in the seat and stared out at the crappy motel.
I must’ve dozed off at some point. When I jolted awake, I realized I’d been in the parking lot for over an hour. Thinking I might have missed her, I knocked on Angel’s door one more time.
Still no answer.
If she had come back by now, she probably would’ve seen my truck. It was kind of hard to miss.
Still amped by the thought of seeing her, I hopped back into the semi. Finding a station with upbeat music, I raised the volume to a level that would ensure I didn’t fall asleep again. Pharrell William’s ‘Happy’ blasted through the cab and I tapped my fingers on my knee along with the beat.
About ten minutes later, I saw the bus pull up at the curb at the end of the parking lot and Angel stepped off. I sat up straighter and turned off the music, preparing to get out to meet her, but instead of heading to her room, she slumped down onto the bench by the motel office.
I sat back in the seat as I watched the scene unfold before me. Although she wasn’t dressed up, I could tell she tried to look her best today because her hair was styled straight.
Her shoulders shook as she buried her face in her hands, but at first, I couldn’t tell what kind of crying it was.
Was she emotional because the visit went well? Was she overwhelmed with happiness because she finally reconciled with her mom?
Trucker (The Good Guys #1) Page 22
