by Sydney Logan
His sweet words make it impossible not to kiss him again.
So I do.
When Josh and I return to the kitchen, I don’t even glance at the sparkling appliances or the new linoleum. All I see is my mom, sitting at the table and crying softly. When Brian sees us, he whispers something into her ear.
Her head shoots up. “You came back?”
I shake my head. “We never left.”
Has she been crying this whole time?
Mom springs from her chair. “Please, sit. Both of you. Would you like some tea?”
“You hate tea, Mom.”
“Oh, she loves it now,” Brian says with a grin. “Chamomile, lemon, jasmine, peppermint. Some I can’t even pronounce.”
Josh and I sit down at the table, and I watch in stunned amazement as my mother walks over to the stove. Even with her red-rimmed eyes, she looks a thousand times healthier than she did the day I left. She stands a little straighter. A little prouder.
Josh gives my hand a squeeze. “So, I assume by your shirts that you guys are hockey fans?”
God bless him for trying to make normal conversation.
“I’m contractually obligated to be,” Brian says with a laugh. “I’m one of the team’s doctors.”
Mom married a doctor.
“They’re having a great season,” Josh replies.
The guys keep talking sports while Mom returns to the table with a tea kettle. The aroma of peppermint fills the air while she pours, and my trembling hands wrap around the warm mug. When she’s done, she places the teapot back on the stove and then sits down next to her husband. She and I awkwardly glance at each other while the guys talk about the Predators’ chances of making the playoffs.
“We seem to be the only two talking,” Brian says.
Josh nods. “So it would seem.”
Without one bit of subtlety, Brian glances down at his watch. “Maybe we should give them a chance to talk. Want to check out the plasma screen? I’m sure we can find a game on somewhere.”
Josh leans close. “Are you okay? I promised I’d stay by your side, and I will. Just say the word.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He kisses my cheek, and I watch Brian do the same to Mom before they head to the living room.
“Brian seems nice.”
Mom takes a long sip of tea. “He is. He’s very nice.”
I nod and lift my mug to my lips. The tea’s sweet and warm and starts to settle my stomach.
“Josh seems nice, too.”
“He is.”
Mom nods and takes another sip of her tea.
So awkward.
“I’m guessing he’s not just a friend?”
“No, he’s not.”
She smiles. “That makes me happy.”
“It does?”
“Of course. How long have you known each other?”
“Just a few weeks.”
“Really? I mean, you just seem . . . so close.”
“We are close.”
“Hmm.”
I can tell she’s dying to ask how close, but she wisely keeps her questions to herself.
“What about you and Brian? How long have you been married?”
“Three months.”
“I guess my wedding invitation got lost in the mail?”
Mom carefully places her mug on the table. “Would you have come?”
“No.”
“Then why waste a stamp?”
I sigh loudly and finish the rest of my tea. We’re still as stubborn as ever.
“I’m sorry, Carrie. I shouldn’t be rude to you. I’m sure all this is a shock. It’s just that . . . you made it very clear when you left that you were never coming back. We haven’t spoken in months. I just assumed you’d moved on with your life. That’s what I wanted. As much as you moving to Nashville scared me to death, I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t recognize that you needed to go. That’s why I didn’t stop you.”
My voice breaks. “You didn’t want me here.”
“No, I didn’t, but not for the reasons you think. Carrie, when your father died . . . I felt like I died, too. Losing your husband. Losing your best friend. Words can’t describe it. The grief that grips your heart every time you see his fishing rod on the wall, or his pickup truck in the driveway, or his flannel shirts in the closet . . . or his big brown eyes on the face of your beautiful daughter. All I wanted to do was die. So I drank, because if I couldn’t be dead, at least I’d be numb.”
Tears stream down my face. “But I needed you. I might have been in high school, but I still needed my mom.”
“I couldn’t take care of you. I couldn’t even take care of me. So when you said you were moving away, I didn’t try to stop you. I was toxic. You needed to be as far away from me as you could get.”
Both of us wipe tears from our eyes. Needing a break, Mom grabs the teapot and refills our mugs. I wait until she sits back down to ask the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue for hours.
“What changed, Mom? How did you get better?”
“I got arrested. Twice. There’s nothing like two DUIs and a stint in rehab to sober you right up.
Rehab?
I had no idea, because I was too stubborn to call.
“Did it work? Rehab, I mean.”
Mom nods. “I’m in recovery. I attend meetings once a week down at the community chapel. That’s where I met Brian. He’s not an alcoholic, but his father was. During the off-season, Brian does motivational speeches throughout the south. He’s friends with the pastor, so they invited him to one of our meetings. We became friends . . .”
“And the rest is history?”
She smiles. “Yeah. He’s good for me. Good to me. He makes me happy, Carrie.”
“I’m glad, Mom. I really am.”
“Thank you, but I still owe you an apology. God, I owe you so many apologies. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother. I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I wanted to . . . so many times, but I also didn’t want to disrupt your life.”
She hands me a tissue. I didn’t even realize I was crying.
“I prayed, Carrie. I prayed every night that you were safe and happy. Then you called. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so happy to hear someone’s voice.” She quickly wipes away her tears and smiles at me. “Now, I want to hear everything. Tell me all about your life in Nashville.”
For the next hour, Mom listens intently, drowning in every tidbit of information I give her. I tell her about my full course load, my little apartment, and my job at the diner. My voice starts to tremble when I tell her about the night I met Josh.
“That poor man,” she murmurs sadly.
“It’s awful. But he’s in therapy. His doctor suggests we take it slow, and we’re trying to do that.”
“He’s quite handsome,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Good luck taking it slow.”
We laugh, and with that sound, my heart starts to heal, just a little.
Mom and I spend the next day doing this awkward dance. She asks a question about my life. I ask one about hers, and I try not to get pissed whenever she gives me an honest answer. It’s hard—especially when she tells me that she’s been spending time at Brian’s house in Nashville. It makes me wonder for the thousandth time why she’s never tried to reach me. Then I have to remind myself that I didn’t try to call her, either. It’s a rollercoaster of emotion, leaving me feeling just as guilty and bitter as I was before. Josh keeps telling me to be patient. That she and I need time to get to know each other again, but it’s hard when I’m constantly hearing—and seeing—things that remind me that she’s made a new life without me in it.
I’m not sure how this forgiveness thing is supposed to work, but I’m pretty sure I’m doing it wrong.
The huge plasma screen blares as we watch the Predators play in Toronto. It’s strange, sitting in my living room and seeing Mom with a man who isn’t my father. But Brian’s great. He’s kind and soft-spoken—unless one of his pl
ayers gets hurt or does something stupid. That’s when the profanities fly, and we all stifle our laughter as he yells at the television.
“Why aren’t you at the game?” I ask during intermission.
“Most team physicians rotate road games. It keeps us from being away from our families too long. I was in Detroit last weekend.”
“That must be hard for two newlyweds,” Josh replies.
Mom nods. “It’ll be easier when I’m living in Nashville.”
My eyes widen. “You’re . . . moving to Nashville?”
“That’s why we renovated the house . . . to help it sell. We just closed the deal, and I’m moving in a few weeks.”
My stomach churns. Sensing my anxiety, Josh’s arm tightens around me.
She’s selling the house. She’s moving to Nashville.
Mom smiles at me. “It’s perfect, Carrie. Especially now that we’ve . . . reconnected. Won’t it be nice to live in the same city? We can really get to know each other again.”
“And Carrie . . .” Brian says gently. “I know this is a lot to take in, but we’d love if you’d consider living with us. I have a house in Brentwood. Rent in Nashville is insane. If you lived with us, you could cut back on your shifts at the diner and really concentrate on school.”
“I know you’re stubborn and proud,” Mom says, “but will you at least consider it?”
No. I won’t consider it. I like my life as it is. I love my crappy apartment and my job at the diner. Most of all, I like knowing that I’ve earned everything I have. I’ve struggled and busted my ass and now she wants to help?
But it’s been such a good visit, and I don’t want to ruin it with my snotty attitude.
“Sure, I’ll think about it.”
Everybody smiles and turns their attention back to the game.
After a late lunch, Josh and I load our bags into the car. Everyone exchanges numbers, seemingly determined to keep in contact now that we’ve found each other again. I hug them both, and they promise to call later in the week.
Once we’re on the road, and Inglewood disappears in the rearview mirror, I find myself grateful that Josh offered to come with me. My mind’s jumbled and confused and grateful, which seems such a weird combination of emotions, but that’s how I feel. The trip was meant to bring me some peace. It was also meant to help me let go of my guilt and bitterness so that I could start to move on with my life.
Mission accomplished. Sort of.
“You’re quiet,” Josh says.
“I know. Sorry.”
He wraps his hand in mine while he drives. “Don’t be sorry. Just talk to me. This trip wasn’t what you expected, was it?”
“That’s an understatement.”
“It wasn’t all bad, was it?”
He smirks at me, and I know he’s thinking about the tree house. With a laugh, I lean my head back against the seat.
“None of it was bad, really. Just . . . a lot to process.”
Josh nods. “Years of bottled-up frustration won’t disappear overnight. It’ll take time. Maybe with your mom moving to Nashville, you’ll get that time. Get to know each other again. Have the relationship you really want. I think there’s something really sacred between mothers and daughters. It’s . . . really special. Or it should be . . .”
His voice trails off, and I know he’s thinking about his daughter. With all that’s happened this weekend, I’ve completely forgotten to bring up the subject of my meeting Sloane at the diner.
Was this the right time? Will there ever be a right time?
“What do you think about their offer? You know, about moving in with them?”
“I think I like my apartment just fine.”
Josh sighs. “I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what?”
“You’re not going to consider it at all, are you?”
“Why should I?”
“I just think it’d make things easier for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent anymore. Plus, you’d live in a safe neighborhood.”
“My neighborhood’s safe. Besides, don’t you think it would be a little hypocritical to move into some sprawling Brentwood estate when I haven’t truly forgiven her?”
“Then let me help you.”
I laugh. “Help me what?”
“Help you with school.”
“Absolutely not.”
He presses his lips into a hard line and continues to drive. The uncomfortable silence drags on for the next fifty miles until I ask him to pull over at the next rest area. We both need some fresh air.
And I need to tell him about Sloane.
“How did you know I love these?” I grin and rip into the package of animal crackers.
Josh shrugs. “I didn’t. It’s just habit. Audrey loved to eat them on road trips. Sloane bitched about it, but she bitched about the stupidest things.”
I take a deep breath. “Speaking of Sloane . . . I need to tell you something.”
He looks confused. “Okay.”
“I met her. It was completely by accident. She came into the diner. I didn’t recognize her, but then she started talking about her daughter, and the car seat, and the accident . . . and I knew it was her. She bawled the entire time. Sloane’s devastated, Josh. Just like you.”
He stares straight ahead, his face stone. Like a fool, I keep talking.
“She told me how Audrey liked to unsnap her seatbelt. That it was a game to her. She did it all the time, and you guys would pull over and buckle her back into her seat. But on that day . . . on that day, Sloane couldn’t—”
“Stop.” His voice is detached and lifeless.
“I’m sorry, Josh. I should have told you. We’re trying to be honest with each other. I didn’t know how to tell you, because I know you hate her, and I’m sure you have your reasons, but—”
“But what? You believe her? Because she shed a few tears, you assume she’s not to blame?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“She killed my daughter, Carrie.”
I swallow anxiously. “I . . . can see why you feel that way, but—”
“She killed my daughter.”
Without another word, Josh stands and walks back to the car. With a heavy sigh, I toss the uneaten crackers into the nearby trash and follow him.
Agonizing is the only word to describe the rest of the drive home.
Josh doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look my way. He just stares at the highway, his face a blank mask. I want to tell him I’m sorry. Call his therapist. Touch his hand. Something to bring him some comfort.
But I don’t touch him.
And he doesn’t touch me.
Not even when he drops me off at my apartment.
And he doesn’t say goodbye before driving away.
I expect the old Josh—the one who disappeared for days without so much as a text. Imagine my surprise when I find him waiting outside my door the very next afternoon.
“Hi.”
“Hey. Do you want to come in?”
He nods and follows me inside. I check on the cat and give him some food before joining Josh on the couch.
“I’m sorry, Carrie.”
“Me, too.”
“You have no reason to be.”
I agree with him. I mean, it’s not like I invited Sloane to the diner. I didn’t ask her to give me some big confession.
“I know, but my timing could have been better.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve spent so much time hating her that I sometimes forget that she loved Audrey, too. She was a really good mom. I mean, she was a little strict about junk food, but that didn’t make her a bad mother. It made her irritating to live with, but she loved our little girl as much as I did.”
I nod and wait for him to continue.
“It’s true, what she said about the seatbelt. Audrey didn’t mind the car seat, but she hated to be buckled up. She’d unsnap it; we’d pull over and snap it back. Then she’d laugh, because it was just
a game. She didn’t realize how important it was.” A single tear trickles down his cheek. “Sloane told us the same story she told you. The police have no reason to doubt her. It’s just that I . . . I need someone to blame.”
“Then blame the other driver. She’s the one who was high as a kite. Cooperate with the police and the attorneys to get her convicted.”
“You’re right. I will.” He nods thoughtfully. “You’re right about a lot of things. Like what you said about Sloane. You had so much compassion for her. It made me realize that I’ve been unfair to her. After I dropped you off, I called Dr. Moore. He said it was some kind of breakthrough, but it didn’t feel like a positive thing to me. I just felt cold and empty inside, because I’ve been hating and blaming the wrong person.”
“You have to forgive her, Josh. For your own sake. It’s the only way you’ll heal.”
My heart races as I’m hit by the enormity of my own words.
It is a breakthrough. For both of us.
December sucks, and it has nothing to do with the weather.
If I’m not working, I’m studying for finals. Josh is busy, too, helping his dad finalize a DSL project in a remote area of southern Kentucky. We spend time together when we can—actually going out on real dates instead of just hanging out on the couch with my cat. We’ve had dinner at his place a few times, but in all honesty I’m not super comfortable there. Josh’s house is very elegant and obviously decorated by his ex-wife. It doesn’t feel like him at all. I don’t think he’s comfortable at his house, either, but still, I appreciate that he’s making an effort, and that we’re getting to know each other a little better.
By the time mid-December rolls around, I’m completely exhausted and brain dead. With work and school taking their toll, I find myself napping in the strangest places. Amy caught me snoozing in the break room, and while studying at the library, a classmate woke me from a particularly vivid dream about Josh and I having frantic sex on my apartment floor.
I’m still thinking about that lovely dream when Amy places a slice of pie on the table and sits down in the booth with me.
“Help me eat this. Don’t argue.”
