Take My Breath Away

by Lari Smythe

  Chapter 23

  I let out a sigh of relief when I first spotted the house—Mom's bedroom light was out, but as I turned into the driveway, the newly planted flowerbeds were illuminated from the glow of the kitchen window. Yeah—what'd I expect. Okay, Mom was Mom, she loved me, wanted what was best for me, so honest—not secret revealing, but honest—she deserved that much. At least she wasn't waiting at the backdoor. I was even more surprised to find the kitchen empty. I wasn't an expert, but I cleaned the fish as best I could, wrapped it in paper and put it in the frig and then headed upstairs to get ready for bed—nah, there was going to be no sleeping, not until I talked to Mom.

  I tapped on her bedroom door. "Hey, Mom, you awake?"

  "How was the fishing?"

  "I caught a nice one. I cleaned it and put it in the frig. So you maybe feel like a cup of coffee?"

  "Coffee, at this hour?" The covers ruffled like she was getting out of bed.

  "Okay, so maybe not at midnight. How about a glass of warm milk?" She didn't answer. "So, uh, I'll warm up the milk. See you downstairs."

  I warmed the milk the easy way—popped it in the microwave. The bell rang as Mom came down the steps. She looked tired. Her smile seemed sincere as she took the cup, but I knew she was worried sick.

  "Is everything alright? You're not—"

  "No, Mom, we're not running off again."

  "We," she repeated as we sat down at the table.

  "Yeah." I hesitated—I had no idea what I was going to say.

  "How is she—Izzy?"

  "She's fine—no, no—she's afraid."

  Mom's concerned face reappeared from behind the warm cup of milk. "You know she's welcome—"

  "I know." I slid over into the chair next to her. "I don't want to lie—I won't lie—you deserve better than that."

  "You're a good boy—a fine young man and I trust you—I worry, but I trust you."

  "I don't want you to worry, we're perfectly safe."

  "But afraid," she added.

  I nodded.

  We're being honest?"

  I nodded again afraid of where she might take the conversation.

  "The police? The witness protection?"

  "Lies," I admitted.

  "Just tell me you're not into anything illegal."

  "Illegal!" I choked. "No, nothing illegal, I swear."

  "Well, at least there's that. She's still not in school?"

  "No."

  "Do you know where she's staying?"

  "Not exactly."

  "Do you know where her parents are?"

  "No."

  Mom got up to take her cup to the sink. Neither of us spoke while she washed it out and set it on the drying rack. After a couple of minutes, her hands gently caressed my shoulders as she stepped in behind my chair.

  "I love you." She kissed the top of my head.

  I rested my hand over hers. "I love you too."

  "You're at a very vulnerable time in your life, things you do, choices you make will haunt—influence the rest of your life, "she corrected. "Please be careful, don't make any rash decisions. Talk to me, I'll try not to judge, I want to help, to give you perspective."

  I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know this is hard. I'll try to be more upfront about stuff."

  She eased back. "This is a good start. Thanks for the warm milk, I think I'll sleep better." She walked to the stairs, but turned back. "Jason."

  "Yeah, Mom."

  "You know I don't make many rules, but no more running off, period. I don't think I could endure another disappearing act."

  "I'm sorry, Mom. I promise."

  "I'm going to hold you and Izzy to that promise. Goodnight." She quietly climbed the stairs and then her footsteps disappeared down the hall toward her bedroom.

  The house was quiet again. The light from the kitchen shown across the family room just barely illuminating the photograph I'd given Mom at Christmas, the one of Mom and I and the Newton's. Even then, as a child, Izzy was beautiful. I got up and walked over to the photograph. A smile crossed my lips as I stared at the very young, very human Isabella Newton. "We had no idea," I whispered. I could feel good about us again now, since she had forgiven me.

  "Didn't we?"

  I spun around. "Izzy—"

  "Shhhh, you'll wake your mom."

  "How'd you—"

  "The French doors in the guest room." She looked up at the picture. "We were so young."

  "Seven and twelve if memory serves me, miles apart in age."

  "You were such a cute little boy. So, in human years I'm twenty two and you're seventeen. That's not very far apart."

  "You don't age, you're still seventeen. You will still be seventeen when I'm fifty," I said, thinking about the future.

  "I still can't believe you gave your mom that picture. Were you tempting fate?"

  "I guess it was kind of dumb, but it felt like it connected us."

  "That's not what connects us," she whispered in my ear and then nibbled my earlobe.

  I grasped her cheeks between my hands and pulled her lips to mine.

  "Easy," she said, pulling back and then glancing upstairs.

  "Mom?"

  "No, it's okay. Why don't we go in the guest room?" She slipped her hand into mine and led me into the room, closing the door when we got there. She pulled my body tightly against hers. "You are my everything." She kissed me.

  "Easy," I said.

  She relaxed her hold and eased me back.

  "You just come to tease, or did something change?"

  "I've been thinking about Cathy."

  "Good. And?"

  "Do you think she would try? I mean I am, or what I am to be more exact is probably the reason she had the breakdown. I don't want to risk hurting her again."

  "I was wondering that too, but she did make contact with you, right? I think she's come to grips with what you are and well, since she knows I know, I think she's okay with it."

  "Do you think you can set something up? I'm really worried about my family."

  "Tomorrow's Sunday, maybe she'll be at church. I'll see if I can talk to her then."

  She kissed me on the cheek. "Sorry about teasing." She went to the door, but looked back before leaving. "I really am hopelessly in love with you."

  I took a step toward her, but before I could open my mouth, she was gone. Despite the late hour, I took a cold shower before going to bed.