Talen’s disappointment cut at her heart as he turned and said, “Thanks, Mom,” before disappearing into his room.
Mom? Talen always called her Mama.
Oh, that hurt even worse.
Miranda dropped her head into her hands. Maybe it was time to figure things out in her head. If only she knew where to start...
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MIRANDA CHICKENED OUT twice before actually reaching her parents’ house, but when she finally pulled into the driveway she knew there was no turning around. She needed to find a way to reach her mother before it was too late for them both. The problem? Miranda had no idea how to speak to her mother—she never had.
Miranda knocked and pushed open the front door, grunting a little as it hit resistance. She put her shoulder against the door and finally pushed aside whatever had been blocking it. She stepped into the mudroom—or what used to be the mudroom—and tried not to cry out in dismay and horror. Piles of papers and books, magazines, clothes, boxes and bags littered the tiny room so that the door barely had clearance. She checked behind the door to see what had been placed there and found another box filled to the top with more stuff. “Who’s there?” her mother’s voice called with an edge of panic from the other room. “Zed, is that you?”
“No, Mom, it’s me, Miranda. Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
Miranda eyed the tiny path winding its way through the mess and she swallowed her aversion to going deeper into this hell so she could try to talk some sense into her mother.
“What are you doing here?” her mother asked, a deep frown creasing her forehead.
Miranda ignored the annoyance in her mother’s voice and tried to find a chair to sit on, but there simply wasn’t a place that wasn’t covered with a towering pile. Even worse was the smell. Miranda covered her nose, grimacing. “Mom...what is that smell? Something is rotten in here.” Somewhere.
Jennelle stiffened. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Then your nose must be broken. Something is plainly rotting to death in this mess.” She cringed at the word mess, knowing it would likely set her mother off. And she wasn’t wrong.
“As much as I love these visits where you insult me, was there anything else you needed, Miranda? Perhaps you’re planning to sic the official authority on house tidiness on me again? That was an unexpected and unwarranted shock.”
“A shock?” Miranda gestured wildly at the clutter. “Really?” She supposed all semblance of tact was out the window now. “Mother, this is getting ridiculous. I couldn’t even get through the front door!”
“Seems you made it in just fine,” her mother said in a wintry tone, adding under her breath, “More’s the pity.”
“Oh, come on, Mother. Can’t we have a decent conversation for once? I’m worried about you.”
“You worry about things that aren’t your concern. I am not in any danger. I like my things and I don’t want anyone poking their nose into my business.”
“Your business is about to bury you,” Miranda shot back.
“Nonsense.”
“Mom, when was the last time Dad even stepped foot into this house?”
Jennelle’s mouth quivered for a moment but her jaw firmed a second later as she shrugged. “Your father comes and goes as he pleases. Miranda, I hate to shatter your illusions about marriage, but sometimes after a certain number of years, it’s more about being pleasant neighbors than lovers.”
Miranda stared at her mother, not buying Jennelle’s answer. “There’s no room for him!”
“Now you’re being melodramatic,” Jennelle scoffed, but there was something—guilt perhaps?—in her mother’s eyes. “I’m not going to argue with you. I don’t traipse into your house and start criticizing the way you keep it.”
Miranda’s frustration threatened to bubble over in an explosion of angry words but she choked them down and took a breather. She didn’t come to fight. “Mom...I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Simone.”
“No.” Jennelle pushed past her, not purposefully, only because there wasn’t enough room for two people to pass. “There’s no sense in bringing up the past.”
“Mom, please don’t run away from me when I’m trying to talk to you,” Miranda pleaded, following her mother into the crowded living room. “You know this family is falling apart and no one seems to notice or care.” Jennelle scoffed at that but Miranda wasn’t going to stop. “Wade never comes home, Trace is in denial and Dad never comes out of his shop. We used to be a family who did things together and now we never even speak.”
“I can’t control how others behave. Your brothers know where to find us. Your father is busy with his carving—”
“Stop! You and I both know that he hasn’t carved in years. He’s selling marijuana out of that shop. Stop trying to sugarcoat what’s really going on.”
Her mother’s lip trembled. “You’re always so quick to find fault with others, aren’t you? How in the world did I raise such a critical child? No one is perfect, Miranda. Perhaps you ought to remember that before you start picking people apart.”
“I’m not picking anyone apart, Mother. I’m stating a fact that you refuse to recognize. We used to be a family! Don’t you see how everything has gone to hell?”
“Circumstances that we couldn’t control...” Jennelle started but couldn’t finish, fighting back tears. She wiped at her eyes in agitation. “See what you’ve done? Why does every conversation with you have to be so confrontational?”
In the face of her mother’s pain, Miranda’s anger lost some of its heat and she softened her tone as she said, “I don’t want every conversation to be so difficult between us, Mother. I’m trying to say that I’m worried about you and our family. We’re falling apart and we have been for a long time. Simone’s been gone a long time. Isn’t it time we let her go?”
At that Jennelle’s head snapped up and raw panic rimmed her eyes. “Let her go? She was your sister. How can you suggest such a thing? You cannot expect a mother to forget about her child—ever. To even ask such a thing is unconscionable. Shame on you for suggesting it.”
Miranda blinked back tears. “I’m not asking you to forget about Simone. I’m asking you to remember that you have three other children as well as a grandson who need you.” Miranda cast a despairing glance around the claustrophobic mess crowding every nook and cranny. “I can’t bring Talen into this house. It’s too dangerous. Don’t you want to spend more time with your only grandson?”
“Of course I do,” Jennelle answered. “You’re the one who keeps him from me. You’d rather Talen spend time with that Indian woman than me.”
“Please stop saying ‘that Indian woman’ with such disdain. She’s Talen’s blood kin and he loves her very much. Hearing something like that would hurt his feelings and confuse him.”
“I would never say such a thing around Talen,” her mother said, looking away. “He can’t help who he’s related to.”
That sentiment goes both ways, Miranda thought privately but took a moment to settle the immediate snap on her tongue. “Is it possible for us to talk to one another without devolving into a sniping fight? I’d like to repair our relationship somehow but you have to meet me halfway.”
Jennelle softened but remained wary, saying, “You’re certainly welcome to visit more often if you promise not to be so critical of how I live my life.”
“I wouldn’t be so critical if I wasn’t worried about your safety.”
“I told you—I’m in no danger.”
“Mom.” Miranda tried to stay on topic. “I disagree. Can’t you tell that normal people don’t live this way? Don’t you care that you’re not a part of Talen’s life? He barely knows you because you never spend any time together.”
&nb
sp; Her mother looked wounded. “It’s not my fault that you won’t bring my grandson to see me. It’s not as if I’ve moved away or something. We all make choices, Miranda, and I can’t control how you choose to parent your child. Just as I can’t control that you prefer that woman over your own mother.”
“She listens to me. She doesn’t try to push me away like you do.” Miranda couldn’t help the sharp retort. Her feelings were much too raw at this point and she was losing patience.
“I don’t try to push you away. You create distance between us by constantly criticizing me.”
“Me? Criticize you?” Her mother was delusional. “You’ve made it very clear that I’ve never measured up to Simone. And when Simone died, your disdain for everything that I cared about only got worse. How am I supposed to feel about that?”
“I refuse to stand here and listen to you reaping all of your problems on my head. Your problems are your own. You’re an adult, Miranda. Deal with the choices you’ve made instead of trying to blame everyone else.”
“I’m not blaming anyone. I’m trying to figure out why I am the way I am. Why won’t you help me?” Miranda wiped at the tears dribbling down her cheeks. “I can’t help but think that if it were Simone coming to you, you’d bend over backward to help. I guess I’ll just never measure up to her. Lord knows, you’ve been blaming me for her death since the day she disappeared.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not.” Miranda wished it were. “I’m not blind to the way you feel. Contrary to what you believe, you’re not a very good actress. Your thoughts and feelings are always displayed right on your face.”
“Children don’t come with a manual. And you can’t parent one child the same way as the other. I did the best that I could. I refuse to be blamed for whatever you feel went wrong simply because you don’t like the way your life turned out.”
“I love my life,” Miranda nearly shouted. “But I’m beginning to realize that certain choices I’ve made haven’t been the best and I’m trying to make amends. I want to mend our relationship, Mom. But you’re making it nearly impossible to do that. You have to take responsibility for your part in all of this and that starts with admitting you have a hoarding problem.”
“I don’t have a hoarding problem! I have a selfish-family problem!” Her mother threw her hands up and stalked away. “I’ve had enough of this visit. Feel free to make yourself scarce.” Jennelle threw a hard stare at Miranda before disappearing behind the one door in the house that wasn’t blocked by junk. Miranda had half a mind to go bang on the door but figured, what was the point? Her mother was stubborn as a mule and nearly as mean.
“Thanks for that open and sharing conversation, Mom,” Miranda muttered and let herself out.
Hands shaking, Miranda fished her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed Trace’s number. When the call went straight to voice mail she left a near-hysterical message. “You have to come home. I can’t take this anymore. I’m going crazy. If you don’t help me deal with Mom I don’t know what else to do. She won’t listen, but she needs help. And she likes you way more than she’s ever liked me, so please come home!”
Miranda climbed into her car and threw her cell onto the passenger seat. Before she knew it her shoulders were shaking as racking sobs took over her body. She cried into her hands, unable to stop. Everything was falling apart in her life. She didn’t have anyone she could talk to; she didn’t have anyone who cared. Including her own family. She desperately wanted to talk to Jeremiah but she refused to go to him in a sobbing mess, like some poor pathetic female who couldn’t handle her own problems. But just once, she’d like to be able to lay her head on someone else’s shoulder and know that they were going to take care of things. That they were going to take care of her.
She spent her whole life taking care of everyone else but no one seemed to notice when she was the one struggling. Her mother blamed Miranda for Simone’s death. But wasn’t a mother supposed to be there for her other daughter? When Simone died, no one was more overcome with guilt than Miranda. The fact that she couldn’t turn to her mother for comfort was an additional slice to her heart.
She sobbed harder, almost unable to stop. Was she losing her mind? Was this what it felt like to have a nervous breakdown? She didn’t know but she was nearly paralyzed with fear that there was no fixing what was broken inside of her. What kind of mother could she possibly be to her own son if she was so terribly broken inside? How many decent guys had she disregarded because of her inability to commit? Why couldn’t she love Otter? Why wasn’t she normal?
After a long moment Miranda managed to catch her breath and slow her tears. When she could focus again she started the car and pulled onto the highway. She felt wrung out and empty from her conversation with her mother. She needed help. Miranda could only hope that Trace would respond.
Frankly, Miranda didn’t know what she was going to do next.
* * *
JEREMIAH WAS SURPRISED by the sound of an urgent pounding on his door, but he was even more surprised to see Miranda standing there, wearing an oddly fragile smile. “I’m sorry.... I should’ve called.... I just...”
Jeremiah sensed Miranda was on the verge of crumbling and holding it together by a string. He knew that look; he’d seen it in the mirror too many times after Tyler had died. “Is everything okay? Is your son...?”
“He’s fine. He’s with his grandmother for a few hours. I just needed to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Sure.” He led her into his tiny living room, which also served as a kitchen, and gestured for her to take a seat on the love seat beside him. “I know it’s close quarters but...”
“It’s okay. I don’t care,” she said. “I just needed to talk to you and I don’t know why exactly because we shouldn’t be this familiar with each other but you’re the only person I feel can listen to my problems without judging me because of my past. When my sister died, suddenly I was the sister of that girl who died, instead of being simply Miranda Sinclair. The whispers, the sad looks, the pity...it drove me crazy and that’s not even counting what I was going through on the inside of myself. Do you know it’s my fault she’s dead?”
“I’m sure it’s not,” he murmured. “I know it can feel that way but deep down you have to know that it’s not.”
Miranda shook her head hysterically. “No. It’s my fault. We fought over a sweater. A damn sweater. Simone had taken it without permission and she had a tendency to ruin anything she touched and I’d just bought it. I hadn’t even had a chance to wear it yet. In fact, I think the tags were still on it when she took it. I was so mad.” Miranda paced as she shared, unable to sit still, and Jeremiah gave her the space she needed, though he desperately wanted to pull her into his arms and chase away the demons. “I was supposed to be her ride after work but I told her to find her own way home. She was staying with me while she was on Christmas break from college and I thought it would be fun to be roommates for a short while but she was a terrible pain in the ass! She always took my clothes without asking, she was a slob, and she never took anything seriously! So, yeah, I was really mad when she took that sweater, but in hindsight, it wasn’t really about the sweater at all. It was all that pent-up frustration and anger over her thoughtlessness and the fact that everyone always made allowances for Simone but I was never cut any slack!” She paused to draw a deep breath. “But because I let my anger get the best of me, my baby sister was killed,” she finished with a sad cry that nearly broke his heart.
She squeezed her eyes shut and then covered her face with her hands, embarrassed even as she continued to cry. Unable to resist, he pulled her into his arms. She needed someone to comfort her and he wanted to be the one to do it. She went willingly and clung to him almost desperately. “I loved my sister. I didn’t want her to die. And I hate that sweater. I hate it!”
“Shh,” he crooned, pressing a small kiss against the top of her head. “It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t because of a sweater.”
She pulled away, her eyes red. “Then why’d it happen? Why’d she have to die?” she asked almost angrily, but he knew her anger wasn’t directed at him. How many times had he railed at the injustice of his son dying?
“I don’t know. I wish I had the answers but none of us do. Sometimes bad things happen—” his voice caught and he had to look away and take a breath before he could continue again “—to good people and there’s no rhyme or reason to it.”
“My mom blames me. She doesn’t come out and say it directly but I can see it in her eyes.”
“I’d like to reassure you that she doesn’t blame you but the fact is she might, but that’s not your fault. You can’t control how others feel. My ex-wife blames me for something terrible that happened and some days it’s hard to remember that it wasn’t truly my fault. Trust me, sometimes the weight of that one single situation is enough to cripple.”
Miranda held his gaze, not bothering to wipe away her tears. “What happened?”
Here it was. The moment of truth. He wanted to tell her but his throat closed up when he tried. He didn’t think he could get the words out. “Wait here,” he said and rose from his seat to go into the small closet where one single box was stacked against the wall. He opened the box and pulled out the last school photo ever taken of Tyler, bordered by a dark wooden frame. His hands shook as he held the picture. For a wild, irrational moment he thought better of sharing the pain of his loss, but Miranda deserved to know, no matter how much it hurt him to share.
Her eyes went to the frame he held to his chest and she frowned as she wiped at her eyes. “What is that?” she asked.
“This,” he said, “is my son. Tyler.” He turned the frame to her, and before she could ask, he added in a choked voice, “He’s dead.”
That Reckless Night Page 16
