by Casey Hays
This plunges me into murky water. Because I can’t for the life of me decipher if she’s referring to renegades… Rylin specifically. Or Firebloods in general. I test her.
“So Kane has your blessing, but Rylin is out. Is this what you mean?”
“The O’Reillys don’t count.” She takes exit 2A and pulls onto the ramp that curves to the right. “Despite how irritated I am at the moment, they’re our friends, and the only Firebloods I trust. If they choose to swear allegiance to the Contingent or the Renegades or whoever else to protect their family, it’s their business. They’ve always known about you, and you’ve been safe because of them.”
She fidgets with the air conditioning setting because, clearly, she just needs to do something with her hands. They shake a little, and I find myself wondering how long it’s been since she actually had a drink.
“Rylin’s always known too,” I say.
“He’s known? Or suspected?”
Her knowing look makes me pause. What did he tell me, again? I can’t remember.
I see the tiny, barely discernible freckles on her arm. I find the scar on her right cheek from when she fell off her bike as a little girl and smashed headfirst into a pointy rock on the sidewalk. It’s one of many stories she shared with me about her childhood. But you know, she was right when she admitted just last week that she didn’t know who I was anymore; the feeling is mutual. We’ve existed in each other’s lives, barely crossing over ever since Dad’s death. Our chance meetings have consisted of hellos and goodbyes and very little else. We’ve hardly spoken about anything meaningful—not for years. She’s kept her secrets buried under an alcoholic haze; I’ve carried my own burdens—alone. I lay a hand against my heart as these sad truths catch up with me. My fingers bump into my necklace. I gather it up in my fist.
My appetite is totally gone. I watch the passing street signs in silence until Mom parallel parks in an empty space right in front of Gloria’s Secret Café. She turns off the engine; we both sit very still, staring ahead, neither one of us wanting to leave the car with so much heaviness to sort through. The light of the day is almost gone, and Mom’s silhouette slowly becomes shadowy. Just in front of us a street lamp decorated with hanging plants full of tiny purple flowers kicks on, illuminating the dashboard and flashing a dull glow on Mom’s face. She rolls down the windows a couple of inches to let a breeze in. It eases the stuffiness… not the tension.
“How did the Contingent find you?” Her question breaks into the silence, making things even tenser, and the pain in her eyes tears at me a little. “Was it because Kane told you?”
“Well, yes and no. They… detected my mantra. On a tracker they’d placed on Kane.”
I realize how strongly this incriminates him in her mind, and as much as she’s always adored him, he is the one who decamouflaged me. She will blame him no matter how many different ways I paint it. Her face falls into her palms, a huge sigh emitting.
“I knew it was a bad idea to leave behind traces of your mantra.” She bumps the sides of her fists into the lower part of the steering wheel, tapping over and over—fidgety-like. “I tried to convince Rafe he shouldn’t, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Sonata Gallagher” pops into my head. Mom wouldn’t understand, so I don’t try to explain, but I know why he did it. The Fireblood’s mantra—it’s a big deal. You’re kind of nothing without it.
“I’m scared, Jude.” She lifts her head, stabbing me with tear-stained eyes. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
“You’re not going to lose me.”
“Yes, I could.” The words are like knives in my chest. “We broke the rules, your father and I. The Contingent will not show mercy.”
“Can I ask… why’d you do it?”
She hesitates, wringing her hands.
“The moment I told your father I was pregnant—” Her face pinches up in pain. “Rafe… he couldn’t… we couldn’t bring ourselves to go to a clinic. We knew better. We’d already created one monstrosity, so how could we bring another—”
She stops short, eyes wide at the accidental revelation. Her hands fly to her mouth involuntarily before she quickly moves on to cover the slip up.
“But look at you.” Her fingers reach for me, taking hold of a loose strand of hair that rebelliously escaped my messy bun. “You turned out to be so beautiful. Perfect in so many ways. You were our miracle, Jude. From the very first. You defied the laws of nature.”
I’m speechless, losing myself in the words I’ve needed to hear for years. The words Mom used to pour over me daily when I was a little girl. The words I thought she’d forgotten how to say. But here she is, spilling her heart and making me believe every syllable. Her lip trembles as she caresses tender fingers against my cheek. I hold completely still and close my eyes. I’ve missed this.
“You don’t know how relieved I was when your father figured out how to camouflage you. You had a chance to lead a normal life. A human life. And all of these years, you have. It’s all I ever wanted for you.” Her face turns sour. “What was Kane thinking? Why would he ruin that for you when you could have enjoyed a few years more without having to know?”
“It was a lot to ask of him in the first place.” I come immediately to his defense. “And it’s not his fault. If anything, Frankie’s to blame. She chose the Vatra u Krvi as the subject of our science project. After that, things got weird, and eventually, Kane didn’t have a choice. He had to tell me.” I fumble with my ring, drawing her attention to it, and then I hit her with my real thoughts. “It should have been Dad who told me anyway—a long time ago. He could have taught me how to live. How to hide.”
“You really think so?” Her tone is doubtful. “You would have kept your ring on no matter how badly the urge to take it off? You think you could have suppressed your mantra at such a young age once you heard it? I imagine it’s hard enough even now.”
I look at her. She knows a lot more than I realized.
“Maybe,” I shrug, acknowledging her doubt despite myself. “But at least I could have lived my life as me while Daddy was still alive. The real me. We could have shared something special.”
The tears show up then, flooding in before I can put a stop to them. Mom processes my words, her own tears joining us, and soon, she’s nodding over and over. She grips the edges of her seat. I wipe at my eyes, sniffling.
“Your dad was going to tell you one day. You need to know that.”
The news falls over me like a fresh drink of water in one minute and a stab to my heart in the next. Why did he wait? I was twelve when he died—old enough to understand—and he never said a word. Not even a hint. That anger at feeling cheated tries to pinch at me, but how is that fair to him now? I can’t be mad.
“Rafe was gone, just like that.” Mom says it as if she’s read my mind. Her hand finds mine, folding our fingers together, and it honestly feels nice. Deceptively safe. “Suddenly, it was up to me to handle everything like I was a Fireblood myself. I felt like a crazy person, and if Connor and Gema hadn’t agreed to compel your ring, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Is that why you started drinking? Because you felt crazy?”
“I started drinking because I felt guilty.”
“For what?”
“For your father’s death. For turning my back on responsibilities that suddenly became solely mine. For not knowing how to be a mother to a hybrid anymore.”
“How can you blame yourself for Dad’s death? It was an animal attack.”
“Was it?” She pierces me with such conviction that fear tingles up my spine. “I’m not so sure. Maybe the fact that he had a human wife had more to do with it than we know.”
“That’s crazy. Firebloods can marry humans.”
“Only if they promise to keep the oath.” She half-laughs, sarcasm lining her next words. “We foolishly decided to have a baby like a couple of young idiots.”
I squint at her. Decided. She’s not talking about me, and so
…
“You mean Jarron, don’t you?”
The sun is gone, and I can’t see her face as clearly as before, but that doesn’t matter. Her shock cuts through the shadows like a blade.
Twenty-one
Mom draws in a breath and lets it out in a quick puff. She hugs the steering wheel like she’s drowning, and it’s a life preserver. I hear someone talking. A laugh. A car door slamming, a little bit of slow traffic breezing past. But in here with us, not even the sound of our breathing. It’s that silent.
It’s pretty clear that of her two children, I was the easier fix. Just hook me up with a compelled object and voila! But with Jarron? Who knows what Mom has endured? From the look on her face, Hell would be my first guess.
She suddenly breaks into tears, comes close to hyperventilating, and I ruffle through the glove box, find an old Wendy’s napkin, and hand it to her. That’s about all the comfort I have to give.
“You knew?” she manages. She blows into the napkin, an ugly, snorting sound that completely negates how pretty she is for a few horrific seconds. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why do you think?” I pierce her. “Mom, we’ve been talking for an hour already, and you’re still keeping things from me. When are you going to realize you can let me in? I can help you carry this burden.”
She sucks in her bottom lip, her face contorting, but in a heartbeat, she has a hold on my hand again. She nods furiously.
“You’re right.” She wipes at her nose. “You are so right, sweetheart.”
I give her hand a reassuring shake.
“How did you find out about him?” she asks.
“Dr. Melmack has a crate—full of stuff on Firebloods.” I gauge her response, notice a twitch in her facial muscles at the reference to Dr. Melmack. “Frankie stumbled across it. There were a couple of pictures of Jarron inside, but we didn’t know who he was. Just a deformed Fireblood from Willow Springs.”
“Willow Springs,” Mom whispers.
I give her a minute to process. She bunches the raggedy napkin in her fist before shoving it into the side pocket of her door, and I hear it: the tinny sound of metal against her nails. It’s her flask. That’s where she always keeps it, tucked out of sight. The quick, barely perceptible glance she hands me is a dead giveaway that she knows I’ve caught her red-handed. I’m sure she thinks I didn’t know about her secret, mobile cubby-hole. Truth is, I’ve known for a couple of years.
With a sigh, she tentatively drags her hand back into her lap and props her head against the headrest, staring at the front of the restaurant. A young couple exits, walking hand in hand. They’re laughing, and he lets go of her and throws an arm around her shoulders, dragging her in for a kiss.
“I miss your dad.” She watches the couple until they round a corner at the end of the block, and then emits a long, desperate sigh. “He would have known what to do. Me? It seems I’ve done everything wrong since his death.” She rolls her head against the rest, her dark eyes on me. “I owe you an apology. It was just… I didn’t want to face this life; I wanted to forget it. It’s been hard without Rafe.”
“You could have leaned on me a little.” My words come soft, because my heart is softening. My fingertips strum the armrest to the beat of it, slowing as my heart rate relaxes into the moment.
“What are you talking about? I’ve leaned on you too much.”
“You know what I mean.” I catch her eye, hold it. She sinks into the seatback, clearly relieved to hear me say it.
“Yeah.” Her lips form a tight line as another tear escapes.
One thing is certain: my mom is more than likely still drinking, but for the moment, she’s sober. And because of it, I sense a real true-blue connection for the first time in forever, and it feels good. So good that I kind of want to cry. Ugh. Haven’t we cried enough already? I release a breath that drops the tension right out of my shoulders.
“Tell me about Jarron,” I whisper. She smiles, weak and unsure.
“Well. He’s a complicated little subject.”
“Aren’t we all?”
She laughs, giving my hand a squeeze. “Where do I even begin?”
“I don’t know. Tell me his favorite things.”
“Oh. Let’s see. Pancakes with strawberry jam.” A sad smile invades her lips. “Video games. Reading. He reads a lot—everything he can get his hands on. He likes a few television shows, but he’d rather read. His verbal communication is limited. It’s—it’s just hard for him to vocalize. It takes a lot of physical effort to formulate his thoughts into words. But still, on his good days, he seems so happy. I can see it written all over his face. In his eyes. And then…” She closes her eyes on a sigh. “He’ll have another episode. He’s beautifully frightening, if that makes sense. I can’t really explain what I mean by it. It’s something you just have to see.” Her face changes, full of shame. “I hadn’t seen him in three years.”
“Three?” I’m stunned. “Why not?”
An intensity falls over her. “I don’t even want to tell you this.”
“Mom…”
“Okay,” she sighs. Her hands are really beginning to shake. She clenches them into tight fists. “All right. But… please don’t judge me.”
I nod, my insides tensing. What the hell is she about to confess here?
She hesitates a bit longer, wrestling to restore her courage, and her energy, and every other resource we seem to have depleted in the last hour. She finally spills it—all at once and as quickly as possible.
“After I got your brother settled in at Cedar Hills, I had Connor compel me—redirection actually—to forget where he was, his doctor’s name—everything surrounding his move to a new facility.”
I don’t quite know how to react to this confession. So much clandestine planning to bury my brother away from the world forever. It pretty much knocks me over, and she flushes with shame.
“I know. I’m a terrible person.” She won’t look at me. “A terrible mother. I have no excuse for what I did.”
“Connor knew where he was?”
“No. And he didn’t have to know to compel me, thankfully.” Her face contorts with guilt. “I regretted it for a split second, but it was done. Redirection can’t be reversed.”
“So you just left him there?” The crack in my voice matches the sudden ache that digs into my heart.
Eyes squeezed tight, she nods. And an emptiness hollows out in the pit of my stomach. She’s neglected me for years now, but she abandoned him. I can’t decide which is worse.
“What about Dr. Melmack?”
Mom pops open her eyes, a clear shock rattling through her.
“What about him?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I frown at her with as much disapproval as I can muster. She’s not going to get away with playing dumb. “He was Jarron’s original doctor.”
“How did you know that?”
“Kane and I found a safe deposit box at Nevada State Bank. Jarron’s documents were in it, including a letter from Dr. Melmack about moving Jarron to Cedar Hills.”
“A safe deposit box?”
A look of surprise passes over her. Her own box, and she had no clue. This is classic. Or… she’s lying.
“Yeah,” I retort. I’m feeling kind of mean again. “But why would you rent a safe deposit box? Why not just destroy it all?”
“I don’t know. But… please understand, Jude.” Her voice grows desperate. “I didn’t want to forget him. I just… I needed a break.”
“A break?” I shake my head with disgust. “You never get a break from parenthood, Mom. It’s a lifetime commitment. I’m sorry you didn’t get the kind of children you wanted, but it was your decision to have us.”
I shove open the door and step out.
“Jude, wait.”
I ignore her, I slam the door and take off down the sidewalk while she fumbles with the door handle and stumbles out of the car to follow.
“Jude!”
“What?
” I spin, furious. “What can you say to make any of this right? Things get hard, things start to hurt, too much responsibility, and you just run. You avoid. You abandon. You drown yourself in alcohol. You make up lies about being in rehab. I don’t know how to believe you anymore.”
A passing couple gives us a quick glance, but I don’t really care. I don’t know any of these people, and I’ve decided I want to be mad again. I have some pent up feelings that just need releasing, and I’m going to do it—right here on the sidewalk in Portland, Oregon for anyone in the vicinity to see.
“I haven’t had a drink in… nine days. I—I promise.”
She flicks her eyes at our surroundings, her shoulders shrinking at her lie. I gesture toward the car.
“Then why the flask, Mom? And the wine bottles you think are so well hidden in the backseat?”
She swipes her tongue across her bottom lip and pulls back her shoulders in a heaving breath.
“They’re empty. I poured them out myself on—” She hesitates, working out the next lie, I’m sure. “On the side—of the road the day after I saw Jarron. One look at him, and I knew I had to change.”
Change. I cross my arms, defiant. I’ll believe that only when I see it.
“I don’t know anything about a safe deposit box,” she continues, reverting the subject. “That’s the truth. I must have made sure it was wiped out of my memory along with the rest of it. But I could never forget Jarron. Maybe… maybe that box was my way of preserving him. Because even though I didn’t know where he was, I thought about him every day.” Her sad smile takes over her whole face. “I could never escape all the memories, and despite what you may think, I didn’t want to.”
I study her, not quite ready to soften, but something in me believes this part of her story.
