Worth the Risk (St. James Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  “No use in putting it off. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Before she opened the car door, he surprised her by tugging her into a kiss. Unlike a lot of their kisses, which were heated and hungry, this was gentle, yet affecting. Tender. That he’d tried to soothe her made her heart sing.

  “Better.” He tugged at her ponytail and then they both got out of the car.

  “Room 101.” She looked to the far left of the motel. “Over there.”

  They crossed the parking lot together. With each step, her heart stuttered and skipped. Several feet in front of the door, she stopped in her tracks and drew a deep breath. Another. And another. She gripped her waist, feeling almost faint.

  “Gabby, we can pull the plug and leave right now if you want. There’s no shame in that, you know.”

  “No. She drove two hours and spent money on this room. I’ll never face myself in the mirror if I bail now.”

  Jackson enveloped her in his warm embrace. For as long as she lived, she knew she’d never forget the security of being in his arms. His body provided a cocoon from all life’s troubles. She’d really miss him when he left, which he would, just like her mom.

  She eased away, unable to shake her gloomy admission. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I think I should meet her alone. Do you mind waiting in the car or something?”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “I don’t want to ambush her. If I need you, I’ll text.”

  “Whatever you want.” He stood and let her approach the door alone. Seconds after Gabby knocked, her mother opened the door.

  Gabby froze while quickly reconciling her mother’s current appearance with her memories. Her mom’s green eyes weren’t as bright, but they also weren’t glazed over. Her skin no longer had the sallow look or stench Gabby had hated, although she’d earned more wrinkles with time. She’d put on a little weight, but remained petite, standing there in secondhand clothing, with her light brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her pale eyes widened upon seeing Jackson a few feet away but then they flickered back to Gabby.

  “Gabby.” She pressed her lips together, eyes watering, hugging herself like a frightened child. “You’re all grown up.”

  Gabby couldn’t imagine not seeing Luc for a day, let alone years and years. Her mother had obviously frozen Gabby’s image in time, much as Gabby had done with her mom.

  “Hi, Mom. You look . . . good.” Good may be an exaggeration, but she looked healthier than Gabby remembered. “That’s my friend, Jackson. I asked him to come with me, but he’s going to wait in his car so we can talk in private.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Jackson waved.

  “Hello, I’m Marie.” Her mom took a deep breath and returned her focus to Gabby. “I half expected you to bring your father.”

  Gabby barely registered the words because she’d been studying every detail of her mom’s worn face.

  They stared at each other another few seconds, and then her mom said, “I’m so glad you came. Please come in.”

  Gabby had envisioned a reunion for so many years; now it seemed surreal and disjointed, like a hazy dream. She might as well have floated across the threshold. The shabby room, with its standard motel motif, matched her once-attractive mother’s dingy appearance.

  She kept waiting for a swell of emotion—anger, joy, suspicion, guilt—anything at all. Yet nothing came. It seemed almost as if she were watching it all from a distance. What did it mean, this lack of feeling? Had she buried everything so deep she no longer had access? Or had her nerves hijacked all her other emotions?

  Her mom smoothed her hair and straightened her sweater before sitting. Gabby sat opposite her, struggling not to feel self-conscious under the weight of her mom’s intense scrutiny. Finally, she decided to take control of the situation, as Jackson had suggested. “Your letter shocked me. All these years I’d figured you’d moved on. I had no idea you’d thought about me or tried to contact me.”

  “Of course I thought about you.” Her mother’s voice sounded barely louder than a whisper. “Maybe not at first, when I’d still been so high it numbed everything.”

  “Then why didn’t you ever come back?”

  “It’s been a long road, most of it not very pretty.”

  Gabby crossed her arms. “I came to hear about it.”

  “I know.” Her mother closed her eyes, sighing. When she finally opened them, she looked up, as if searching her brain for the information. “The year after I left, I bottomed out. I was homeless, finding shelter in empty buildings, eating other people’s garbage. That part is what finally made me realize I needed help. I couldn’t believe I’d given up everything, my education, my husband, my baby . . . and that I’d fallen to the point of eating garbage.”

  Gabby tried to conceal the disgust she felt from the image of her mother Dumpster diving. Her mother trembled, as if shaking off the bad memory. “At that point, I found a free clinic and got clean. Once my head cleared, regret and depression set in. I knew your father would never forgive me, so I was too afraid to just show up. That’s why I wrote to you, hoping you might be willing to meet me.”

  After a brief pause, during which Gabby’s mind raced, she asked, “So, you’ve been clean for six years now, not twenty-two months?”

  Her mom’s shamed gaze fell to her hands, which were tightly clasped together on the table. “I wish, but no.”

  Gabby’s heart sank. Just like when her mom had still been at home, she’d had good stretches and bad. Would that be Jackson’s fate, too? Was he merely in a “good place” today, but six or eight months from now, be doomed to plummet?

  Her mother’s voice pulled her from her mental ramblings. “I stayed clean for three years. Regularly attended meetings, worked in a little café in Burlington, got out of the shelter and rented a tiny studio. Eventually I met someone and my life finally seemed pretty stable. That’s when I’d tried to contact you again. I needed to apologize for so many things, but when my second letter went unanswered, I assumed you were done with me, like your dad. Of course, I never blamed you. I’d failed in the worst way a woman—a mother—can fail. If you leave here knowing nothing else, you have to believe that I know I lost everything when I walked away from you.”

  Gabby couldn’t think about apologies or forgiveness now. Not when she needed the rest of the story. “So what happened next?”

  Another sigh from her mom braced Gabby for more ugly details. “Within one month’s time, I lost my job because the café closed, and then Robert, the man I’d been seeing, left me for another woman.” Her mom’s gaze turned even sadder and more distant. “I couldn’t get out of bed. Everything I’d worked so hard to rebuild disappeared and it seemed pointless to keep going. I know you can’t understand it, but that kind of isolation, it makes it so tempting to check out.” She clutched a fist by her heart. “I didn’t want to be sober, because that gave me too much time to think about how I’d walked away from you and your father. How, no matter what I tried to do to get clean, the world seemed determined to make it impossible. To keep taking things from me, like when I first got sick and couldn’t find relief from that pain. It probably all sounds trite to you. I’m glad you’re not as weak as I am. That you’ve never bumped up against utter despair.”

  Gabby leaned forward, a million questions clogging her throat. Intent on hearing the entire story, she kept quiet. “So what changed?”

  “I ended up back on the street, but this time I nearly OD’d. The only reason I’m alive is because the cops happened to raid the abandoned house where I’d collapsed, and called an ambulance.”

  Gabby blew out the breath she’d been holding, completely unprepared to learn that her mother had nearly died. Her mother could’ve been dead and she wouldn’t have known. Not that she hadn’t wondered about that from time to time. But to learn that it nearly had happened! That she might just as easily have gotten a government-issued letter informing her of her mom’s death instead of the letter her m
om wrote.

  How would she have felt? Even now she still couldn’t access any feelings about this meeting with her mom. Her brain had taken over, treating the entire reunion from a cerebral perspective. Maybe it was protecting her?

  She didn’t have to answer that question because her mom continued talking. “Needless to say, that was a wake-up call. I went back to the clinic to wean off the drugs. Got a job as a housekeeper in a B and B near the college. I haven’t tried dating, because I’m not sure I could take another rejection.” Her mom paused, and Gabby remembered Jackson’s doctor’s warning against testing a relationship too soon. “I’ve been drug-free for almost two years now. The only reason I didn’t try to contact you this time was because I knew I’d been gone too long to have the right to barge back into your life. But when I ran into the Dresslers and they told me about you and Luc, I couldn’t stop myself.” Her mom covered her sad smile with her hands. “I can’t believe my baby has a baby. I’m a grandmother. I cried for two days, but instead of turning back to drugs, I wrote to you. Your response felt like a miracle, and I’m so grateful.”

  A miracle? Suddenly a tremendous amount of pressure—of responsibility—about how she handled the rest of this meeting pressed on Gabby’s chest. “I’ll be honest, Mom. I almost didn’t come today. I didn’t know what to expect. Would I cry, yell, be relieved or sad? The last thing I expected was to feel nothing, which is kind of what’s happening. Everything, even my own body, feels foreign right now. Maybe I’m just overwhelmed and processing everything, and later the feelings will come. But I have to wonder, what do you expect from me?”

  “Nothing, Gabby. I’m grateful you came and listened to my story . . . my apology. I’m so sorry. Sorry for all the pain I caused you and your father. Sorry for all the times I let you down or scared you. Sorry I destroyed our family. I honestly wouldn’t blame you for hating me. I hate myself, more than you know. But I’m trying, again, to build a decent life. Seeing you today is a reminder of the fact that, at one point in time, I did something right.”

  Not until she felt the wet warmth of a tear rolling down her cheek did Gabby even know she was crying. Finally, some sign of a heart in her chest. Of the girl who’d soldiered on, hiding the pain and shame she’d felt. She had hated her mom at times, maybe even still did. Yet, she’d worried and wondered and prayed all these years, too. And now they were seated across the table, talking to each other.

  Would this one-time visit satisfy Gabby? Should she invite her mom back into any corner of her life? And what of Luc?

  “Gabby, I understand why you didn’t bring Luc,” her mom said, as if reading her mind, “but do you have a picture I could see?”

  Luc had a grandmother he might never know—a woman who, once upon a time, had been a happy wife and mother. Snippets of memories started flowing now—sled rides and cocoa, her mom reading Anne of Green Gables to her, stretchy-cheese sandwiches and soup when she’d been sick. A vivid image of her mom and dad kissing in front of a Christmas tree popped to the forefront. Then, like a plume of smoke, the bad memories lay over the good. The shingles scabs and complications. Her mom crying in pain. The irritability and desperation—until she found relief. Relief that ultimately swallowed her up and carried her away.

  The entire situation filled Gabby with sorrow and bitterness, tightening her throat. Now she sat with her mom—a stranger—who begged to see a photo of her grandson. How could she say no? Gabby blinked back her tears and cleared her throat. “Sure.”

  She removed her phone from her pocket and scrolled through her photos until she found a recent one that captured a bit of Luc’s ornery personality. “This is Luc.”

  She slid the phone across the table. Her mom picked it up, her eyes fixated on its screen. During the silence that descended, Gabby glanced at the window, wondering what Jackson must be thinking. She looked back at her mom, who quietly studied Luc’s face while a tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

  Her mom’s hands trembled before she burst into sobs. Uncontrollable sobs coughing up seven years of remorse and grief.

  “Excuse me.” She stood, wiping her eyes, leaving streaks of mascara on her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

  Without another word she strode to the bathroom at the back of the room and closed the door. Gabby heard her mom crying and started to tremble. Without thinking, she texted Jackson. Sixty seconds later, he knocked at the door.

  “You okay?” Jackson set his hands on her shoulders.

  She nodded, dumbly. “She’s crying in the bathroom. I showed her a picture of Luc and she broke down.”

  Jackson stepped inside and closed the door. “What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know. Part of me wants to bolt. This is all so much. But I can’t leave her alone, crying. If she’d never had the complications from shingles, she would’ve never needed so many painkillers, and none of this would’ve happened. She’d never have left, been homeless, or nearly died. Knowing it’s not entirely her fault makes me want to forgive her and try to be friends. But then she’s also gone back to drugs more than once, and I can’t live with that worry again. If I let her back in my life, I will always, always worry. But if I walk away, will that send her back into that dark place, too?” Gabby’s head pounded. “Either way I’ll worry. I don’t know what to do.”

  Jackson pulled her into a hug, a bit overwhelmed by Gabby’s summary of her mom’s homelessness and near death. Although he’d never come close to Marie’s level of addiction, he hated sharing anything in common with the woman. And seeing her impact on Gabby damn near broke his heart.

  Knowing he’d caused his family even a fraction of this kind of worry made him hate himself a little, too. And now he’d dragged Gabby into his life. “I suppose you look at me the same way, always wondering if you’ll catch me drinking, or if what you do will cause me to drink?”

  “Not really . . . or, at least, not often.” Her brows pinched together and she glanced back toward the bathroom. He’d expected that answer, but it still stung.

  “Gabby, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m under control.” He stopped then, because this wasn’t the time or place to launch into a discussion about his problem or their “relationship.” He wished they could leave and erase the past thirty minutes from her memory.

  Gabby’s lip trembled. “You don’t think she’s in there doing drugs now, do you?”

  God, he’d be pissed if Marie did that to her daughter again. “She’s probably collecting herself. Seeing Luc must’ve tipped her over the edge.”

  Gabby’s face crumpled. “Do you think this will make her go back to drugs?”

  Worse than seeing worry in Gabby’s eyes was seeing her guilt, as if she would somehow be to blame if her mother decided to use again.

  “I know you think I have some inside track on all addicts just because I have an issue with alcohol, but I honestly can’t answer for your mom.” He thought of Doc’s warning about whether or not he’d be able to cope with loss without cracking a bottle of Scotch. At the time, he’d blown off the remark because he’d been feeling strong. But could he hold up if truly tested? A tremor of doubt slid along his spine. He forced himself to focus on Gabby’s needs instead of his thoughts. “All I can say is that, if she does, it’s on her, not you.”

  “Cold comfort.” Gabby’s head drooped.

  “You’re putting too much pressure on this meeting. Today is a first step. Maybe it’s the last step, or maybe there will be another. You don’t need to make any decisions today.”

  Gabby glanced at Luc’s picture. “Even if I might be willing to risk being disappointed, I can’t put Luc in that situation. How will I ever know if she’s trustworthy enough to meet him?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know it’ll take time.” Rebuilding trust. Despite multiple sessions with Doc, he’d still not learned that trick. “Guess you’ll have to go with your gut.”

  “My little buster.” She smiled at Luc’s image and then tucked the phone back in her pock
et. “His biggest worry is whether or not he’ll get enough pie at the costume party on Saturday.”

  “Hey, that’s one of my biggest worries, too,” Jackson joked, hoping to lighten her mood.

  He gathered her into a hug. Held her close because she needed comfort. Held her because he needed reassurance, too. He selfishly wanted Gabby to give her mom a second chance because, if Gabby could do that, then she wasn’t likely to bail on him, either.

  “Should I check on her?” Gabby sniffled, her brow knitting.

  “Sure.” But before Gabby made it to the bathroom door, her mother emerged.

  “I’m fine.” She opened the door without looking at him and crossed to Gabby. “I’m sorry for the little breakdown. Seeing Luc overwhelmed me. He’s so beautiful, my grandson.”

  “Thanks,” Gabby said uncertainly. “He has Dad’s eyes.”

  Jackson’s eyes widened, sensing Gabby had intentionally opened that door.

  Marie met Gabby’s challenge exactly as her daughter might—head-on. “Like you. You both look a lot like your dad. How is he? I’m sure he didn’t encourage you to come.”

  “He doesn’t trust you.” Gabby failed to mention his stroke.

  “I understand.”

  “The truth is,” Gabby began, “I don’t know if I do, either.”

  “I know.” Marie’s eyes misted again. “If you give me a chance to prove myself, I will.” Then she looked at Jackson. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard you two talking. Paper-thin walls.” She gestured around the room. “It sounds like you might be a little empathetic to my situation.”

  “Excuse me?” Jackson’s pulse doubled.

  “Not with drugs, but alcohol.” Marie’s sad eyes crinkled with compassion. “You know something about the struggle, but it looks like you’re winning your battles, like I’ve been winning mine lately.”

  Jackson bit his tongue to prevent a slew of disclaimers and insults from tumbling out. He did not empathize with this woman, nor did he enjoy the comparison. But Gabby looked far too fragile and vulnerable to withstand a confrontation between him and her mom. “I’d rather not get into my situation, if you don’t mind. I’m only here to support your daughter.”