I grabbed my purse and keys to head to work. I heard a thump as I swung open my apartment door.
A large package that had been leaning against the doorjamb had fallen over. It was wrapped in shiny
silver paper with a note attached.
I went back inside, rested the package on my coffee table, and opened the letter.
A,
I’m sorry. Please believe that I never meant to hurt you. I’m so ashamed of myself.
But I heard you loud and clear. You’re not ready for this. For me. For us.
So I’ll leave you alone—I’ll walk away.
But if you decide you want to talk, you know where to find me.
I’d planned on giving this gift to you someday. I figure now is as good a time as any.
Take good care, B.
P.S. Here’s what I think of you in five words or less: Fierce, determined, scorchingHOT
(yes, that’s one word), incredible, beautiful.
Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I ripped open the pretty wrapping. I inhaled a lungful of air
when I saw his gift. It was my favorite drawing from the art show.
He’d never sold it. He’d saved it for me.
My fingers were trembling so badly that I had to set it down before it fell from my grasp and broke.
But the drawing looked different today.
Now it seemed like the one figure was trying hard to reach across all the junk—in the spaces
between—to the other side. But the other figure was so well hidden he could barely find her.
And she didn’t plan on coming out anytime soon.
I read Bennett’s letter three more times, dried my eyes, fixed my makeup, and left for work. The
rain had cleared and the air felt warm. The walk would do me good.
My phone buzzed while I was crossing Albert Street, and I saw it was my mom. I so wasn’t ready
to talk to her—to anybody, really—but because of recent events, I needed to.
“Hey, Mom. On my way to work. Everything okay?”
She was silent, but I heard her breathing. Prepping herself for something she needed to say. I
gripped the phone tighter. “Just spill it, Mom.”
Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “What did Tim do to you?”
I stopped in my tracks, nearly tripping over my own two feet and causing a collision at the
crosswalk. My voice was low and rough. “You know what he did. I told you everything, hoping my own
mother would believe me.”
I heard her take a long drag on her cigarette. I could picture her sitting at the kitchen table chain
smoking. “Is that why he left us?”
What the fuck. Is that what this was about? She had some sick need to know he didn’t leave her because of something
she’d
T
done? She was
always so weak when it came to Tim.
“He left because of what I threatened him with.”
She let out a long breath she obviously had been holding. “Is that why his arm was bandaged up the
night he walked out the door?”
I’d been proud of that moment. Proud of myself. I had seen the fear in his eyes. Had the sharp
utensil slipped just an inch the other way, I would have gouged his heart. “Yes.”
We were silent for a long minute, just listening to each other’s breaths. Would this woman ever tell
me she was sorry? Or that she was proud of me? Or . . . something that showed me she was a
mother
?
“That’s why he beat me up.”
“What?” My heart raced a thousand miles a minute. “Damn it, Mom. Tell me what the hell
happened the other night.”
“We got in an argument . . .” I heard the tears coming. “About you.”
“What about me?” I saw the nursing home in the distance so I slowed my steps. No way could I
head into work without knowing what went down.
“He’d been asking questions about you every time I saw him lately—when had you moved out. If
you were ever coming back. What you looked like now.” She was sniffling and coughing and all worked
up. “I got the impression he was either afraid of you or had some kind of sick desire to see you again.”
She caught her breath for a moment while I let all of that sink in. My stomach churned just thinking
about the low timbre of Tim’s voice.
“So I pressed him about it that night. I needed to know.”
Shit.
This is where her story was about to get ugly. “What did you say?”
“I asked him if what you accused him of was true.”
I had trouble swallowing. “And?”
“He denied it up and down, of course,” she said. Now her words were rigid and hate-filled. “But this time, I wasn’t buying it.”
Was this finally Mom’s light bulb moment?
I knew my mother would never apologize for betraying me. She didn’t have it in her. And I’d
gotten to a place in my life that I didn’t need it. Not anymore. Besides, this was as close to an apology as
I would get.
“Were you alone somewhere with him?”
I could picture this going down. Tim getting more manipulative, more irate. Switching from his soft
and soothing words to his harsh and threatening tone.
“We were in the parking lot outside the bar.” One, two, three puffs of her cigarette. “So I warned
him that people would see us inside his car and call the cops.”
“God, it could have been so much worse, Mom.”
“I told him if he stayed away I wouldn’t go to the police,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll come
around again. He doesn’t have buddies on the police force like he once did.”
“What else, Mom? I know there’s something you’re holding back.”
“So . . . I don’t think this restraining order is necessary.” And there it was. She was still protecting
him. “It’ll only draw more attention to the situation, mess up his other family.”
“You assume his other family isn’t already messed up.” A cynical laughed escaped my lips. “How
many times will Tim get away with stuff, huh? He got away with it years ago and now you’re letting
him off again.”
“I’m not saying I won’t go through with it,” she said. Yes, she absolutely was saying that. “I
just . . . I’ll think about it.”
“Geez, Mom, do you realize how fucked-up your relationships with men are?”
There was a long, drawn-out silence before she said, “Is that why yours are, too?”
*** I checked in at the front desk ten minutes late. Thankfully my supervisor was in a staff meeting down
the hall.
“I’m so sorry, Lillian,” I said to the nurse I was replacing on the floor.
“Uh-huh. Thought someone forgot to tell me you called in sick or something.”
“Won’t happen again,” I said. “Shift change report?”
Lillian grabbed her purse from the drawer beneath the desk and then handed me the notes. “Mr.
Brody in room 105 is waiting on an EKG, and Mrs. Jackson in 108 needs another vitals check in an
hour.”
My stomach clenched. “What are her symptoms?”
“Some blurred vision, slurred speech, and weakness in her limbs. Doc wonders if she had another
small stroke last night. Scheduled her for a CAT scan.”
I loaded the med trays, trying not to get choked up about Mrs. Jackson. The logical side of me said
that I worked in a nursing home and patients didn’t stay here forever. They either recovered or died.
Which led to my emotional side. I wanted to pull away from her, stop talking to her so damn much,
so that it would be less painful when she left. But that would only hurt her.
Just like I was hurting Bennett. I immediately shook that thought away.
When I entered her room, she was resting on her side. Here normally dark complexion looked a bit
paler. I ran my fingertips over her forehead to wake her up. “Med time.”
Her breaths were short, and she squinted at me through slits. “H . . . Hey, sunshine.” I noticed how
the words broke from her lips in a lazy, sluggish pattern.
She blinked the sleep away, and I positioned her pillows to help her sit up. She studied me with
concerned eyes. “Nah, I take that back. I’d say someone got rained on instead.”
She couldn’t be closer to the truth if she tried.
“It did rain a lot last night,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
“You could say that again,” she said, and then narrowed her eyes. “But I wasn’t speaking literally.” “I know,” I said, my voice strained and quiet.
She grabbed for my hand. “S . . . something happen with that gorgeous man who’s chasing after
you?”
I didn’t want Mrs. Jackson to know that I was in fact worried about
her
today, so this time I
relented on her Bennett questions.
“Maybe.”
“He’s getting too close, isn’t he?” She raised her eyebrows. “And you . . . you’re pulling away.”
This lady needed an award for mind reading.
“Why do you always think it’s me causing trouble?” I asked, my hand on my hip. “Maybe
he
did
something wrong.”
“If he did something wrong, it was only out of fear,” she said, downing her pills and water. “And
fear is the flip side of love.”
“Huh?” I massaged her weak and trembling fingers.
“Honey, I know there are things you haven’t shared with me.” She squeezed my hand with the little
strength she had. “Painful things.”
Wow, this lady was good.
Damn
good. I didn’t deny it or try to make light of what she saying.
“Your whole life can’t be defined by that one single moment. Or even a series of awful moments.”
She held my gaze, and it was difficult not to want to look away. “You are strong and courageous. But it
doesn’t mean you can’t lean on others sometimes.”
My eyes felt glassy and full. I blinked to keep the tears at bay. I was overwhelmed with emotions
today. About Bennett. My mom. Mrs. Jackson.
“Especially very handsome
others
.” She winked. “Take a chance on him, girl.”
Man, people were dishing out advice left and right today.
Maybe the universe was conspiring against me.
“Let me get the circulation going in those feet,” I said, to change the subject. I pulled back the covers to reveal her swollen legs. Water retention made the skin bloat and stretch, giving it a shiny and
fake look, almost like plastic.
As soon as I began rubbing her ankles, her forehead relaxed, her back slumped in relief, and she
became more animated.
“I want to hear about your grandmother today,” she said, her voice still a bit rough. “You’ve only
mentioned her a couple of times.”
How had she known I’d been thinking a lot about her lately?
I couldn’t help wondering whether, if Grandma had been alive when mom dated Tim,
she
would
have believed me, and held me those nights I lay shivering and crying?
I knew, without a doubt, the immediate answer to my question. Of course she would.
Mom had a blind spot when it came to handsome and charming men, and Grandma always called
her on it. Asked her where she’d ever gone wrong for Mom to want to rely on a man so completely.
I’d asked myself the same question a thousand times. Wondered if there was something in Mom’s
past that I didn’t know about. Would
never
know about. Something that made her cling so recklessly to
any string of false security.
Was it the death of her father at an early age? Or seeing how Grandma had worked two jobs to
support them? Did Mom hope that by getting pregnant with me, she’d snag the guy who knocked her
up? It didn’t work the first time—or the second time, either, for that matter.
I heard Mrs. Jackson let out a whimper at a certain sensitive spot around her ankle, and that
snapped me out of my thoughts.
“My grandma was a lot like you. Feisty, compassionate, and wise.” I massaged her calf muscles
and up to the back of her knee. “A pain in the ass, too.”
That got a grin out of her. “No wonder you like me so well.”
I returned the smile as I started on her other leg.
Mrs. Jackson closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “What happened to her?” “She died of cancer when I was twelve.” I remembered the day we got the call, how it brought me
to my knees. I’d never prayed before in my life, but that day, I prayed and begged and pleaded that the
news wasn’t real. That she’d come waltzing through that door and scoop me into her lap once again.
“Well, isn’t that a damn shame.” Mrs. Jackson was looking at me now, her eyes soft around the
edges. “I’ll bet she taught you a lot. Had a hand in making you the woman you are today.”
“Absolutely. I learned to be independent and go after what I wanted.”
And if I was being honest, my own mother had pushed me to become the person I was, too—by
forcing me to take up for myself. Lord knows
she
never did.
Mrs. Jackson’s cheeks lifted. “If she was still around, I bet she’d agree with me.”
“About what?”
“About giving pretty boys a chance.’ I shook my head and laughed. “See, I told you—a pain in the ass.”
Chapter Seventeen
