Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
I helped do the dishes after dinner. We had apple cobbler for dessert, and then Aunt Sherry made up a plate for me to take home to Mama, and I said my goodbyes.
Mama was knitting again when I got home, which made me feel a little better. Usually when she was trying to sneak a drink, she didn’t do healthy hobbies like this. Sherry might be right that I wasn’t home as often as I should be, but I knew when she was drinking. I was an expert on it, and she wasn’t.
“Dinner was good. We missed you.” I kissed her cheek and handed the plate over. “I’ll get you a fork.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can get it.”
She stood. She put the plate in the microwave and got utensils. I sat at our small table, knowing that’s where she would go. A couple of minutes later, she joined me.
“I wish you woulda gone with me,” I told her.
“You know how Sherry can be. She’s always on my case. All she would have done is made me feel bad the whole time, even if she didn’t mean to.”
I nodded because she was right. “She loves you. She doesn’t mean to push, but when she does, it’s because she cares.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”
Like this was easy on any of us? Like it was easy on me? Guilt wrapped a fist around my throat. This wasn’t about me. She had a disease. It wasn’t her fault. “I think you should go to therapy again.” My eyes couldn’t seem to find hers while I spoke. I didn’t understand why I felt guilty for trying to help. Maybe because it made it feel like shoving her flaws in her face, telling her she was doing something wrong, but it was clear she was depressed on top of her addiction—rarely leaving the house, no interest in things, the crying and sadness. All the signs were there.
When she didn’t respond right away, I forced myself to look at her. “Okay,” Mama replied softly.
“And I think you should start going to the AA classes again too. I know it’s a bit of a drive, but they’re important.”
“I’m not drinking right now, though. I haven’t had anything since…” She winced, unable to even mention that night.
“That don’t mean you’re suddenly better. Those classes are supposed to help you so you stick with it, so you have the tools to help yourself not relapse.” Most of the time, I felt like the parent rather than the child. I knew how to take care of myself. I’d been doing it nearly all my life, but I’d also been taking care of her. Whether she was drinking, trying not to drink, sad, or lonely, I was the one who was always there, looking for ways to help or make her feel better. Most days, it came automatically. Others, I had to bite on my tongue not to scream that I was tired, that I was important too, that I couldn’t do this anymore.
But I would do it. She was my mom.
“I don’t ask for a lot, but I’m asking you to do these two things for me. I need you to.”
We played a somber game of stare, each of us watching the other. I didn’t know what she saw in me or how it made her feel, but eventually she nodded. “Yeah, Sammy. Of course. Anything for you.”
I wondered if she realized that wasn’t true, and that even if it was, she would never stick with it unless she did it for herself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Emerson
Weekend Four
My cell phone rang just as I finished brushing the horses. I tugged it out of my pocket and headed for the house. “Hello, Charles.” He’d called a few times while Sam was here, but I always ignored the calls. I didn’t want to have to explain what Sam and I were doing, didn’t want Charles to judge me for it, because no doubt he would. And I also wanted to protect it. Talking about it, telling the only person in my life about Sam, made this arrangement real. Right now, I could pretend. Charles would ask questions and make assumptions. I’d never hear the end of it.
“Hey, Bent.”
Hearing my first name made me wince. I never heard it anymore except from Charles—or from Daniel and his family in my nightmares. I didn’t have contact with anyone in New York anymore, and no one in Ryland knew, but I still never asked Charles not to use it—and he wouldn’t if I asked. Maybe it was just another way to punish myself.
“Got big plans for the weekend?” Charles asked.
“Ha-ha. What are you up to?”
“Typical Friday at work. And I’m attending a gala tonight. Afterward, I’m hoping I can at least get my dick sucked. You?”