Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(86)

He gruffly nods. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

I remove Mom’s shoes from her feet and sit on the bed next      to her. “Wake up, Mom. Tell me what happened to your hand.” As if I don’t      already know.

Her eyes barely open and she curls into the fetal position.      “Trent and I had a fight. He didn’t mean it.”

He never does. “The faster we get away from him the      better.”

“He loves me.”

“No. He doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does. You two just don’t know each other real      well.”

“I know enough.” I know he wears a ring that hurt like hell      when he punched me in the face. “You’re leaving with me, right? Because if not,      I can’t take care of you.”

I want her to say yes and say it quickly. The pause feels      like someone ripping my intestines through my belly button. Finally, she speaks.      “You don’t understand. You’re a gypsy.”

And she’s high. “Are you going to leave with me?”

“Yeah, baby,” she mumbles. “I’ll go with you.”

“How much do we need to get the car out of impoundment?”

“I need five hundred to get Trent out of jail.”

Trent can die in jail. “The car. How much to get the car      out? I can’t find regular rides into Louisville and I can’t take care of you if      we don’t leave town.”

She shrugs. “Couple hundred.”

Mom begins to sing an old song Grandpa used to sing before      he drank himself to sleep. I rub my forehead. We need that damn car and I need a      damn plan. Mom and I should have been gone weeks ago, but Isaiah ruined that. My      windows of opportunity keep closing and I’m not sure how much longer Mom will      last on her own.

I pull out Echo’s cash and place half of it on Mom’s bedside      table. She stops singing and stares at the cash.

“Listen to me, Mom. You need to sober up and get the car out      of the impound lot. I also want you to pay the phone bill. We’ll be leaving      soon. Do you understand?”

Mom keeps her eyes on the money. “Did Scott give you      that?”

“Mom!” I yell and she flinches. “Repeat what you need to      do.”

Mom produces an old stuffed animal of mine from under her      pillow. “I sleep with this when I miss you.”

I slept with that stuffed animal every night until I turned      thirteen. It’s the only thing my father ever gave to me. The fact that she kept      it rips me into pieces. I can’t focus on that now. I need Mom to remember what      she needs to do. Her life depends on it. “Repeat what I said.”

“Get the car. Pay the phone bill.”

I stand and Mom grabs my hand. “Don’t leave me alone again.      I don’t want to be alone.”

The request feeds on my guilt. We all have our fears. Those      things that exist in the dark corners of our mind that terrify us beyond belief.      This is hers. My fear? It’s leaving her. “I need to buy you food. I’ll make some      sandwiches and put them in the fridge.”

“Stay,” she says. “Stay until I fall asleep.”

How many nights as a child did I beg her to stay with me? I      lie on the bed next to her, run my fingers through her hair, and continue the      song where she left off. It’s her favorite verse. One that talks about birds,      freedom, and change.

*

I slice the last sandwich in half and place the full plate      in the fridge, along with the remains of the ham and cheese Isaiah bought while      I sang Mom to sleep. Isaiah busies himself by putting the boxes of cereal and      crackers in the pantry. He bought food Mom can easily fix for herself.

“Haven’t you punished me long enough?” Isaiah asks.

The chains that permanently weigh me down become heavier.      “Are you going to sling me over your shoulder and force me to leave again?”

“No,” he says. “Everyone knows Trent’s in jail. The worst      thing that’s going to happen to you here...” He glances over at the closed door      of my old bedroom. “Maybe I should toss you over my shoulder again. This place      is no good for you, Beth.”

“I know.” And that is exactly why I want to leave...with my      mom. A small part of me is curious as to what Isaiah knows that I don’t. I could      open the door to my old room and find out, but I shake away the thought. I don’t      want to know. I really, really don’t.