Never Tied Down (The Never Duet #2)(2)

“Listen, last week a few of the girls at work donated their tips. So, I didn’t buy it all on my own.”

I could hear in her voice it hurt to admit that and I thought, in that moment, it was probably pretty hard for my mom to accept money from her coworkers. I didn’t want to make her feel any worse.

“That’s awesome, Mom. Thank you.” I went to her and gave her a long and tight hug. When I pulled away I kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

“No, nine years ago I gave birth to the best. I’m so lucky to be your mom.”

I hugged her again, feeling like I was the lucky one.

We ate dinner, iced and ate my cake, and my mom sang me an extremely out-of-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Then we sat in the living room and watched Full House. Well, Full House was on the TV, but I was busy playing on my new Game Boy.

That night, as my mom pulled the covers up to my chin, I asked the question I’d been thinking all evening but hadn’t found the courage to ask. Perhaps being in the darkness of my room gave me strength.

“Did you check the mail today, Mom?”

I saw her shoulders slump in the light sweeping in from the hallway. I also heard the sigh that escaped her. Both of those things told me the answer to my question before she said the words.

“I did, baby. There was nothing there for you.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss against my forehead, lingering there. The longer she kissed me, the harder it became to hold back the tears welling in my eyes, and ignore the stinging in my throat. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me, Kalli. Just because your daddy isn’t here, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.”

I wanted to argue with her, wanted to shout that was exactly what it meant, but the words were trapped below the lump that had formed in my throat. If I opened my mouth, the only sounds that would come out would be sobs.

“Somewhere, he’s thinking about you and he wishes he could be here with you. But he can’t, baby.”

I knew it wasn’t true. I knew she was only saying the words she thought would make me feel better. I couldn’t fault her for that, for trying to comfort me on my birthday, but I didn’t have to believe her.

I never brought it up again, but every year on my birthday I silently hoped to hear from my father.

I was disappointed every single time.





Chapter One


Made of Glass


Kalli

I heard the sounds of Ella moving throughout the house, heard her sweet voice floating up the stairs as she spoke to her adorable little girl, Mattie. She was a master at the “mom voice.” You know, that voice women use when they’re talking to babies? It’s almost the same tone you use when talking to a puppy, but not as shrill and just slightly more singsong. Ella was saying something to Mattie about their day, telling her that her daddy would be home later that evening, and then I heard a smacking kissy noise and I could picture Ella’s lips mushed up against her daughter’s chubby cheek.

I lay in bed, staring out my window, until I heard the front door close, then slowly climbed out of bed and walked up to the window to watch Ella’s car disappear down the extensive driveway of her Salem home. It was early October and the trees lining her property were turning beautiful shades of orange and red, and the sun breaking through the leaves as it rose made for quite a breathtaking view.

Much like anything beautiful or worthwhile I’d witnessed in the last six months, it only accentuated the pain that was still lodged inside me, making no effort to dissipate. It was just another wonderful sunrise Marcus would never see, that I would witness alone.

I groaned at my own depressing thoughts and decided to make a conscious effort to not be completely morose for the entire day. I’d always been a big subscriber to the idea that one was in control of their own outlook on life. I’d managed, for years, to live through some of the worst circumstances imaginable and still lead a pretty happy life. All those notions were challenged when Marcus died.

Sure, I took the obligatory time to grieve, lived through his funeral and the wake, floating on some sort of removed cloud of distant engagement. Then I landed firmly on the other side of the whole ordeal, putting myself squarely in a dark existence. For weeks I was inconsolable, but I still felt as if that was normal, still felt as though I was owed a period of sadness. I was angry, too. Unimaginably angry. I was also dealing with guilt so heavy it kept me in bed most days.

For weeks I survived simply by the good graces of Nancy and my friends, who’d made sure I never went more than a day without eating, forced me to get up and at least shower, always telling me I was entitled to grieve however I needed to, but still insisting on making sure I wasn’t doing myself harm.

After a few weeks passed, I eventually started feeling better. I was still sad, angry, and full of guilt, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been. It was manageable. That was to say, I was able to pretend for short periods of time I wasn’t completely broken, even though I absolutely was.

Two months after he passed away, I decided I couldn’t be in my house anymore. Nancy had already left, coming to the same conclusion I had, finding it too difficult to be in the house where she’d cared for and loved on Marcus as if he were her own. She told me gently one morning that since I was feeling better, she was moving in with Bob. I nodded, accepting her words, finding them to be just as painful as if she’d hurled something solid directly at my face. I couldn’t expect her to stick around forever, there was absolutely no reason for her to do so, but it was just another loss I’d have to endure and was ultimately responsible for.