The Serpent King(84)

Dill’s mother, dressed in her maid’s uniform, walked in and looked around, her face grim. “I’ve seen God’s plan for you, and this is not it,” she said.

“How have you seen God’s plan for me?” He pointedly banished any hint of rancor from his voice, even though he knew he wasn’t going to like her answer. He didn’t want a cloud over his leaving.

Dill’s mother’s stony aspect softened. “When I held you as a baby and looked into your face, the Spirit revealed it to me. Your place is here. Working hard, living simply. Living in a godly way.”

Dill ran his fingers through his hair and looked away. “There was a time I would’ve believed that.”

His mother recoiled. “You don’t anymore?”

Dill studied the carpet for a moment, fixating on the discolored patch that sometimes caught his eye while he sat playing his guitar. “I have a memory too. When you were in the hospital, in a coma after your wreck. The doctor told me you might die. I held your hand for hours, listening to the machines beeping and breathing for you, and I asked God to heal you and to make my life better someday. And he has. He sent me people who made me feel brave and like I have choices. Now I believe God gives people lots of paths they can take. Not just one.”

She raised her eyebrows. “And you think this is one of the paths he’s given you?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. Not as though expressing disagreement—more as though trying to make her ears a moving target for what Dill was saying. So his words wouldn’t make it in. “What you think is God might be Satan appearing as an angel of light.”

Dill smiled wistfully. “Trust me, the angels I know would have told me if they were Satan.”

“That’s not funny.” Dill’s mother brushed a stray wisp of hair from her eyes. “You’re different than you used to be.”

“How was I?”

“Less prideful.”

He looked her in the eyes. “What you call pride, I call courage.”

She folded her arms. “Things are what they are. Doesn’t matter what we call them.” After a hesitant silence, she said, “I also have a memory from when I was in a coma. I remember seeing a beautiful light. It filled me with warmth and love. And I knew that I could follow it to a better place, where I’d kneel at my Savior’s feet and nothing would hurt anymore. But I didn’t. I came back to take care of you. I made the choice not to leave you, and I’ve suffered for that choice. But I don’t regret it.”

Dill stood and faced his mother. He had been taller than her for a long time, but he felt like he was towering over her. “I don’t expect you to understand. This is the spirit of God moving in me. This is the sign of my faith. I did this to save myself.”

“We don’t save ourselves,” she said with a tinge of scorn.

“I didn’t say I didn’t have help.”

“I did what I could for you, Dillard.” She sounded resigned and broken.

“I know. But this isn’t the place or the life for me anymore.” He started to tell her how close he came. How lucky she was that he was even still alive. But he couldn’t. Some things she never needed to know.

Dill’s mother smoothed her blouse, shaking her head.

“Is there any part of you that’s proud of me?” Dill asked. You already know the answer.

“The girls at work tell me I ought to be.”

“Are you?”

She looked at the ground. “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

Dill knew that he was supposed to feel hurt by that. Instead, he felt more of a residual, weary sadness. A fading bruise. Only the disappointment that her answer was exactly what he expected. No, not exactly. You expected an outright no.

His mother broke the silence by picking up her keys from beside the lamp. “I need to get to work.” She started out the door.

“Mama?” Dill said it before he knew what he was going to say next.

She stopped with one hand on the doorknob, the other pinching the bridge of her nose, her head bowed. She didn’t turn.

“I love you,” he said to her back.

She turned slowly. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m afraid of being alone,” she whispered, as though she were afraid that normal speaking would bring down some precarious barricade inside her.

“I know.” We all are. Dill stepped forward tentatively and hugged her. He hadn’t hugged her in a long time. He could feel the bones of her afflicted back and shoulders. She smelled like knockoff Ivory soap and powdered laundry detergent from a yellow box labeled “Laundry Detergent.” She covered her face with her hands and didn’t hug him back.

When Dill finished hugging her, she put her damp hand on his cheek. “I’ll pray for you, Dillard.” She sounded like she was leaving him to die in some wilderness. She tried to turn and leave before Dill saw the tears begin to stream down her cheeks in force, but she didn’t quite make it in time.

He sat for a while, gazing at the wall. He plugged in the air conditioner, got out his guitar, and played over the clatter, until Dr. Blankenship pulled up in his Prius and honked.

Dill unplugged the air conditioner and put his guitar in the case. He slung on his backpack and carried his two suitcases and guitar with a precarious grasp. He walked into the bright morning, feeling lighter and freer than he had ever felt.