Where the Stars Still Shine(74)

Hope blooms on the surface of my sadness. It’s improbable that our relationship will survive the time and distance. Except improbable is not impossible. There are so many maybes in life, but sometimes you just have to put your faith in possibility.

We hold hands as we go back into the house, where Joe is crashed out on the floor and Tucker has used a chair to pull the “pirate treasure” down from the mantel. Alex and I exchange guilty smiles before he kisses my cheek and tells me he needs to go home. It feels like good-bye. I mean, I know I’ll see him again at Evgenia’s funeral, but this is it.

The end of us.

For now.





Chapter 24


Mom comes into the visitation area wearing a loose-fitting blue uniform that looks more like emergency-room scrubs than prison garb. Her hair is shorter than she’s ever worn it before and a shade of dark auburn I’ve only seen at the roots. Without her signature red lips, the bottom of her face seems unfinished. Un-her. She smiles when she sees me and I’m surprised by how much younger she looks. Rested. Maybe even a little bit … happy.

“There’s my girl,” she whispers into my hair as she wraps me in the fiercest of hugs. She’s more substantial now. Softer. She kisses my temple and presses her forehead to mine. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

It took a whole month before Greg’s and my applications to visit were approved by the Florida Department of Corrections. “Of course I’d come.”

Mom pulls back and smooths the hair away from my face in her familiar way. Her hand pauses against my cheek. “Look at you. So damn beautiful.” She smiles again and glances over my shoulder at my dad. “Greg, thank you for bringing her.”

“You doing okay?” he asks.

She tilts her head and crinkles her nose. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

Dad touches my elbow. “I’m going to grab a sandwich and maybe do some reading. Let me know when you’re ready to go, okay? No rush.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

The tables around us are filled with reunited families, and the air is festive and chattery. Some of the visitors recognize each other from their weekly treks to the prison and call out greetings to each other. Others argue over what they perceive to be the best tables.

“Let’s go outside,” Mom suggests. “It’s quieter.”

We push through a set of double doors to a covered pavilion, stopping at a vending machine for bottles of water before finding empty spaces at one end of a picnic table. At the other end, a couple sit opposite each other, their brown-skinned fingers entwined as they talk in voices only they can hear. I feel a pang of sadness when they lean across the table to kiss, but I push it away, reminding myself that I will see Alex again.

“I like your hair,” I tell my mother.

She touches the pixie fringe at the back of her neck. “Do you? The roots were growing out so I figured—it’s hard to keep your color up in here.”

“How are you, Mom? Really.”

“It’s not like in the movies, you know?” She picks at the label on her water bottle, her fingers fidgety. I realize she hasn’t lit up a cigarette yet. That’s usually the first thing. “I’m safe and I know where I’m going to sleep at night. I mean, we’ve lived in places worse than this, and the food isn’t bad.”

“Mom.” I reach across the table and still her busy hands, looking at her until she looks at me. “I don’t want to hear about the jail conditions.”

“I’m sick, Callie, and I know that without medication I do impulsive and stupid things, like leaving you alone with Frank. Like leaving your dad. But I don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s as if part of me is missing, and I hate it.”

Her jail sentence was shortened to just six months, contingent on her staying on medication and getting counseling. I worry that when she gets out on probation she’ll backslide and run away again. I worry that she’ll resent me for sending her here. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t.” She holds up a warning finger, and for a moment I see a glimpse of fire.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here,” I say. “You’d be—”

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead,” she interrupts. “God, Callie, if I could go back and do it all over again—”

“Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I deserve it.”

“I love you, Mom.”

There are tears in her eyes when she smiles at me. “There are so many ways you could have turned out. You could be like me, with feelings my body just can’t contain. The life we’ve lived could have made you hard and unforgiving. But you’re so strong and your heart is so good … you’re just like Greg, you know? And that’s how I know you’ll always be okay.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “I hope so.”

I wish she had a better answer, but right now it’s the best she can offer. “Me, too.”

“Let’s talk about something else.” She takes a sip of water and grins. “What’s the capital of Nebraska?”

I laugh. “I’m not six anymore. I know my state capitals.”