A Mother's Homecoming(10)
“Hi, Annabel.” She’d known who was on the other end before she even pressed “accept call.” No one but her sponsor had the number. The phone had been a parting gift. A reminder that you’re not alone, Annabel had said when she’d hugged Pam goodbye. Given how early it was on the west coast, Annabel was probably just now getting out of bed for her morning run before work.
“D’you make it through the night?” Annabel asked without preamble. “I’ve been worrying about you ever since you called last night. That was a hell of a lot dropped on you.”
“Tell me about it.” Pam felt like some hapless cartoon character with a big hole through her middle where a cannonball had been fired. “But, yeah, I made it through. Booze-free.”
One might assume that was a perk of being near broke—not having the funds to fall off the wagon—but there had been a few years in her past when she simply would have undone a couple of top buttons, made her way to Wade’s Watering Hole and struck up a conversation until some guy bought her a drink or two. Or six. She fought back a ripple of shame with the reminder that she’d been sober eight months and counting. She clenched trembling fingers into a fist. Never again.
“I’m a little shaky right now,” Pam admitted, “but that’s from lack of sleep.”
“And the announcement that your mother is dead,” Annabel said with brutal honestly. “And the news that your ex-husband and child are somewhere in the vicinity. Don’t downplay what you’re going through. You have a right to be angry and upset and conflicted.”
“I’m not in denial, I’m just numb.” Plus she was too exhausted to muster the energy for hysterics. She’d driven so far over the last few days, fueled by caffeine and a kind of grim eagerness. Having made the decision to confront Mae, she’d wanted to get it over with and, whatever happened between them, move on from there a healthier person. “I haven’t had much rest lately.”
“I won’t keep you then,” Annabel said. “When were you planning to see your aunt and uncle?”
“I’m going to call them after lunch, find out if they’re back yet.” She wondered nervously what kind of reception she’d get from her only remaining family. Not your only family.
Yes, they were, she argued with herself. Pam had given up any right to claim Faith years ago—probably the most responsible thing she’d ever done. Even at eighteen she’d realized what a train wreck of a mother she would be.
“If you’re not going to track them down until after lunch, you still have a couple of hours to catch some z’s.” Annabel was half drill sergeant, half big sister. She was constantly admonishing Pam to eat, sleep and generally take better care of herself.
Rest, however, didn’t seem to be in the cards. No sooner had Pam disconnected the call than there was a knock at her bedroom door. Surely it wasn’t time to check out already?
“Coming, Trudy.” As she shuffled to the door, Pam spared a second’s thought for her attire. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the day. Braless and bottomless except for a pair of bikini briefs, she wore a thin cotton T-shirt that was so oversized the hem fell halfway to her knees. Oh, well. The basics were covered. Cantankerous though she may be, Trudy didn’t seem like the type of person who shocked easily.
Pam swung the door open, her greeting to the landlady dying unspoken on her lips. A fuse overloaded in her brain. She thought she could actually smell something burning as her mental processes short-circuited. Her mouth fell open, and an unintelligible squeak escaped. She glanced up—was it possible he’d gotten even taller?—into Nick Shepard’s piercing blue eyes; they used to look to her like a tropical lagoon, all the faraway paradises she longed to visit. Now they looked like Judgment Day.
She couldn’t have been any more startled and horrified if her mother’s ghost had appeared at her door. “Y-you can’t be here.”
His lips twisted into a cruel line she couldn’t reconcile with the boy who’d loved her. “You seem confused about which one of us doesn’t belong here, Pamela Jo.”
“I meant, no, um, gentleman callers. Trudy’s rule. And it’s Pam.” Hearing him say the name she used to go by brought back a flood of memories—the kind that required an ark if you were to have any chance at survival.
“What the hell are you doing in Mimosa, Pam?” The sneering tone made her think that even after all her years of resenting Mae, she was still just bush league when it came to anger. Here was a pro.