A Mother's Homecoming(70)

“Which I appreciate,” she said, “but you never saw me at my worst. You don’t have any real frame of reference. You’ve only ever seen me sober, but I’m an alcoholic, Nick.”

“It’s part of who you are, but it’s not what you are. You’re more than that, and you’re more than your mother.” He got to his feet, frustrated that he wasn’t reaching her. The last time she’d left, he’d never had a chance to talk her out of the decision. He couldn’t blow this. “You said yourself, you left because you didn’t want to be like her, but that’s who you became anyway. Running doesn’t solve anything.”

“I’m not running,” she protested tiredly. “I’m moving on because it’s time. You knew that was always the plan.”

“Damn it, it’s a stupid plan! I love you, and I think you love me. And Faith—”

“Don’t.” Pam held up a hand. “Don’t use her to try to guilt me into staying.”

He clenched his fist around his car keys. “Are you even going to say goodbye to her before you go?”

“You make it sound like I’m jumping in the car right now. I’m just trying to decide, rationally and unsentimentally, where to go from here. I’m not leaving in the dead of night.”

He raised an eyebrow. You sure about that?

“Go home,” she ordered. “I’m too tired to fight with you and, frankly, it’s my life. I don’t have to defend my decisions.”

“Fine. Whatever you decide, have the guts to tell me? I don’t want to read it in a note this time.” He went to the door but, before he stepped back out into the night, offered her one last observation to consider. “You know, if you keep pushing away people who love you, you’ll wind up exactly like Mae. Alone.”

IT WAS ONE OF the world’s oldest and most annoying paradoxes—being so tired you couldn’t sleep. Pam punched her pillow even as she acknowledged defeat. She wouldn’t be nodding off anytime soon.

What she really wanted to do was call the hospital and ask if that little girl had been okay, but the staff wasn’t allowed to give out information like that. Still, she grabbed her cell phone and checked the time. Just a little after midnight.

She bit her lip. Martha was constantly handing out her number at meetings, saying that she was a chronic insomniac and could be called on around the clock if someone needed to be talked off the ledge. Pam wasn’t exactly out on the ledge—more like standing just inside the window, trying to gauge the distance down—but she sure could use a friendly ear. She sent a text, figuring that would be less intrusive if Martha actually had gone to bed. It’s Pam. Rough night. U still up?

Her phone rang a moment later. Guess that answers that question. “Martha?”

“Oh, hon, I heard about the football game. I’ve been thinking about you. Need to talk? We can either chat on the phone or meet at the Pie House on Welbington. They’re open twenty-four hours and they have a fantastic coconut cream.”

“I can meet you in fifteen minutes,” Pam said. Less, if she wore flip-flops and didn’t brush her hair.

An hour later, both women had polished off sizable pieces of pie and Pam had poured out everything from noticing Jake’s glassy eyes and dulled expression to throwing Nick out of her house.

“I’ve been up front with him,” she defended herself. “He always knew I was leaving.”

“Mmm,” Martha said, sipping her coffee.

“Are you siding with him?”

“Course not. But does he have a point? Are you just too afraid to try?”

“Hell, yes. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks, and he’s saying love and stay. He wants long-term commitment. How am I supposed to promise happily ever after when I’m still trying to take it one day at a time? And I certainly can’t ask a twelve-year-old to take it one day at a time.” She changed the subject. “How well do you know Jake’s family?”

“Not well enough that Tami thought to call me after what happened, but enough that she won’t mind if I bring a lasagna to the family tomorrow and see how they’re doing.”

Pam shook her head. “I just keep seeing his little girl’s face in my mind.” Which was probably why she couldn’t sleep. “I’ve heard him talk about his family at meetings. He loves them. He’s got more incentive to try than anyone I know! If he can’t do it …”