Darkness at the Edge of Town (Iris Ballard #2)(42)

Helen released me. “That is a tragic way to grow up, especially when it’s your own mother who made you feel like that. Alone. Alienated. Misunderstood.”

“What about your father?” Britt asked.

“He’s…never been in the picture.”

“Big shock,” Nessa said, rolling her eyes. “Men who turn their backs on their children should be castrated.”

“So it was just you and your mom growing up?” Helen asked.

“No, there was my younger…sister, and my aunt and uncle. They helped raise us.”

“But still,” Helen said pinning a stray hair behind my ear, “mothers and fathers should love you unconditionally from cradle to grave. Especially beautiful, smart, sweet, bright souls like you.”

“You…think I’m beautiful and bright?” I asked.

“Of course! Anyone with eyes and half a brain would.”

“I do,” Nessa said.

“Me too,” Britt said.



“And so do you,” Helen said. “Your mother, your father, your husband, the toxic modern world may have beaten you blind from that fact for their own selfish gains, but just recognizing they have, just being here in this temple of truth and healing, you will see your own light again. I believe in you, Carol.”

“I believe in you, Carol,” Nessa said.

“I believe in you, Carol,” Britt said too.

Helen embraced me again, but this time the girls hugged us as well. “And we’ll help you believe it too,” Helen whispered, “just as you’ll help us in ways you can’t even imagine yet.”

“We’re so lucky we found each other, Carol,” Nessa whispered.

“The universe truly is kind,” Britt whispered.

Once again I believed they believed these words. It was nice, all of them truly believing in me and wanting only good things for me. They absolutely did. For a moment I let myself just bask in the glow of pure kindness without thinking or rationalizing. I just enjoyed the unconditional love from nice people. I guess I just needed a hug. Britt moved away first, then Nessa, but Helen seemed reluctant to release me. She needed a hug too.

“Are you okay, Helen?” I asked.

She stepped away and wiped her teary eyes. “I’m just…whenever I hear about some woman squandering her privilege of being a mother, it hurts. I lost my son twice over. Once when I went to prison, then finally when he died of an overdose.”

“I-I’m so sorry—I had no idea,” I said.

“Before I had Chad I was…a mess. If it was out there, I did it. Drugs, men, gambling. Then I found out I was pregnant. I got clean. It was hard. I worked two jobs and got my certificate as an interventionist, but then Chad was diagnosed diabetic. I couldn’t afford his insulin, then his dialysis. Even with insurance, I couldn’t keep up. I needed money to save my boy. So I forged prescriptions from the doctors I worked with. Dealt. And I got caught. I spent eight years in prison. Chad went into foster care and…while I was in prison, he OD’d. My baby boy died because I couldn’t afford to take care of him, and the only reason I couldn’t was because I was trying to. All I was trying to do was be a good mother.”



My heart broke for her right there in that kitchen. I actually took her in my arms and hugged her without prompting. She hugged me back. “I am so sorry. It sounds like you were a great mother. Your son was lucky to have you as long as he did.”

“I was the lucky one,” she whispered into my shoulder. “And your mother and father obviously don’t know how lucky they are to have such a wonderful, beautiful, caring daughter like you.”

“Is it too late for you to adopt me?” I asked.

“And me,” Nessa said.

“Me too,” Britt said.

Helen chuckled and pulled away. “You’re all so sweet,” she said, wiping her tears.

“We learned it from you and Mathias, Helen,” Nessa said before looking my way. “They found me and my son, Deacon, at a homeless shelter in Pittsburgh after my father tossed us out when I refused to let him use my son as a drug mule. As if the years of pimping me out for drugs weren’t enough.”



“My mother was a schizophrenic, and since he had a new family, my father didn’t want any reminders of her.” Britt held up her arm to show a large scar running down her forearm. “She tried to kill me and was committed. I got shipped off to Dad’s. He and that bitch wife treated me like the maid and babysitter for their real kids. Then he kicked me out on my eighteenth birthday. They found me, or I found them, at a shelter too. Nessa, Paul, and Megan saved my life.”

“You saved your life,” Nessa insisted. “We were nothing more than the ambassadors to your new way of life. You were the one who found the strength to begin the journey.” Nessa looked at me. “Just like Carol has. Forget your mother. Forget your ex-husband. We’re your family now.”

I don’t care how secure you are with yourself, hearing those words would still get to you. My heart swelled a little. There was so much love in that kitchen I could practically sense it prickling against my skin like a warm rain shower. I didn’t want to leave. So I didn’t. Helen went to clean herself up after the tears, but I remained in the kitchen, grating the cheese and chatting with Nessa and Britt about their stories. I’d spoken to countless victims through the years, but what struck me about those girls was how at peace they seemed with what they’d endured. Nessa talked about the years of prostitution as if she were describing a road trip, like it was just something that happened. It was horrible, but she’d moved on. “And without it, I never would have had Deacon.”