Stranger in the Lake(17)
Jax had known Mrs. K all his life, but now he couldn’t talk to her without remembering those days when his mom was withering away and his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. When Mrs. K was a constant presence in their house, taking charge in that way of hers, doing the laundry and making sure the house was clean and everybody got where they needed to be. She was the one who set up the food deliveries, bossing the other moms around and working the sign-up sheet like a four-star general. Jax’s mother wasted away in her wheelchair while their refrigerator busted at the seams. Talk about some sick irony.
She was there at the funeral, too, hugging him so hard with those skinny arms of hers that he felt like his bones might pop, then hounding him constantly in the dark days afterward. We’re all hurting. Please don’t suffer in silence. Talk to me, sweetheart. I’m here for you, always. He loved Mrs. K, but she was the kind of mother you didn’t want as your own, needy and demanding and completely relentless. When he’d pulled back, when he’d stopped taking her calls and made himself scarce whenever she dropped by, she marched up the stairs and barged into his room.
“Jax Edwards, where the hell have you been?”
He shot upright on his bed, grateful he wasn’t naked or—Jesus, what if he’d been jerking off? It was bad enough that a pair of his underwear was stuck to her left heel. He tried to ignore it, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the damn thing.
“Here. Around.” He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
He shook his head.
Mrs. K sighed, a heavy, put-out sound, and moved closer, dragging the underwear for a few steps before she kicked it aside. “Your mother warned me this would happen. She asked me to look after you—did you know that?”
Nobody had ever told him as much, but Jax wasn’t surprised. Why else would Mrs. K be coming over here all the time? Certainly not because he was such great company. Hell, the only person besides Mrs. K who wanted to spend time with him was Paul.
She sank onto the edge of his bed, draping a hand over his knee. “She was so worried about you, sweetheart. About you doing exactly this. She always said you were the more sensitive child.”
The pity on her face brought tears to his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wasn’t about to cry now. No way. Not happening. Not with Mrs. K looking at him like that, like he might break apart or something.
“Uh, what am I doing?”
“Sitting up here all alone, punishing yourself for something that isn’t your fault. Pulling away from the people who love you most, pushing us away. Your family and Paul and me. We love you and we know you’re hurting, and we want to be there for you. Please let us be there for you.”
Jax couldn’t talk. His lungs were filled with concrete, his tongue weighted down with rocks. He wanted to tell her about all those times in the woods when he stared at his rifle and wondered if what Pammy believed was true—that there was a better life after this one, that his mom was living it up on some fluffy cloud up in the sky. He wondered what it felt like when your heart stopped beating and your lungs stopped pulling air, when all those horrible, awful thoughts going through your head just...stopped. He wondered if death hurt or if it was a relief.
“I adore you, Jax, and not because Paul does or because your sweet mother told me to. I’ve loved you since that first day at kindergarten, when you walked up to Paul and asked if he wanted to be friends. There’s sweetness at the core of you, and that’s how I know how much you’re hurting. Because you’re a good man who loves with all his heart and soul.”
Well, hell. What was he supposed to say to that? Nice words and all, but coming from the wrong mother, they didn’t stick. He didn’t feel sweet at his core. He felt mean and ugly and wrong.
“You will survive this, I promise.” Mrs. K leaned forward, grabbed his face in both hands. “I will see to it. Whatever you need, wherever you end up, I’ll always be here for you, sweetheart. Always.”
Ever since, he’d been making more of an effort to show up, mostly so she wouldn’t ever barge into his room again. Once a week he dragged his ass out of the woods, scrubbed off the dirt and grime, and came here, to Paul’s. He said all the right words. He made sure to smile at least once. And judging by Mrs. K’s reaction, it seemed to be working.
She spotted him coming up her back deck, calling to him through the open double doors. “Jax Edwards, you hurry up and get your behind in here. How are you, sweetheart? Come here and give me a hug.”
Mrs. K was a hugger, one of those people who liked physical contact. She was always patting his shoulder and squeezing his hand. Never creepy or inappropriate, just...nice. He’d learned a long time ago it was easier to just stand there and take it. She smelled like flowers and honey.
“Hi, Mrs. K. Thanks for the key chain.”
She was generous, too, always giving him things—T-shirts from places she visited, souvenirs and little keepsakes, anything to let him know she was thinking of him. Mostly little trinkets like this silver ring with the Town of Lake Crosby seal, but she had great taste, and occasionally she’d splurge on something nice, like the gold necklace she gave him for graduation. Her gifts often came in threes, for him and Paul and Micah.
“You’re so welcome, sugar. I figured you could use one for your dorm room this fall. How’s your summer going? Did you find a job yet?”