Forever You're Mine (MINE #4)(10)
A sour taste festered in my mouth before I finally muttered, “Yes ma’am, I’ll be there.” The last thing on earth I wanted to do was go home. It was still too painful. But I couldn’t miss my sister’s wedding.
“We miss you, baby. It’ll be wonderful to have my family together in the same house again.”
“Listen Ma, I gotta go. My shift starts in an hour.”
“Ok. You’re father wants to speak to you again. I love you sweet boy.”
“Love you too,”
My father’s firm voice came back down the line. “Don’t break your mama’s heart, boy. You better be here next month. Don’t make me drive to Mississippi. It won’t be pleasant.”
He was the only person on the planet who could call me boy and get away with it. But I knew by the tone of his voice, he meant business. “Yes sir.”
“Take care of yourself. We’ll check in next week. Love you, son.”
“Love you too, dad.”
I fell backwards on my bed. I wasn’t ready to face the ghosts haunting me. I wanted to bury them, not confront them.
Yeah…how’s that workin’ for ya *?
I closed my eyes, trying to think of something less terrifying than going home. I pictured a beach. The beach at home. The ocean. A particular blonde haired beauty laying on a blanket in the sand. Her tan skin was covered in oil, accentuating all her soft curves. A smile crept across my lips, extinguishing the tension in my jaw.
Yes, this definitely helps.
We can’t command our love, but we can our actions.
Arthur Conan Doyle
The pain in my chest was fierce, but it wasn’t unbearable. It was an empowering sort of pain. Setting fire to the past.
Letting go.
It was all significant. I was wounded, not broken. It would take time, but I would heal from this.
And I would be stronger for it.
If I weren’t spending every dime I had on Winston’s case, I would have moved out of this hell hole a long time ago. But as it was, this was my only option right now. And it was a small sacrifice compared to the hell my brother lived in.
My mother knew nothing about sacrifice. I took hand me downs from Maddie, drove around in a hoopty that only ran half the time, and ate ramen noodles more than any human being should; all so I could put every dime I earned towards the appeal.
And all the while our mother spent hundreds of dollars on pills. Whatever she could get her hands on. Paid for by the men she f*cked. She didn’t care if they were married. She didn’t care about discretion. If they didn’t give her what she wanted, she told their wives…called their jobs. She was ruthless and made no apologies about her lifestyle. My mother was proud of who she was. She embraced her trashiness.
Her reputation preceded me everywhere I went.
But she didn’t care. Not in the least. As long as Camille got what she wanted…nothing else mattered.
Thankfully, she was gone a lot, limiting our interaction. The men she played probably didn’t even know she lived in a rundown trailer, one she never bothered to even clean. Even her disgusting boyfriend didn’t care who she slept with, as long as she gave him money to buy pills.
Over the years, I’d watched her count hundreds of dollars on our glass kitchen table, the one Winston bought at a thrift store years ago, so we could have a place to share our meals together. While we scrounged the cabinets for food, she was drinking from a fifth and floating on a cloud of instability.
When I was a little girl, I used to love watching her get ready for her dates. She’d roll her beautiful blonde hair, soft curls cascading down her slender back. Her flawless face was painted perfectly, dark shadow tinting her lids while the color of ruby stained her lips. There was a time when I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, but now…now she was ugly.
Inside and out.
I walked into the kitchen and found her sitting there with a Bloody Mary in one hand, bringing her cigarette to her mouth with the other. Her morning ritual. Thick puffs of smoke filled the air as I reached inside the fridge for a Dr. Pepper to find there were none left.
I slammed the refrigerator door. “I would really appreciate it if your friends wouldn’t touch my stuff.”
“Then get your own place and you won’t have to worry about it,” she said, taking another long pull from her cigarette.
Oh, if it were only that easy.
“I’m going to see Winston today.”
“What for?”
Tears burned my throat. “Because he could die in that place, mama. Don’t you care?”
“And whose fault is that, huh?” Her condescending laugh filled the drunken silence as she downed the rest of her drink. My heart ached, knowing she was right.
It was my fault.
I didn’t say another word as I shouldered my purse and made my way outside to wait for Cannon. I stood at the end of our driveway, my heart heavy and hurting. Why couldn’t she at least be kind? Was that too much to ask?
Cannon turned the bend just in time, right before the tears threatened to fall.
My hero.
I smiled as he pulled up, burying my sadness. “What’s wrong?” he asked, concern wrecking his beautiful face. I climbed inside, dropping my bag to the floor so I could avoid his eyes. The one’s boring a hole into the side of my head. “Cora,” he pushed, shifting in his seat.