Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(49)

“Does everyone know about your hormone therapy and the surgery?”

Melanie laughed. “It’s pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

Sawyer smiled. “Stupid question.”

“I told my mom and dad years ago. It took Dad a while to understand that I didn’t want to just look like a girl—I wanted to be one.”

“It takes courage to be your authentic self.”

“I wouldn’t call it courage. For me it wasn’t a choice. And it’s gotten better—easier—with each passing day, especially now that I’m handling things my way.”

“So did you know back when we spent weekends in the bookstore, reading?”

“I’ve known since I was eight. When I would look in the mirror, I always saw a stranger looking back at me.”

Sawyer didn’t comment, just listened.

“The transition phase was hard. The structure of my muscles and the curvature of my spine changed. My feet are smaller, and I’m not as tall as I used to be. But it’s all been worth it. At some point, I figured out I could either spend my life being unhappy, or I could do something about it. I’m not alone. A lot of people are going through similar transitions. I know that much.”

Melanie drove up Sawyer’s driveway and parked in front of the garage. She killed the engine and handed Sawyer the keys.

Sawyer’s mom stepped outside, hands on hips, scowling.

“No wonder your gramma was scared,” Melanie said.

Sawyer laughed. They both did.

“Thanks for everything.”

“Anytime,” Melanie said. “If you need any more help while you’re here, you know where to find me.”

They climbed out of the car at the same time and shut the doors. Sawyer made the climb up the stairs leading to the front door while Melanie hiked down the driveway.

“I just received a call from Fiona Dorman,” Mom said. “She told me you and that boy attacked Jonathan Lane.”

“Jonathan Lane attacked me, not the other way around. And Melanie is a girl, not a boy.”

Mom followed her inside the house and to the kitchen, talking while Sawyer filled up a plastic ziplock bag with ice and held it to the side of her head. Sawyer’s good eye fixated on her mom. There was so much bitterness carved into her tightly pinched expression.

“Why are you doing this?” Mom asked.

“Doing what?”

“Coming here after all this time and making trouble?”

“I loved Gramma Sally. That’s why I came. I also thought it might be nice to see you and Dad.”

“You didn’t visit for nearly two years when my mother was alive, so why now?”

“I missed her. I wanted to say goodbye.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And yet you left the funeral early.”

“I had already said my goodbyes to Gramma. There was no reason for me to stay and talk to your friends.”

A silent standoff ensued.

Sawyer squared her shoulders as she dissected, analyzed, searched for something . . . anything that might tell her Mom cared even a little bit that she’d been hurt and might be in pain.

But there was nothing there. Not a kind word or an offer to help in any way. It surprised Sawyer that her mom’s apathy bothered her at all. “Jonathan Lane came at me full throttle and slammed me to the ground,” Sawyer explained anyway. “He strangled me. If Melanie hadn’t intervened, I don’t know what would have happened. And yet you blame me?”

“Fiona lives directly across the street from the Lanes. She saw everything.”

“But I’m your daughter, your flesh and blood, and I’m standing here, telling you what happened.”

“You have always been a drama queen,” Mom said, waving away any concern with a flutter of her hand. “You and your sisters were always making up stories—you most of all. Anything to get attention.”

“Everything I ever told you was the truth.”

Long-buried animosity and frustration heated the air between them.

Mom lifted her chin. “I don’t want you working on the Estrada case.”

Sawyer should have known there was more to her mom’s hostility. “I’m not working the case. I’m merely talking to people who knew Isabella so I can add context and depth to what would otherwise be like every other news story—just an account of events.”

“You’re intruding in people’s lives, barging into their homes, and causing problems.” Her voice wavered. “I live here. You don’t. I’m asking you to stop.”

Sawyer shook her head. “I can’t think of one time in my life that you were supportive of anything I did.” Sawyer adjusted her ice pack. Her throat felt raw. “Do you have any idea how long it has taken me to find an ounce of self-worth and value? You never had any emotional attachment to any of your daughters, did you? Was that because you and Gramma were never close? You didn’t know how to have a mother-daughter relationship?”

Mom made an annoying tsking noise. “Gramma Sally was a lot like you. She saw the world through rose-colored glasses, thought she could make life’s pains go away if she willed it to be. A kiss on a scraped knee. There, all better. But that’s not how the world works. My father knew that. He knew that life wasn’t always fair and that not everyone was rewarded for hard work. If he needed to use a belt to get his point across, that’s what he would do. None of this pussyfooting around like most men do these days.”