Chapter 17
Aunt Ashley
Are you available to FaceTime? Austin is, but I want to talk to both of you.
Gimme five?
Aunt Ashley
Call when you’re ready. We’ll loop Austin in.
My hair is piled atop my head in a towel, otherwise I’m naked.
In a flurry of movement, I grab some clothes and change quickly, letting my damp hair cascade down my back.
It’s been several weeks since my father went into hiding and Mom moved in with my aunt and uncle.
Weeks where we’ve all been on edge, waiting for his next move.
History has taught me to guard my heart against optimism, especially when it comes to my parents. Which I assume this conversation will be.
Phone in hand, I press the FaceTime button on our text thread and my aunt’s face fills the screen.
She’s sitting at the familiar kitchen table in the center of my childhood kitchen.
And sitting next to her is my mom. The sight of her causes my heart to lurch in my chest. I hear my aunt’s voice as she greets me then fumbles around trying to get Austin on the call, but the sound feels distant as I study my mom.
Her hair, which used to be dark like mine, is more silver than chestnut.
And her face is prematurely lined with deep crevices, evidence of a hard life lived.
Although it’s been a few weeks since she moved to my aunt’s house, the bruises on her face are still visible, faded to a greenish yellow.
The cut on her lip will likely leave a scar. But she’s alive.
She’s on the other side of my screen, looking at me through tears glassing over her eyes. Her frame is bird frail, like she might snap in half from the weight of it all. Is that what a lifetime of pain does to women? And how close was I to becoming that?
A square pops up on my screen revealing my brother’s face, pulling me from my wandering mind.
“Hey, you two,” Aunt Ashley greets us, her eyes holding a mixture of relief and worry. “I’ve got some news.”
“What is it?” Austin asks, brow furrowing.
Aunt Ashley hesitates, glancing over at my mother. Mom gives a slight nod and my aunt goes on. “I wanted you both to hear this from me. Your father has been found.”
My stomach takes a nosedive, the word found hanging heavy in the air. Found alive? Found and prosecuted?
“What do you mean by found?” Austin asks.
My aunt scoffs, rolling her eyes. “He was trying to cross the border. He’s been arrested on several charges. News articles are starting to pop up, and I wanted to be the one who told the both of you. I’m texting an article to you now.”
Within seconds of swiping to the family group chat, a link for a news article pops up. I click on it, heart hammering as I read the headline.
Local Man Arrested for Drug Trafficking
My father’s name looks small in the black font of the news report, stripped of the terrifying power it held in our childhood home. I read the article, taking in the years, the mandatory minimums.
It takes three rereads for the words to really sink in.
This is a life sentence in all but name.
He’ll take his last breath behind glass and steel, far away from the family he tried to break.
Even with Aunt Ashley warning me a few weeks ago that this situation might be bigger than we thought, I’d never have guessed this. Drug trafficking, for fuck’s sake?
“Drug trafficking?” Austin bursts out, reading my mind. “He’s fucking insane.”
My mom lets out a strangled laugh, and something about the sound breaks up the intensity of the moment. In a quiet voice, she repeats my brother’s sentiment, and all four of us start to laugh.
It feels weird to be laughing right now, and the moment probably isn’t even that funny, but still we laugh.
We laugh because our mom is safe, we laugh because for the first time in years we’re seeing her, even if it is on a screen.
We laugh because justice is finally being served to a man who helped bring my brother and me into this world and then created a world of hell for us.
As our laughter subsides, I straighten, swiping a hand down my face. “Where do we go from here?”
The question could be for any one of us, but I’m looking right at my mom. She holds eye contact with me for longer than I expected, but then she clears her throat and looks to my aunt for guidance and my heart sinks. Talk to me, I want to say.
“With your father in custody, we feel your mom is safe and no longer in danger. Austin has offered his house to her for a new beginning.”
“You did?” I ask.
Austin scoffs. “What good is it doing me? I’m here for good, Cassie.
You know that.” I feel lighter at this news.
Austin’s house is on the same property as my aunt and uncle.
Mom will be close to them, yet have her own space for a new beginning.
But hopefully she’ll get some help. I can’t begin to imagine all the damage she’s suffered mentally.
Then, as if he’s reading my mind again, my brother speaks up.
“Mom, if I paid for therapy, would you want that? Cassie can make sure they’re a good therapist.” His eyes flick to me and I nod.
Some days I feel like Oprah. You get therapy, and you get therapy. But nobody gets through life unscathed, and we could all use someone to talk to. Mom needs it now more than ever.
She takes a second then nods. We spend a few more minutes ironing out details and googling therapists. Austin invites everyone to visit Singing River for Thanksgiving, and both my aunt and mom agree. But eventually the conversation comes to a natural end.
Right as we’re saying our goodbyes, Mom looks from Austin to me and mouths, I love you, and the screen goes blank.
I lean back, my spine hitting the chair, and release a shaky breath, the weightlessness of it all making me lightheaded. A strange hollowness forms in the center of my chest, right in that spot where fear took up residence as far back as I can remember.
For the first time in years, there are no dark corners left for shadows to hide in. There is only light, and the way it feels to finally breathe.
Penny
You doing okay?
Stunned. Relieved. Mad as hell. Pick one. How’s Austin?
Penny
Same. He needs some time. You know how he is. Let’s have dinner together this week. Love you, sis.
Love you, too.
Penny’s text makes me smile, and I navigate to my notes app, my eyes tracing the list. Each checkmark is a small reclamation of my soul. I hover over “Make some friends” and tap the screen, the little black check mark appearing with a satisfying finality.
Cassie’s Path Back
Do something that terrifies me
Make some friends
Sing in public
Volunteer in the community
Do something low-key illegal
Witness something beautiful
Get to know my mom
Friendships have never come easy for me.
Well, not once Austin became famous, at least. Girls would befriend me, and I’d find out later they were only trying to get close to Austin.
It was constant in high school. College less so, but it still happened from time to time.
Keeping my guard up was exhausting, watching for any signs whether I could trust someone or not.
But here I am, two months into living in Singing River, and it’s safe to say Penny and Josie are real, true friends.
And then there’s Liam. Friend is a pale, inadequate word for him, even with the distance that has stretched between us lately.
Ever since I’d stayed the night and witnessed that raw, haunting moment where I watched him play the piano as though he were trying to exorcise a demon, he’s been fortifying his walls.
He seemed fine when we sang karaoke, but since that night he’s headed to Nashville more and more.
I have no claim on him, yet the green flame of envy licks behind my ribs whenever I think of what or who attracts him to the city, despite his denial that there’s no one there.
I wish he’d trust me with whatever he carries.
I’ve shown him my deepest hurts. He’s witnessed my pain intimately.
All I want is to somehow help him in the same way.
But when he’s working through things he disappears.
In most situations, intuition tells me when to press and when to give space, but with Liam, my gauge is off.
Scrolling to our text thread, I type out a message:
What do you do in Nashville?
Delete, delete, delete.
It’s none of my business. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. So I try again.
Are you in town?
My thumb hovers over the send button for a heartbeat before finally I hit it and wait for a response.
A text bubble appears, then disappears. But a few seconds later a response appears.
My Favorite Person
I am.
I go back to my list, my eyes zeroing in on one in particular and before logic can talk me out of it, I type:
Want to do something low-key illegal?
My Favorite Person
I’m always up for illegal activity of the low-key variety. What do ya have in mind?
Thirty minutes later, I’m cutting my engine in front of Liam’s house.
The front door swings open, and the heavy weight of the morning is eclipsed by a whirlwind of scruffy fur and a wagging tail.
Jumping from the car, I meet Mutt halfway across the lawn, crouching to greet him.
Liam has secured a jaunty little bow tie around his neck and he’s never looked more debonair.
I’ve missed him almost as much as I’ve missed Liam during our time apart.
Scooping him up, his tongue swipes at my chin and a smile breaks across my face. “I’ve missed you, my little handsome man. I think you’ve missed me, too.”
In response, Mutt attempts another lick at my face. This is exactly what I needed. Mutt doesn’t care about news articles or prison sentences; he only cares I’m here, and his joy at seeing me is a frantic flurry of movement.