28. Caleb
CHAPTER 28
CALEB
A rlo Hollow isn’t as small as Hawthorne Mills, but it’s in much rougher shape. The buildings are all run down, and the paper factory at the edge of town makes the whole place reek.
“I don’t remember it smelling this bad,” Halle says, white-knuckling the steering wheel. She wouldn’t let me drive, insisting that if we brought my Mercedes, it would end up vandalized. I didn’t bother arguing that I’ve been here just fine on my own. If I had to guess, she wanted to drive so she could feel like she had some sense of control over what today will bring. “I’m sorry.”
I bite back a smile. “Why are you apologizing for the smell? Did you personally build the factory with your bare hands?”
She chokes on a breath. “No, but?—”
“Stop apologizing for shit that’s not within your control.”
Quinn and Casen snicker in the back. Even if I can’t get her to lighten up, it’s good to hear the sound from them. As soon as we got in the car, Halle began chatting anxiously, and from the worried looks they keep giving one another and me, they’re concerned about her.
I had to pull a few strings to schedule a visitation with their mom on such short notice. Honestly, I was hoping my request would be denied for Halle’s sake, but she’d never tell her brothers no in a situation like this. She’s selfless like that.
Since we have time to kill before their visitation, the boys suggested that Halle show me around.
“That’s where I went to high school.” Halle points to a building that looks more like a bunker than a school. “And that’s where I worked after school.”
I take in the hole-in-the-wall diner, trying to picture Halle behind its doors working.
“Were you a waitress?”
“Yep. And after I graduated, I waited tables at…” She grows silent, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“At?” I prompt, scrutinizing her apprehensive expression.
“Atthesapphirelounge,” she whispers.
“I’m going to need you to repeat that,” I laugh. There’s no way I can separate the words she just slurred together .
“The Sapphire Lounge,” she says, clearer this time, though her voice is still low.
Before I can ask her about the place, Casen flings himself forward, his head between our seats. “Oh my God, you were a stripper?”
“What?” Halle shouts to the rearview mirror. “No. I waited tables there.”
“What was the dress code? A bikini top and thong?” This from Quinn. “Wait.” He shakes his head. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“No!” she shrieks. “A crop top and skirt or shorts. I wear less to the beach. Calm down.”
“If you had been a dancer, there’s nothing wrong with that,” I say, tapping my fingers on my leg.
“I was just a waitress. The owner asked me constantly, but it wasn’t for me. I respect the hell out of the girls who could get out there and do it, though. My tips weren’t bad, but they made bank.”
“We didn’t know you worked there,” Casen says, his tone dripping with accusation.
Halle narrows her eyes at him in the mirror. “Are you already forgetting your reaction from five seconds ago? Why do you think I didn’t tell you? Besides, you were too young to know.”
“What other secrets are you keeping from us?” Quinn asks, the words full of annoyance. “Anything we should know?”
Halle sighs, her grip on the wheel tightening, making the material creak. “No, nothing.”
She turns off the main road and onto a side street, breathing deeply. A few turns later, she says, “This is where I lived until I was ten.”
The townhouse is small and run-down, with crooked shutters and peeling paint.
“Do you see that black smudge there by the door?” Halle asks, slowing in front of the home.
I squint out the passenger window. “The blob that sort of looks like a heart?”
“Yes.” She laughs quietly. “I was five when I did that. I was mad at my mom for ignoring me after she promised to paint with me, so I made that spot. I don’t think she ever even noticed it, but it made me feel better.”
From there she drives from one apartment complex to the next, pointing out all the places they lived in over the years. From my count, she moved more than once a year after her mom lost the townhouse. My parents have lived in the same house since before I was born. I can’t imagine having to be uprooted so often.
It makes sense now, even with as rundown as the house is next door, that she bought it. She was looking for at least a small sense of stability.
As the visitation hour looms, Halle drives toward the prison in another town about twenty minutes north.
We’re silent the whole way, but I keep my hand on her knee, trying to instill as much comfort in her as I can.
We stop at the security gate and are directed to park in the visitor lot. Then we make our way inside, stopping for the scanners and other checks.
“I can go with them,” I whisper when the boys wander to the vending machine. “You don’t have to see her.”
With a sigh, she wraps her arms around herself and rocks back and forth on her heels. For a moment, she doesn’t speak, but eventually, she drops her arms and says, “She’s my mom. I should see her.”
“ Should doesn’t mean you have to,” I say as the boys argue over which kind of soda to choose, even though I gave them enough cash for two.
“I know,” she says, voice small, as she curls in on herself. “I know,” she repeats. “And I don’t want to, but who knows when I’ll be back here, you know? I owe it to her to?—”
I press my hands to her cheeks and force her to look at me. “You owe her nothing. You owe no one anything.”
“I’ll be okay,” she says in a whisper, eyes misty. “Promise.”
Still, I persist. “If, at any time, you’re not okay, then go. I won’t judge you if you have to step out.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes are still watery, but they’re full of relief.
The pain radiating from her guts me, but thank fuck I’m here to support her.
The room is filled with a loud buzzing sound, snagging our attention. A door on the far side opens, and a large man in a dark blue uniform appears. “Emerson family? We’re ready for you.”
The boys dart across the room, soda cans in hand.
“You’ll have to leave that here,” the corrections officer says to the boys.
Unsurprisingly, they chug their drinks and toss them into the trash .
“Do you want me to wait here?” I don’t want to force my presence on Halle when she’s already stressed, but I’ll gladly go and continue offering her all I can.
She grabs my hand, silencing my worries. “No, I need you with me.”
Without speaking, the four of us follow the corrections officer back to an empty private room.
“You guys take the chairs,” Halle tells her brothers, shooing them toward the two chairs set up to face the door her mother will be brought through.
They look at her with narrowed gazes, like they’re going to insist that she should sit, but she gives them a parental look she’s just about mastered, and they slump into them without argument. The two of us find a spot against the wall a foot or two behind them and wait.
About five minutes later—five minutes of nothing but tense silence—the door opens, and a female guard ushers their mom in. She’s thin, her dark hair the same shade as her kids’, though hers has gray streaks. Her face is gaunt and heavily lined, though she’s only in her early forties. I guess it goes to show how much a rough life can affect a person’s appearance.
“Kids.” She smiles at the twins, opening her arms wide.
Casen and Quinn are up and out of their chairs with their arms wrapped around her within seconds.
She squeezes them tight, kissing the tops of their heads. “My boys.”
Beside me, Halle fidgets, but she doesn’t make a move for her mother. I give her hand a squeeze to remind her that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere .
Freya Emerson lets go of the twins, and when she turns her attention to her daughter, her smile drops and her eyes flash with an anger that inspires me to straighten and adjust my stance so I’m slightly in front of Halle, shielding her.
“Halle.” Her mom’s tone is brusque. “Nice of you to finally visit.”
“The boys wanted to come,” she mumbles, releasing my hand and crossing her arms over her chest.
The loss of her touch is almost painful, but I let her do what feels safest for her without argument.
“Well, how kind of you to allow them to see their mother .” Freya scratches the side of her nose. “It’s good to know I haven’t been entirely replaced.”
Halle flinches but says nothing in response.
The boys, thankfully, dive into conversation with their mom, asking how prison is and whether she thinks she’ll be released early.
All the while, Halle silently suffers beside me, looking like she’d gladly melt into the wall behind us, never to be seen or heard from again.
Every now and then Freya’s gaze flickers to her, but she keeps her attention fixed on her brothers.
Halle is tough, there’s no denying that, but she’s been hurt time and again—particularly by her mom. It seems contradictory for a person to be both tough and vulnerable, but in reality, a person can gain a great deal of strength while being exposed to actions and words that cut the deepest.
As the hour-long visitation winds down, Freya hugs the boys and asks them to step out so she can talk to Halle .
“You can leave too,” Freya says to me, her expression hard.
I glare right back at her. “I’ll stay with my girlfriend, thanks. I’m an attorney.”
Halle blinks up at me, her lips parted in surprise.
Freya barks out a laugh, the harsh sound echoing off the walls. “Good for you, kid,” she sneers. “Bagging a Richie Rich. Try to lock it in soon, though, hun. Kids help you do that.”
Halle’s dark eyes ignite. “That sure worked out for you, didn’t it, Mom?”
Freya’s cruel smile morphs into a glower. “You took my kids from me.”
Halle sighs heavily, as if she’s had this argument before.
“You lost them all on your own when you ended up in prison. The courts granted me custody when you were convicted. Would you have preferred they go into foster care?”
“Yes!” She pounds a fist against a table. “At least I could’ve gotten them back that way.”
Halle shakes her head, her jaw working back and forth like she’s trying not to cry. “They’ll be eighteen before you get out of here.”
“That’s not true,” Freya huffs. “This place is overcrowded, and my crimes are minor compared to a lot of the women here. I’ll be out of here early. You hear me?”
Halle scrubs at her face. “Whatever you say, Mom. It’s been fantastic seeing you.” She turns and stalks to the door.
I follow and knock, signaling that we’re ready to go. While we wait for the guard, Freya takes advantage of our inability to escape.
“Mark my words,” she says, her tone frigid. “I’ll make you regret taking them from me.”
While my blood runs cold, Halle’s shoulders sag with heaviness, as if she’s used to the threats. “Whatever you say, Mom.”
Blessedly, the guard opens the door, and as it shuts behind us, I pull Halle into an alcove with a water fountain.
“Are you?—”
She wraps her arms around my middle and buries her face in my shirt, her silent tears quickly dampening the fabric.
I palm the back of her head and kiss her crown, wishing I could take the pain away.
Eventually, she gathers herself and pulls away, face splotchy from crying.
I rub my thumbs beneath her eyes, clearing away traces of mascara and smeared eyeliner. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You know that, right?”
She nods, her eyes downcast.
“Good.” With two fingers beneath her chin, I tilt her head back and press a soft kiss to her lips. “Let’s go.”