Chapter 29
Twenty-nine
Lane
I’m exhausted, both mentally and emotionally. Even more so after my conversation with Jameson. All I want to do is hide away with Kam in the relative safety of our temporary bedroom. I’m halfway down the upstairs hall when Vic’s words about the doors echo in my head.
My eyes land on the door to my right. It’s painted a soft blue, dotted with daisies in varying sizes. I step further down the hall, curiosity tugging me forward. I trace my fingers over one of the bright pink daisies.
I turn to look across the hall. Two more doors. One with large, vibrant orange poppies, and the other; my temporary bedroom, with soft light purple lavender.
As expected, Kam is waiting when I walk into our room, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed, staring at the door.
“How did it go?” The words are out of her mouth before I can shut the door behind me.
Closing the door, I cross the room and drop onto the bed across from her, the mattress sinking under my weight. I recount mine and Jameson’s conversation, still leaving out anything about his dad because it’s not my story to tell.
Kam’s eyes soften. “Do you want my honest opinion, or do you want me to agree with you and tell you what you want to hear?”
I sigh, knowing I’m not gonna like what she’s about to say, but it’s probably what I need to hear. “Just tell me.”
She doesn’t hesitate, the words coming out in a single breath. “I think you are being too hard on him.”
My mouth drops open. What the fuck? She’s supposed to be on my side.
She puts her hands up, stopping the protest that’s on the tip of my tongue. “You asked for honesty.”
I cross my arms over my chest, annoyance vibrating through veins. “He lied to me, Kam. How am I ever supposed to trust him again? I can’t believe you are taking his side.”
“I’m not,” she sighs, dropping her hands, sympathy shining in her eyes. “But you haven’t been honest with him either. You didn’t tell him the truth about your past; you kept him at arm's length for weeks. I know you had your reasons, but so did he.”
She takes my hands, making sure I hear her. “I think he was stuck in an impossible situation and was trying to shield you from your past. Should he have told you anyway? Absolutely, he was wrong not to. But that doesn’t make him a bad guy. Just a flawed one.”
She’s right, of course. She always is. Kam definitely missed her calling as a therapist or life coach.
He hurt me, even if it wasn’t intentional. He broke my heart. Made me question everything. Put my life in danger. Put my best friend's life in danger. And it was all because of my secret, a secret I’ve been carrying for five years.
My gaze drops to my lap, a single tear slipping down my cheek. “What should I do?”
“Right now, we are going to go learn how to make soap with Mama C. Then later, we are going to put on our big girl panties and talk to Vic when he gets back.” She stands from the bed, hand held out to me. “The rest, we’ll figure it out, together,” she says, her voice full of confidence that I envy.
And that’s what we do. We spend our afternoon with Jameson’s Mom, Carol. Or Mama C, as she told us to call her.
We stand in her sun-drenched dining room at a large wooden table, measuring oils and stirring in fragrant herbs. It’s soothing.
She has an easy demeanor, much like Jameson’s, that puts me at ease. He has her smile and dark hair, but that’s where the similarities end. She’s a petite woman, standing around five feet, with short, graying black hair and deep brown eyes.
There’s no doubt in my mind that her husband has filled her in on everything, but she doesn’t push other than to let me know she’d be there if I wanted someone to talk to. She’s the kind of mother everyone should be so lucky to have. Something I’ve always been missing.
My mother never wanted children. A fact she made painfully clear from a young age. She only had me because my dad wanted her to, back when she was still committed to playing the role of perfect wife.
The illusion shattered shortly after I was born. She showed little to no interest in me, often leaving me with the nanny while she went to lunch with her friends.
I never felt a sense of loss because of her absence, not until my dad died.
He was everything to me, my parent, my best friend, my teacher.
Everything my mother wasn’t. Kind, patient, full of love.
He spent every moment he had free with me.
Sitting cross legged at my little table having a tea party or letting me bet him at board games.
And he never once missed a dance recital that my mother insisted on signing me up for, but rarely attended.
Kam gently bumps me with her hand, pulling me out of my head. She gives me a look, brows knit in concern. I give her a small smile, though I don’t know how reassuring it is, and go back to pulling apart pieces of lavender to put in my soap.
Kam’s eyes hold mine a moment longer before she turns her attention to Mama C. “How long have you and Vic been married?” she asks, pouring liquid soap that she dyed bright pink into a mold.
Mama C looks up from the mixture she’s pouring, the scent of rosemary and lavender filling the air. “We just celebrated seventeen years a few months ago, but we’ve been together for twenty years,” she says, her lips tilting up in a fond smile.
Pure adoration shines in her eyes. She loves her husband just as much today as she did the day she married him.
I never felt that all-consuming love for Byron. Sure, I loved him in the beginning. Hell, I even loved him after his words turned from loving to harsh and unkind.
That love started to die the first time he back-handed me across the face for ‘talking back’. It continued to wither and die with every slap, every punch, every kick. Until I felt nothing.
I didn’t even hate him. I was an empty shell of a person walking around in pretty clothes and a bright smile, pretending I was the perfect happy wife.
Kam’s eyes go dreamy. “What’s your secret?”
She loves romance and love. A true romantic at heart, even after finding her fiancé in bed with their wedding planner a month before the wedding. She didn’t let it break her or kill her dream of finding her happily ever after.
“The secret is to never let them forget how much they’re loved and cherished. Not just when it’s easy, but also when it’s not so easy.” Her eyes meet mine, softness and understanding shining in them.
“Even when he was still doing field work, he never missed a day, he always called. Even if it was just for a few minutes. Just long enough to say ‘I love you’ and to hear me say it back.” Her smile grows wider, her eyes brightening with the memory.
“When he was away on a job, he’d send me Poppies.
A bouquet every day until he came home.”
Kam’s head slowly turns to mine. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open as I struggle to keep my own facial expression in check.
Mama C’s brows knit together. “You okay, hunny?” she asks, voice laced with concern.
I guess I didn’t do a very good job with my face after all.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, shifting nervously on my feet, wondering if I should tell her.
She’s his Mom after all, and I don’t usually feel comfortable opening up to people. But something about her calming presence makes me want to.
A small smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. “Jameson brings me wildflowers.”
“He also calls her Wildflower,” Kam adds, her eyes dreamy. So much for not taking his side.
Mama C looks down at the vibrant tattoos snaking up my arms. “The other secret is forgiveness. We have to remember that our partner is only human, and humans are flawed. They might not always say or do the right thing, but all that matters is that it came from a place of love. That they work on fixing their mistakes,” she explains, giving me a knowing look.
I know she isn’t telling me this to excuse her son. No, she’s telling me this because she is me. She’s lived the same life, faced the same fear, endured the same abuse. The only difference? She didn’t let it stop her from loving again.
I look down at my tattoos, then back to her, meeting her eyes. “How did you do it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “How did you let yourself trust him? Let yourself love him?”
Her smile is gentle, understanding. “It took time,” she says simply. “Vic was patient, offering me friendship first. Slowly, that friendship turned into something more, something deeper. He never rushed me. He never pushed. He just continued to show up.”
She pauses, her eyes softening. “I know my son wasn’t honest with you, that he hurt you. I won’t make excuses for him, but I see the way he looks at you. It’s the same way Vic looks at me.”
Later, after the last of the soap has been poured into molds and the dining room is returned to its previous pristine condition, I find myself alone on the porch swing, with only the crickets to keep me company as the sun dips behind the trees, painting the sky in pastel pinks and oranges.
Kam is inside helping with dinner, probably digging for more romantic wisdom. I should be helping too, but my culinary skills are limited, and I needed time to think about what Mama C said.
Forgiveness.
Patience.
Showing up.
The keys to a happy and healthy relationship. It sounds so simple when she says it.
My fingers trace over the tattoo on my forearm, the colors vibrant and bold. I got it after I escaped my old life. A symbol of new beginnings and hope.
And now Jameson brings me wildflowers and calls me Wildflower, like it’s a better fit than my own name.
Yes, he hurt me, but he has also stayed. Even when I’ve pushed him away. Even when I’ve shut down. Even when he could have easily walked away.