Chapter 23 #2
I move back and she steps inside. Her eyes flick from me to Serena, and the barest hint of a smile touches her face.
She sees it instantly—the line we crossed last night.
Of course she does. But the moment passes, and we step into the kitchen.
Serena makes coffee as Mama settles at the kitchen table, ushering me into a chair beside her and placing her hand on mine.
I don’t miss the mist in her eyes and the way her hand is shaking a little.
Pain is already cracking open my chest at the thought of her telling me she’s ill or some other bad news.
“Mama,” I say, voice urgent. “What is it?”
She takes a breath. “It’s your mom. I’m so sorry, Chase.” She pauses, twists her hands uncomfortably. “Leanna died last week. I got a call early this morning.”
Even as it seems like the world stills around me, it’s relief I feel first. Shameful and selfish relief that it’s not Dylan or Izzy or Jake or Harper. Not Mama. Not my family. And then a strange emptiness takes hold. I don’t know how to feel or what to do with this news.
“How did you find out?” I ask. It doesn’t feel like the right question, but it’s the first one I think of.
“Her landlord went through her things,” Mama says softly. “He found an old address book with the ranch number in it and called first thing. They think it was a heart attack.”
Her voice shakes, and I know this is hitting her too, even after all these years of silence between them.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Because I don’t know what else to say.
Because even if Mama and Leanna haven’t spoken since the day she left me on Mama’s doorstep, that doesn’t mean they stopped being sisters.
If anything happened to Dylan or Jake, I’d feel it like a death in my chest, even if we’d spent a lifetime apart.
“I’m sorry too,” Mama says, giving my hand a squeeze.
Only minutes ago, I stood on my porch and told Serena I was ready to find her.
All these years of doing nothing. Only sending one letter earlier this year, a letter returned and now shoved in the back of a kitchen drawer.
I wasted so much time wrestling with the fear of rejection and what she’d say.
If I’d made the decision earlier, if I’d tried harder, I could’ve found her.
I could’ve had answers. Instead, the clock’s run out. Now, it’s too late.
I draw away from Mama and place my head in my hands. Her death means there are no answers to find. It means I can’t tell her I forgive her. I can’t try to heal a wound I’ve spent far too long pretending isn’t there. It means any chance of lifting that weight I’ve been carrying is gone.
“Where was she living?” I ask, voice rough.
“A suburb outside Oklahoma City,” Mama says gently. “The landlord didn’t want to throw anything away. He said I could come down this week and collect her belongings. He said it’s not a lot. I thought I’d drive there and bring it all back, then we can go through it together if you’d like to.”
I close my eyes, fighting the hurt wedged like a rock in my throat. I try to conjure a memory of my biological mom. A sound, a scent, anything. But there’s nothing. Just a hollow dark gloom that makes me want to leap out of my chair and do something. Anything.
From behind me, Serena steps up, resting a hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I lean into her touch for a moment, but shadows are coming for me, that gloom of my early childhood I don’t like to look at.
But something inside me whispers, Go.
“I’ll do it,” I say.
Mama is quiet for a moment. I feel her studying me. “Are you sure?”
“If I leave this morning, I can be back tomorrow and still make Thursday training and Friday night’s game against the Scorchers.”
“Would you like me to come with you?” Mama asks, taking my hand again, forcing me to lift my head and look at her.
I hesitate. Everything inside me feels tangled. I stare into Mama’s eyes. The eyes of the woman who raised me, who gave me more love than I knew how to hold. And then there’s Leanna. The woman who gave birth to me. Who was supposed to love me. Who left.
The guilt over how I feel for these two women is a knot in my chest. Of course, Mama sees this all in my face before I’ve had a chance to formulate the thoughts let alone the words I want to say.
“It’s OK if you want to go alone,” she says.
“Thank you for—” She cuts in, starting to protest, but I continue before she can stop me.
“You’ve carried me my whole life, Mama. You took me in, and you loved me like I was yours when you didn’t have to.
Everything I have and every good piece of me is because of you.
So I will always be grateful, and I’m always going to say thank you. ”
Her eyes glisten, though her mouth firms into that no-nonsense line I know so well.
“No, you listen hard, Chase Sullivan, to what I’m going to say.
The first is that I can see the guilt you’re carrying right now.
And I want you to know, there is nothing you could ever do, say, or feel that would make me love you less.
Leanna was your mother. And your feelings for her, or the fact she’s gone, don’t take anything away from what we have. ”
My throat tightens. I swallow hard.
“The second,” she says, “is that I chose you, Chase. I love Dylan and Jake with all my heart. But they were born being loved by me. You were chosen. And loving you, raising you, it’s been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
” Her voice cracks and tears shine in her eyes. “Please don’t ever forget that.”
We stand and I pull her into a hug, fierce and long, trying to give her all the words I can’t say.
“I’d better pack,” I murmur, moving to the door. “It’s a solid nine hours to Oklahoma City.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m throwing a bag into the back of the truck and getting another fierce hug from Mama.
“This is the address,” she says, pushing a piece of paper into my hands. “The landlord’s name is Kenny. I’ll call the funeral home and start making arrangements. And I’ll let Coach Allen know you need a few days off.”
“Make sure to tell him I’ll be ready for Friday.”
“I will,” Mama says, knowing me well enough not to argue.
I glance up at the house and Serena is standing in the doorway, the overnight bag she packed last night slung over her shoulder. She walks to the truck without a word and tosses her bag beside mine before hugging Mama and whispering something in her ear that I don’t catch.
Then she turns to me. “You don’t have to say a word,” she says softly, “but you shouldn’t do this alone.”
She climbs in beside me, a pillar of quiet strength I didn’t know I needed.
My heart is heavy, and my mind is racing as we hit the highway.
My mom is gone. I don’t know what I’ll find in Oklahoma, or if there’s anything to learn from her life in the things she’s left behind, but whatever it is, I won’t be facing it alone.