Chapter 18 #2
The pilot light of my rage roars to life.
It’s been simmering, and it doesn’t matter how many years are stacked over my hurt, because it always comes back to this: Mom has always been comfortable with her decisions, even when they’ve devastated me.
She was comfortable with her choice to cheat and, ultimately, her choice to leave.
It’s difficult not to experience this betrayal—of herself and her health—as a betrayal of me, too.
Is she so devoid of regret that she’s ready to let fate fall?
Doesn’t she want enough time to rebuild our relationship?
Is she at all curious about whether I may give her grandchildren someday?
Was her love for Sonny so intense that she’d give up our second chance and speed up her journey to join him?
But I don’t have the strength to ask those questions, because I’m terrified of the answers. Besides, we’re not talking about her emotional priorities. We’re talking about her health. “I’m concerned you’re not behaving rationally or making sound decisions.”
“How would you know, Eden?” She’s been warning me with her escalating tone, but this side of her is foreign.
In my family, conflict was noiseless but perilous.
And when everything finally detonated, we burned as quickly as a matchstick.
But now, she lights another fuse. “It’s not like you’ve been around much in the last twenty years. ”
“And whose fault is that?” I snap, before taking a breath, releasing it. I want to start over, edit this conversation toward the intended script. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I think you did,” she says. “Believe me, I know what I am guilty of. It took me years to rebuild a life that I could be proud of. And now you’re asking me to leave it all behind.”
I blink rapidly as my eyes burn, and I stand on shaky legs.
“If you think your whole life is here, I guess we have nothing to talk about.” I don’t look at Mom as I head for the door, swiping my purse from the hall tree on my way out.
When I emerge on the porch, the dewy air, laced with pine and campfire, assaults me.
I get to my car, swinging the door open and sliding in before I realize I can’t leave.
As frustrated as I am, I’m not heartless enough to leave when Mom needs me.
I’m not like her.
In the privacy of my car, I let out a sound that’s a cross between a wail and a scream. I don’t know why the hell she agreed to let me stay if she wasn’t willing to work on us. If she’s so adamant about refusing treatment or making room in her life for me, why did I bother?
I drop my head to the steering wheel, defeated. I want to flee, if not forever, at least until I can stuff these feelings back into the emotional cage I erected for them ages ago.
I startle upright as a vehicle comes down the driveway and spy Caleb’s truck approaching.
I immediately drop my seat into a recline, hiding like I once dodged old high school classmates in the grocery store.
He pulls up in front of the house, about ten feet from where I’m parked.
I don’t need Caleb to find me hiding in my car like a weirdo.
Abby’s voice carries through my closed window a moment later. “Should we play Catch Phrase? Because Grams can’t hold cards yet, and I think that would be easiest. Or Scrabble? Because it doesn’t move as fast?”
Gah. I forgot about our game night redo.
During the long hours waiting in that cabin, Caleb told me game night began after Mom was diagnosed. Games help strengthen neural pathways and improve small motor skills and are a type of therapy she can’t refuse. Because she can’t resist Abby, even though she has no qualms about saying no to me.
Friday was the first game night they’d missed in years, so Abby convinced Caleb they needed a do-over.
“Maybe Scrabble. You get too excited playing Catch Phrase, jumping up and down like it’s an actual sport,” Caleb says.
Footsteps land on the porch, and the front door creaks open.
I’m in the clear; I’ll go inside in a minute and claim I was on a walk.
But then a huge, hairy face pops up on the driver’s side window, and I gasp when its long, pink tongue drags across the glass.
And my jig is up. Because then, Caleb’s big hairy face appears in the passenger window, his expression impassive.
He knocks once on the window with the back of his fist before gesturing for me to roll it down.
I sigh, but comply, opening it a crack as Houdini cries on my other side, whimpering at the injustice of being separated by glass.
“Go on in with Grams,” Caleb says over his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.” He turns back to me, shoving his hands in his pockets and tilting his head. “You all right?”
I sit up and release the lever. My seat springs upright aggressively, knocking me forward, and I have to catch myself on the steering wheel. I stare straight ahead when I say, “I’m fine,” in a robotic tone even I don’t believe.
“Do you hide out here often?” I can hear the smile in his voice. It distorts the resonance of his gravelly tone, making it smooth and soft.
I turn to glare at him, and he grins back, which does not help me. I’m feeling too many things today, and Caleb is the epicenter of emotions I’d rather not have.
“What happened?” It almost sounds like he cares, like maybe, possibly, I’ve weaseled my way into the inner circle of people he treats as friends versus foes.
I expel all the air in my lungs and slouch against the too-upright seat. “Mom and I got in a fight.”
“Good.”
“Good?” I snap. I was so stupid. He’s not here because he cares; he’s here to gloat. Definitely still an asshole.
“From what I understand, you two have caused a lot of harm by holding your tongues. It’s good to finally say something honest. Even if it’s not careful or polite.”
“You’re not a fan of polite, are you.”
“Polite is lying with better PR. I prefer the truth.” He rests one hand on the hood of the car, leaning toward my window.
“C’mon. Let’s go for a walk. It’ll give you a chance to cool down and practice not being polite with me.
” I shake my head and look back toward the steering wheel.
“What are you gonna do? Stay here and sulk in your car?”
“We can’t leave my mom.”
“Abby’s got it. It’ll be nice for them to have some one-on-one time. And I should wear out this dog before going inside. I don’t want him to jump all over your mom.”
As if on cue, Houdini springs off his hind legs, slamming against the driver’s door and releasing an aggrieved howl.
“I think he belongs in a zoo.” I laugh as the dingo thrashes beside me.
“Nah, he’s not nearly tame enough for that,” he says. “He belongs with a pack of wild dogs, far away from civilization.”
“Alas”—I make eye contact as Houdini gazes longingly at me through my window—“he’s stuck with humans.”
“I’ll tell Abby she’s in charge.” Caleb rebounds off my car, the matter settled.
“Wait,” I say. “Bad things happen when we go out in the woods.”
One side of his mouth quirks. “I don’t remember it being all bad.”
Caleb steps away and doesn’t wait for me to respond; thank God for that, because I’m not sure I can.
His words send me straight back to the cabin.
I’m in his arms, my skin on fire everywhere he’s touching me, my body aching everywhere he’s not, his hard form pressed against me, his soft words of understanding in my ear. It was a broken heart.
When Caleb emerges a few moments later, he restrains Houdini long enough for me to slip out of the car, but I sink to my haunches to receive the dog’s overzealous affection. He smothers me in kisses before spinning in circles, his hindquarters jerking in the air like a bull in a rodeo.
“Houdini, heel,” Caleb says, and he sprints to Caleb before circling twice and plopping down at his heels.
“He listens to you.”
Caleb nods. “When he feels like it. He’s feral but doing his best. Okay, Houdini.”
Houdini takes off in a sprint toward the back of the house, and I know exactly where he’s headed. There are six trails that veer off from this house. But, of course, the dog would choose that one. Dry Creek Loop. Caleb jogs behind him.
All my senses crank up to full blast, and my nerve endings crackle like they’re on an overloaded circuit. I freeze.