Once again, I’m reminded of how lonely my world is. I fell again. Hurt my hip something awful. Plum eat up with a black and purple bruise. I’m lucky I didn’t break my hip. Since I’ve been abandoned, I had to rely on the kindness of strangers from EMS to take me to the hospital. My physical pain has been intense but not nearly as bad as the pain in my broken heart.
Reese sighed and counted to ten, breathing in and out slowly. She could feel the tears springing up. Could feel the flush of anger assaulting her skin. It was another manipulation tactic. Her mother was determined to have the last word, even after death.She had found so many of the notes already. The hoard was like a field of gaslighting and guilt-induced land mines.
The first few notes had gutted her. She had sat there and let them brew in her brain until it felt like she was seventeen again, ashamed and cornered and somehow still responsible for her mother’s feelings. But then she had called her therapist, the woman who had spent years listening to Reese untangle all the damage Joyce had done, and she had been talked back down. It was just another game. Another jab. Another last desperate reach for control.
And in a way, she was letting Joyce win, wasn’t she?
There she sat in a filthy house, covered in the grime of it, unable to fully wash herself clean, crying over the words of a dead woman who had never once made her peace a priority. Joyce might as well have been standing in the room laughing. Reese had been dragging her feet for weeks now, half-living in this mess, letting the house and everything inside it keep her stuck.
Anger filled her, flaring like white lightning in her chest. She was done. She was totally and completely done. There would be no more avoiding. No more hiding upstairs in her little bubble. Just like how she advised the men she helped every day, she knew she had to accept and embrace the uncomfortable to reach her goals. Sometimes, the only way out was straight through the ugliest part of it.
She balled up the note, snatched up her phone, and stalked up the stairs to her room for her purse.
Pushing back at the doubt that was trying to stop her, she dug out the piece of paper with a number on it. If she paused too long, she knew she would let embarrassment stop her from asking for help. She’d tell herself she could handle it on her own. That asking for help was a weakness. That she didn’t need anyone.
Her hands were shaking as she punched the numbers in and then held her breath as it rang. A tentative voice answered. “Hello?”
It took her twice to swallow around the lump in her throat before she could force the words out. “Hey, Matty, it’s Reese. I need your help.”
Chapter thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Matty adjusted the grip on her toolbox. It wasn’t a large one. She kept most of the tools she used most often on the job in her tool belt, and that was in the backpack on her shoulders. She had no idea what would be needed to get the job done, so she just guessed at what she might need, like a set of wrenches.
Warm sunshine rays sent a refreshing jolt of energy through her. She would enjoy the walk to Reese’s home. It would only take about twenty minutes, so she hadn’t bothered trying to find a ride. It was good to stretch her legs.
About ten minutes into her journey, a gray Chevy truck pulled up beside her as the window rolled down. She grinned widely when a red-haired man with a matching grin popped his head out.
“Well, hell, is that you, Matty?”
“Dylan, dude, I haven’t seen you in forever!”
They slapped high fives. It had to have been at least five years since she had last seen him. Both of them had been pretty heavy into using at that point, then Dylan dropped off the face of the earth. She hadn’t thought of him in a long time.
“It has been forever. What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you around town.”
She shrugged. “Got clean and keeping my head down.”
“No shit? That’s awesome, man. I don’t fuck with that shit either. Cigarettes are about as hard as I get these days. Got a wife and a few kids that need my head in the game.”
“That’s great to hear. I don’t know too many of our old friends who can say the same.”
Dylan grimaced with a nod. “Yeah, you hear about Brittany going to prison?”
“I did. I hated to hear that.”
“Have you heard anything about Lee? I tried finding him on Facebook, but the only account is like ten years old.”
It was Matty’s turn to grimace. “Uh, yeah, he OD’d in Nashville about four years back.”
“Damn. I really hate to hear that.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if you ever want to hang out, give me a call. Number’s the same. I don’t party, but we can shoot the shit in my garage, maybe watch a game or something. If you don’t mind kids wandering in and out,” he laughed.
This was the first friend from the past she had met since getting clean that she could see herself hanging out with. It sounded great. “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll text you.”
