“Will you have food?” For some reason, I don’t like knowing she may not be taken care of. I’m usually impartial to these things. It’s the professional thing to do. Not today.
“The fridge is stocked.” Clyde is all too eager to step in. I move in front of Othella again and make her look at me.
“Thank you, Sheriff,” she mumbles and walks away. I watch her ass the entire time she’s moving away from me. The building she enters looks old and outdated, but the door must work just fine because she slams it. My heart shifts, and I’m not sure what the hell has happened to her, but I know I want her back in my presence.
“I need to speak to the mayor.” Yeah, this shit will not fly. But I’m interrupted by my radio on my shoulder.
“Sheriff, what’s your twenty?” Mark, the station’s dispatcher, asks.
“I’m over at the mayor’s house. What’s going on?”
“There’s a 10-14 over on Maple and Sycamore.”
Damn it, not another public disturbance from the local bar. “10-4, show me en route.”
Clyde stands outside the entire time I move around my vehicle and slide in. Even as I’m leaving, I feel his eyes on me. That’s not what has me in knots. It’s the way my heart and head are hurting as I leave Othella behind.
Chapter Three
The first night here,I slept like a baby. I think it’s because I was exhausted from all the emotions. The second night didn’t go so well. I could have sworn someone was watching me. I checked every single corner and crack in this guest house. My search came up empty-handed, but the feeling wouldn’t go away and it’s still here two days later.
What’s sad is that I’ve been home for four days now, and I haven’t seen my mother once. Then again, if I’m not around her, she can’t throw insults toward me. There’s also another upside to this. I’ve been able to terrorize the sheriff without interference.
The day after he brought me home, I went into town after midnight and egged the front door of the police station. I know it’s childish, but it’s the only fun I’ve had since being home.
Yesterday, I rigged the fire alarm at the courthouse to go off every time someone opened the door to the courtroom. It was ingenious for the entertainment value. It kept the police department and fire department on their toes. Not to mention, seeing my mother scrambling out of the building was a bonus.
I chalk this behavior up to the fact that I want my mother’s attention and, unfortunately, this is the only way I know how to get it. Alright, I might as well be honest, it’s also a way for me to ignore how the sheriff makes me feel. Those emotions are too damn close to the heart, and I don’t do emotions well.
Tonight, I’m spray painting a pig on the side of the police station where it’s in full view for every passerby. That’s not all. I’m also painting a devil on themayor’sbuilding. If this isn’t the icing on the cake, I’m not sure what is.
The last time I was here, there were no cameras, so I know they won’t know who did this. My mother is going to be raging mad, but do I care?
Not one bit.
The beautiful feeling of defacing my mother’s building makes me happy. So, fucking happy. I put extra care into making this painting perfect because I want her to notice. It’s disgusting how much I want her to acknowledge me.
Shaking off the unnerving thoughts, I gather my shit. Once I’m finished, I slip back to the mansion and into the guest house. I’m not expecting to see my mother. She’s standing in the living room with her nose scrunched up in distaste.
“Mom,” I say softly to myself, my heart beating faster. The urge for a hug is sharp and I force myself to stay rooted to my spot. She doesn’t hear me and I’m glad for it. The slip up of saying ‘Mom’ would have set her off. She’s a mother and only mother. I’ve been reminded of that a million times.
“You haven’t been back for more than a week and already you have this place looking like a tornado came through.” Her harsh words eat at me, and I instantly have the urge to apologize. I hate it.
I look around and see one blanket on the couch not folded and a can of 7 Up sitting on the table. This is a tornado zone? I don’t say a word about how I feel. Instead, I play it cool.
“Hello, Mother. It’s so nice of you to grace me with your presence.” I step toward her, but her hand comes out in a fast slap. My cheek throbs and I bite my tongue to keep from crying out.
“Don’t come near me, Othella. If I recall correctly, I didn’t invite you here. Did you forget that?” She grabs my hair and forces me to look at her. This time, the tears do well up, and I swallow down the bile in my throat.Why does she hate me so much?
“I sent you away for a reason. Your stupid father insisted we adopt you, even though I was against it.”
My mother can be cruel, but she’s never been like this. I look into her eyes, and I see the hate. She’s been drinking, which means she won’t remember this in the morning.
“Mother, I wanted to spend time with you… it’s Thanksgiving.”
After all these years, I’m still trying to get into her good graces. Everything I’ve done has been to please her. Nothing ever does. Not since my father passed away.
“Well, I didn’t pick you up from the airport. That should have been your first clue.”
