She’s probably right.
“Wouldn’t take much for him to find them and light a match right in front of me. I've got one or two hidden inside the lining of my sewing kit. I often look at them when I miss my boy.”
“Your boy has been missingyou,” I sigh. “So much.”
We move slowly toward the front door.
I feel the weight of this goodbye churning in my gut.
Part of me wants to stay longer.
I also know that my father could return any time.
She wraps her arms around me and I sink like a stone.
Eleven years.
Eleven years without this.
Freedom has come at a price.
But we both know I made the right choice.
???
Her hair still smells of beer from when he lunged at her.
“Come with me, Ma,” I beg.
I dread the thought of losing her a second time.
So I chose my words carefully.
We’ve had this conversation so many times before.
There’s one difference.
Back then, we lacked options.
“You can come with us. I have money this time. I’ll help you find a place.”
I see the fear in her eyes.
And also longing.
She glances back toward the house, deep in thought.
For one fragile moment it seems like she might say yes.
But when she turns, she avoids my eyes.
“It’s not that easy,” she sighs.
I take her by the hand.
“It can be.” My voice is wavering. “Think about it, Mama.”
She nods slowly.
