She nods her affirmation before a thin shadow of wistful sadness falls over her face. “I was friends with your mom— Or well, I tried to be.”
I feel my chin dip at this information. “Okay, no. I didn’t know that.”
“Our mothers were best friends, so we all saw each other a lot. We were close to the same age, and naturally, our mothers were hoping we’d have a bond like theirs. Your mother and I…we were friendly. We’d sometimes hang out, have an occasional sleepover. But she didn’t seem to have much use for things like that. It was like she didn’t really care about having a girlfriend to laugh with so much as she wanted a boy to fall in love with her.” She folds her lips together and shakes her head as if to indicate she didn’t understand it. “She seemed to be willing to do anything for that. She eventually dropped out of school. Our junior year it was, and she ran away with the guy she thought was finally the one.” Karla raises her eyebrows, showing a thin veil of sarcasm in her expression. “He’s the one who got her pregnant with you, and I’m sorry, but I don’t remember his name.” She looks up apologetically. I just know he was no good, and went to jail before she was even that far along.”
“It’s okay.” I shake my head with a sigh. “That never really mattered much to me.” I tell her that to ease her mind but also because it’s true. I never felt much urge to concern myself with my mother either. I somehow grew up with the ingrained blessing of not wasting energy on people who didn’t do the sameon me. “I think the one thing I’m curious about is how she ended up that way.” I shake my head, looking around the room. “I mean, I was raised by the same two people she was.”
Karla lifts a shoulder. “Nurture doesn’t always win out over nature. I’m sure a lot of people think that it should, in theory. But I think your mother might have had some deeply rooted depression and some self-esteem issues that your grandparents struggled to understand.”
Karla’s words evoke a sinking feeling in my stomach and an image of my mother in my mind. One where she’s not pasting on a fake smile like the one I’ve seen in the few pictures, but one where she looks lonely and sad. I’ve never thought of her that way because I always try not to think of her at all and just be happy with the loving grandparents I had.
“Anyway, as you already know, your mother kept getting in and out of trouble, and it always revolved around whatever guy she met that was making her feel good about herself at the time. Sometimes your grandparents would take you from her and tell her she needed to get her act together, and sometimes she’d willingly dump you on them.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember that fortunately,” I comment, taking a sip of my tea.
“She’d always come back and always when she was single.” Karla shakes her head, this time in outright disgust and disappointment. “She’d swear that she was ready to be a mother, but if you ask me, it was because she needed some kind of purpose and validation, and having you provided that for her until the next guy came around.”
Another twinge of emotion toward the mother I scarcely remember flares, but this time it’s an acute spark of fury.
“The straw that broke the camel’s back was when she met some loser named Donny.” Karla’s words thicken with something that resembles sorrow mixed with anger. “Anabsolutely disgusting deadbeat who was unfortunately blessed with good looks and smooth-talking skills that, of course, won your mother over and enticed her to move him right in with the both of you.”
My heart jumps in my chest, beating fast and warning me of something ugly headed my way. “Well…where is he? What happened to him?” I ask, nervously spinning my mug in my hands.
“He’s dead.” She says the words without preamble or ceremony, and my breath leaves my lungs and my overactive heart relaxes slightly before she says the next part. “Your mother killed him.”
My body goes numb except for my insides, which seem to desperately work to bring feeling back. “Th-that’s why she was in jail?” I ask, and all of a sudden, I’m straightening on my stool, gazing around out the windows and looking for Wolf. I just want to see him in this moment, to know he can be at my side at a second’s notice.
Karla nods, and a tear breaks free from one of her blue eyes. This time I place an arm around her shoulders. “One night, there was a thunderstorm…”
I close my eyes, knowing she’s about to show me a smoking gun. For once just the wordthunderstormseems to trigger me, but not enough to make me shut down and curl into myself. Something stronger inside of me wants to hear the rest of the story, so it keeps me coherent.
“It was the middle of the night,” Karla continues. “Your mother thought she heard a scream between bouts of thunder. I don’t know if she was genuinely concerned for you, or if she just noticed this Donny guy was missing from her bed, but anyway…” She straightens up and rolls her shoulders as if trying to shake off the toxic sentiments and focus on the facts. “She got up and went to your room, and when she opened the door she foundthat sleaze, hovering over you in your bed. She couldn’t see much, but one lightning flash and she could see he had a hand clamped over your mouth and your eyes were open. The part that haunts me most about the story your grandmother told me is the absolute terror your mom saw in your eyes in that single flash.” Karla’s voice starts to break apart, and she brings her fist to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut.
I’m still stunned, except the walls of my chest squeeze inward. tight and hard, as if they’re trying to shield my heart.
“She ran back to her bedroom, and I’m not sure how clear she was thinking, if she was thinking at all,” she continues. “I’m sure she was at least half high. But she apparently knew where that piece of scum kept his gun. And she was running back to your room when he met her in the hallway. I’m not sure what he was saying to her, probably telling her it wasn’t what she thought she saw, but it didn’t matter. She emptied whatever was left in the clip right into his chest at point blank range.”
“Oh my God… Did he… What did he do to me?” I still feel no signs of tears, but I’ve started to shake. All over. Full-on tremors rack my hands all the way up my arms.
“No one knows for certain. Your mother only saw what she saw. But you were checked over in the hospital. You were visibly shaken and wouldn’t talk to anyone. They said you appeared slightly malnourished and definitely in shock, but otherwise they didn’t see anything noteworthy. The authorities guessed that your mom got to you just in time.”
Her eyes are red and wet now. “The neighbors heard the gunshots and called the police, and your mother was arrested. She told your grandmother everything when she came to visit her. If you ask me, killing that son of a bitch where he stood was the one selfless thing your mother ever did for you, but your grandmother wasn’t so quick to forgive. She informed your mother right there in the jail that she was petitioning for custodyof you and that she’d be lucky to ever see you again. I’ve never held that against your grandma. But I do think that’s what made your mom give up on ever getting her life together. Because she was found in her cell a few months later with her bed sheets around her neck.
“As for the remainder of your life, your grandparents took you home and loved you like there was no limit. Like the cows were never coming home and no fat lady would ever sing. Of course you know that.” Karla cracks a small, bittersweet smile. “But what I’m not sure you do know is from then on, anytime there was a thunderstorm, you would get terrified. You’d cry to the point of losing your breath. If you were lucky enough to fall asleep, you’d wake yourself up screaming. If one came at night, you’d end up in bed with your grandma. Being with her calmed your tears, but sleep didn’t come until the storm passed.”
I nod through my trembling; I do remember, that never had I slept through a thunderstorm before Wolf.
One question I’ve always had crops up from the crowd of thoughts in my head and raises its hand. “Do you know…” I speak slowly, letting my words come out carefully as I concentrate on keeping myself from falling apart. “Why they never got me help? They never took me to therapy or anything.”
“I think they were afraid of subjecting you to memories that would terrorize you. Your grandmother could tell that your inability to recall much was your own mind protecting you, and she thought she should leave it at that. I really think she thought in a therapist’s office you would be forced to dig those memories up, and they would terrorize you all over again.” Karla presses her lips together, and her shoulders jerk with a sob. “She couldn’t bear making you face that with how little you still were. I guess she thought avoidance was best at that point.”
I nod. My grandparents did everything to make a happy house , and when those dreaded storms came, they dideverything to get me through them so we could go back to our cheerful way of living.
Tears of my own finally spring free as I draw in a steadying breath. “Maybe in hindsight they should’ve taken me to see someone at some later point, but they did good,” My voice wavers.
“They did good,” she repeats before wrapping me in a full hug.
We sit on the stools, arms wrapped tightly around each other, and I let out an occasional sniffle until my insides feel wrung out of all emotion. It feels both cleansing and like I’ve been dragged through hell and left to wither away.
