I looked at him long and deep. Those blue eyes were just like his father’s. But Dylan’s were stronger.
I smiled and rested my hand against his cheek.
What a man Dylan had become. Everything his father wasn’t.
“I talked with the jail psychologist this morning,” he said. “He was able to get me an emergency visit this afternoon. He said Mom isn’t doing well.”
I nodded, and my vision started to blur. My thumb brushed his cheek before falling back into my lap.
“He’s right, sweetheart.” I was barely holding it together. “And there’s something else you need to know about your mom. But before I tell you, I need you to listen to me.”
I gripped his hand tighter.
“I’m fixing this. I’m getting her out. So she’ll have more time. With us.”
His eyes never left mine.
He was so strong. Stronger than any sixteen-year-old should be.
Dylan nodded at me. Giving me permission to finally tell him the truth.
Chapter 29
Dylan
I was sitting in a dirty plastic chair next to my grandma in the jail visitation room. The stench of cigarette smoke and mold swallowed us and clung to my clothes. Across from me sat my mom.
She looked nothing like herself. I knew it was her, of course. The facial features were there. But the once so lively and sparkly person I knew was now nothing more than skin and bones. Her orange jail suit hung off her bony frame. Her collarbones jutted out sharply, and her hands rested limp in her lap. Her hair was wild, dull, and like hay, with strands sticking out at odd angles, like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks. Her cheeks had sunken inward, creating spooky-looking shadows all over her face.
Her eyes stared past me, fixed on nothing. Like she was already gone and only her body was still here. Moving when told. Just a machine without a beating heart that would land in the junkyard soon.
As a teen mom, she always looked so young. People sometimes asked if we were siblings. Now that thought seemed crazy. Mom looked more zombie than human.
I could barely look at her. It was like my heart shattered into a million pieces, then somebody fed the pieces into a grinder so my heart could never be put back together again.
I wanted to scream.
Break things.
Punch a hole in the wall large enough so we could both escape.
But I had to be strong. For her. And as much as it hurt, I couldn’t put into words how much it meant to me to be able to see her again. Talk to her again.
If you wanted to call this talking.
A female correctional officer stood next to her. She was kind enough to hold the phone up to Mom’s ear so she could hear me.
“So, yeah,” I said, leaning forward. “I guess I’m kinda dating, but I’m gonna break up with her.”
I sounded casual. Like this was just another conversation at home before dinner.
“She’s just kinda mean, you know,” I continued. “I heard her make fun of this new girl at school. About her crooked teeth. And you know I don’t like bullies.” I paused, thinking, then shrugged. “She won’t be heartbroken for long, though. She’s the prettiest girl in school. She can have another boyfriend just like that.”
Snapping my fingers, I nodded to myself, as if Mom and I had just come up with this plan together. “So yeah. I’ll break it off.”
My lips curled into a soft smile.
There was a time when Mom would’ve begged me for moments like these. Begged me to talk about school. About football. Soccer. Girls. Back then, she got little more than annoyed shrugs and clipped answers from me. It’s nothing. It’s whatever.
