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Talen gazed at her with a small smile but his eyes were sad as he said, “You can’t be a dad.”
“No, I can’t,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, buddy.”
“It’s okay,” he said and shouldered his pack to go to his room. He paused at the hallway and turned around, his face scrunched in thought. “Mama, isn’t there someone out there for us? I know I’d have to share you but Kenny said the best part about having a dad is being able to do ‘guy stuff’ together, like fishing and hunting and farting because that’s what guys do.”
“I can do all those things. Even...fart.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that. But she was desperate. She felt her son slipping away from her and it was happening faster than she could imagine it ever would. “I’m a really good hunter and fisher.”
Talen nodded but she could tell by his expression he didn’t feel she understood his point. Oh, she understood. But it hurt like hell. All this time she’d been shielding her son from temporary father figures only to find that he was hoping she’d find him one eventually. She didn’t know how to make him understand that she wasn’t interested in finding a man to fulfill the role of daddy. She’d become a little too set in her ways to allow another person’s input, particularly when it came to her son. “If you change your mind, I’d be more than happy to go with you,” she said. “Just say the word and I’m there.”
Talen’s disappointment cut at her heart as he turned and said, “Thanks, Mom,” before disappearing into his room.
Mom? Talen always called her Mama.
Oh, that hurt even worse.
Miranda dropped her head into her hands. Maybe it was time to figure things out in her head. If only she knew where to start...
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MIRANDA CHICKENED OUT twice before actually reaching her parents’ house, but when she finally pulled into the driveway she knew there was no turning around. She needed to find a way to reach her mother before it was too late for them both. The problem? Miranda had no idea how to speak to her mother—she never had.
Miranda knocked and pushed open the front door, grunting a little as it hit resistance. She put her shoulder against the door and finally pushed aside whatever had been blocking it. She stepped into the mudroom—or what used to be the mudroom—and tried not to cry out in dismay and horror. Piles of papers and books, magazines, clothes, boxes and bags littered the tiny room so that the door barely had clearance. She checked behind the door to see what had been placed there and found another box filled to the top with more stuff. “Who’s there?” her mother’s voice called with an edge of panic from the other room. “Zed, is that you?”
“No, Mom, it’s me, Miranda. Where are you?”
“In the kitchen.”
Miranda eyed the tiny path winding its way through the mess and she swallowed her aversion to going deeper into this hell so she could try to talk some sense into her mother.
“What are you doing here?” her mother asked, a deep frown creasing her forehead.
Miranda ignored the annoyance in her mother’s voice and tried to find a chair to sit on, but there simply wasn’t a place that wasn’t covered with a towering pile. Even worse was the smell. Miranda covered her nose, grimacing. “Mom...what is that smell? Something is rotten in here.” Somewhere.
Jennelle stiffened. “I don’t smell anything.”
“Then your nose must be broken. Something is plainly rotting to death in this mess.” She cringed at the word mess, knowing it would likely set her mother off. And she wasn’t wrong.
“As much as I love these visits where you insult me, was there anything else you needed, Miranda? Perhaps you’re planning to sic the official authority on house tidiness on me again? That was an unexpected and unwarranted shock.”
“A shock?” Miranda gestured wildly at the clutter. “Really?” She supposed all semblance of tact was out the window now. “Mother, this is getting ridiculous. I couldn’t even get through the front door!”
“Seems you made it in just fine,” her mother said in a wintry tone, adding under her breath, “More’s the pity.”
“Oh, come on, Mother. Can’t we have a decent conversation for once? I’m worried about you.”
“You worry about things that aren’t your concern. I am not in any danger. I like my things and I don’t want anyone poking their nose into my business.”
