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A vision of Joe Longfoot formed in her mind: large, intimidating, with quick, hard eyes, and a mouth twisted into a permanent sneer. Unable to stop herself, she stepped close and gently touched the scar. Tears stung her eyes, picturing Tyler at twelve, defenseless against his own father, who should have protected him, taken care of him…loved him. “That’s awful,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” He took her hand and squeezed gently. “When your mom drops you off on the first day of kindergarten and never comes back, and your dad knocks the crap out of you every time you screw up, you start to wonder if maybe you’re the problem.”
Outraged that he could even think such a thing, she blurted, “Of course you weren’t the problem. They were the problem. You were an innocent victim.”
His pointed look cut her off.
She shook her head. “My situation is different.”
“It’s not. Not one damn bit. I wasted years trying to figure out what I’d done to deserve being abandoned by my mother and knocked around by my dad. Eventually I realized my parents’ issues had nothing to do with me. My mother lit out because she couldn’t take my dad’s temper anymore. She sacrificed me to save herself because I think she figured if she took me and left him with nobody to knock around, he’d come after us. Maybe she was right, but right or wrong, I could have been the best kid in the world and it wouldn’t have changed her decision. Same with Joe. I didn’t turn him into a big, mean son of a bitch. He’d been one before I came along and he stayed one ’til the day he died.”
Her rational, logical side understood his point, but some weak, emotional part of her balked at drawing a parallel between Tyler’s family and her own. There were differences. Big differences. Her mother was gone. Nothing could change that. His might be alive and well, grappling with regret, hoping to reconnect with the son she’d abandoned.
“Your mom…has she, or have you ever…?” She couldn’t get the rest of the question past the lump in her throat.
“No. I haven’t heard from her or seen her since she left.” He said the words quietly. “I’ve never tried to find her.”
“Do you hate her?”
“Hate’s the wrong word. At this point in my life, I can see her situation a little more clearly than I did as a kid. She was only twenty-three, and stuck in a love-hate relationship with a man who was probably going to be the death of her if she stayed put. So she ran. I understand why, but I can’t quite forgive her. She’s never looked me up, and I’m not hard to find considering I’ve always been pretty much right where she left me, so I figure she’s not desperate to reconnect. For me”—he shrugged—“it’s done. I don’t really need a parent anymore.”
“I do.” Admitting it made her understand why she needed to claim some responsibility for the problems with Frank. If she owned part of the problem, she could own part of the solution. Otherwise, Frank controlled everything, and he might never reach out to her.
She looked up at the moon and blinked fast. “Stupid, I know.” From the corner of her eye, she caught his sympathetic look and her heart twisted. “I never admitted this to anyone, but the main reason I came home to open my practice was because I thought I could fix things between Frank and me. I told myself he needed me now, because of the diabetes. I’d help him, and in doing so, prove I’m no longer an unwanted responsibility my mom left behind when she died. He’d be grateful, admire the grown-up me, and want us to be a real family—”
“He might.”
“Yeah, right. He hates when I come around, tells me I’m lecturing him when I try to help.”
“Yeah, but he’s always there, isn’t he?”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
“People can change. You’ve shown him what’s at stake by coming back. Maybe now it’s time to back off and see whether he can get his act together and make the changes?”
“I should go check on him, test his glucose.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“He could be—”
Tyler’s unwavering stare stilled her tongue. “Frank’s okay. He had a bite to eat and then we had a little heart-to-heart about his options. He needs some time alone to think things over and decide what he wants to do.”
“I don’t understand. His options?”
“I told him I’d keep those between us. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know.”
“This is…” At a loss, she thumped her tire with the sole of her flip-flop. “You expect me to just…get in my car and drive away?”
“You’re going to stop by tomorrow evening anyway, right? He told me you bring groceries on Saturdays.”
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“Yes, but—”
“Tomorrow’s soon enough. What are you doing afterward?”
“Excuse me?”
