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“Of course.”
I say my thanks and I’m across town and parking in my mother’s drive in no time.
I’m not sure if I should let myself in or knock. It doesn’t feel like home anymore, not since the day I was kidnapped. I go to knock when the door opens, and I take a step back in shock.
My mother looks terrible. Her hair hangs limply around her shoulders and the dark bags under her eyes are something I’ve never seen on my mother. She’s the embodiment of grief and I don’t think twice. I step inside and wrap her in my arms. She breaks down and I manage to get her farther inside and close the door. She wouldn’t want the neighbours to see her like this.
Keeping my arm around her, I lead her into the living room and have to stop myself from gasping. My parents’ house has always been immaculate.
“Momma, how long have you been living like this?”
I sit her down on the couch and drape the nearest throw around her shoulders.
“Since your aunt left. I haven’t been able to find the strength to do it myself.”
She wasn’t asking me to help her with a chore, she asked me to help her. All the friction and bad blood between us fades away and I roll my sleeves up.
“First, I’m going to fix you something to eat and then you’re going to get some sleep. I’m not leaving till you’ve got some colour back in your cheeks.”
Silently, she nods, and I manage to find enough ingredients to make her a sandwich. I’m surprised she has fresh bread in the house. Someone must be dropping off groceries.
While she eats, I make a start clearing the dirty dishes and days’ old coffee mugs from the living room. I soak them in the sink and quickly run the vacuum so it doesn’t disturb her while she tries to get some sleep.
Once that’s done, she’s managed to eat half of her sandwich and I take that as a win.
“If you shower before you lie down, you’ll feel even better,” I coax, and she nods again.
I listen to the water run while I run the duster over the frames hanging in the hall. There’s not much laundry to get through so I add the throws to freshen them up. I’m about to start washing the dishes when I hear the bathroom door open and close and then her light footsteps treading the floorboards to her room. While she sleeps, I get through the laundry and the dishes. I even manage to pull out the weeds in her rose beds out front. Inside, I make sure all the curtains are open and I open most of the windows for the fresh air to circulate.
I find myself at a loose end while I wait for the dryer to finish its cycle and I quietly creep upstairs and open my old bedroom door.
I’m not ready to see everything has been packed into boxes. Even my bed has been stripped and my curtains taken down. The walls have been painted a clinical white. There is nothing left to say this was my room for my entire childhood.
“Your father thought it would help us, not having you around.”
I jump at her quiet voice and turn to see she’s now looking a lot better.
“You act like I left town.”
“It felt like it.”
“But Dad didn’t want me around if I weren’t living the way he saw fit.”
“It wasn’t only that, Holly. We heard things. We heard some disturbing things quite frankly.” Her eyes drop to my hands, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide them. “Every day we thought if what we heard was true, you’d come home and need us. But you didn’t. We heard you had taken up with one of the Lost Souls and we figured you didn’t need us anymore.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and ask, “What did you hear?”
“Rumours, ones we prayed weren’t true.”
Again, her eyes fall on my chest, trying to find my hands tucked under my armpits.
“What did you hear, Momma?”
“That you got hurt, and the bikers were looking after you. Is that true?”
I nod. It’s the only thing I can do because for the life of me, I can’t speak. There’s no way I can go over every detail—not for my sanity—and I don’t want her living with the memories.
“It feels like a lifetime ago now. I’m fine. You don’t have to worry,” I assure her.
