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“The left. It’s a tan house with dark brown shutters. Thank you, and please thank him again. I hope he’s okay.”
“Your son was right. He’s a superhero. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine.” I try to convince her and myself. “Now, Joey says you got hit pretty hard. Can I take a look?”
“I’m okay.”
“I promised Joey I’d make sure you were okay. Can you show me where he hit you?”
She stands and reluctantly pulls up her shirt to reveal multiple rays of colors from black, deep purple, red, and yellow. There’s barely any healthy-colored flesh. It’s as if she has another shirt on under her shirt.
“Does it hurt to breathe?”
“No.” She drops her shirt back down. “It’s sore. That’s all.”
“Well, if you get any sharp pains or it becomes difficult to breathe, you need to let me know.”
“I will.”
“Now, let’s talk about where you want to go from here…”
Chapter 33
I try to get comfortable in the plastic chair, but it’s fucking tough. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically.
After the drop-off, I sat in the emergency room all night.
The inmates walk into the room. I find Mom’s bright eyes. Lix got her crystal-clear blue color. They’re just as unique. Yet there’s nothing clear about them, not when it comes to him or Mom. She’s been a riddle to me since I was a kid. Ya know when shit starts to make sense in your immature brain when you begin to piece things together and figure out the puzzle?
Mom is one of the strongest women I know, except for when it came to my father. I never understood it. How can one woman stand so proud, be there like a rock for her children, and bend so easily by the hand of one man?
She smiles. I return the gesture feeling the tug on my cut. Her smile dithers as she lowers into the chair across from me, concern sweeping her face.
“What happened to you?”
“Work casualty,” I say. I hate lying to her. “I was cutting a piece of wood, and it kicked back and hit me in the face. Thankfully, a plastic surgeon was on call last night. He glued it up and said it shouldn’t leave too much of a scar.”
“You didn’t have to come.” Her shoulders drop. Her hand reaches out. Then she pulls back. Touching is prohibited during visits. “You should’ve gone home and rested.”
“Aw.” I wave. “I’m okay. Really,” I add, but I don’t think she’s buying it.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t a few inches higher. You could’ve lost an eye. Oh, Cole. You have to be more careful.”
“I am, Mom.”
“Did you have safety glasses on?”
“Mom.” I tilt my head, not about to argue with her about workplace safety. That’d mean more lying. “I’m fine. Now, how are you?”
She inspects the cut on my face for a few seconds longer. “I’m good. How’s Felix doing?”
“Didn’t you see him last week?” She always asks about Lix. Never Brett. He’s the eldest. They have a closer relationship. He got her for twelve years. Lix only got eight. Me, I was granted ten. For the most part, I always felt our relationship was solid.
I’m the middle child—the mediator. So Mom rarely had a beef with me.
“Yeah, but I worry about him.”
“I get it. He’s the baby. We all worry about him, but he’s holding his own. He’s a good kid, Mom.” I smile, dismissing the painful strain on my cut. “Smart and stupid but honest and honorable,” I say, getting a laugh out of her.
“And you, my middle child who loved I spy. I remember we’d go to the grocery store, and you’d play that game down every aisle. You were my observant and inquisitive child, not just the middle one.” She clasps her hands together on the table, thumbs rubbing each other. She does it all the time. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. She’s done it since the first time I came to see her in jail when I was ten. It’s as if she’s holding all her feelings inside those anxious thumbs. “How’s that honorable social worker, Harper, doing? Is she responsible for putting that beautiful smile on my middle child’s face?”
