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Now that I had time to myself again, I’d taken to sitting in Gran’s rocking chair on the back porch, reading my mother’s journal. Maddox still had post-production work to do. So, he was busy most days. I didn’t have anything official to do until we went on a promotional tour for Academy.
When I’d spoken to my agent to tell her no more auditions, she’d been shockingly understanding. She assumed it was a break after a long movie. I hadn’t needed to tell her that it felt permanent. Maybe I’d change my mind. Maybe I wouldn’t. All I knew was that as soon as I’d taken it off the table, I felt free again.
Not that I had any idea what I wanted to do from here. Maddox was right that I was in a position to wait for inspiration to strike.
So, I settled in, even going as far as bringing Maddox to my house in LA to pack up things to take back to Savannah. The first thing I’d grabbed was the picture Maddox had drawn for me in college. It deserved a place of honor in Gran’s house.
But otherwise, the house in LA had felt cold. I’d spent years there alone after my second divorce, and the thought of it made me sick. When I told Maddox I wanted to sell it, he told me to do whatever I wanted. We could get a place in LA for when either of us had to be there for work. I’d gotten a real estate agent the next day to put it on the market. That house was old Josie. I’d get something new when I figured out who I was going forward.
The best part about being in town the rest of the summer was getting to spend more time with Marley and Lila. They drove down to hang out with me and Maddox, and we drove up there. We planned Lila’s wedding, which she and Cole had decided would take place at the Chapel on UGA’s campus next year. It was fitting since that was where they’d met.
And as the last rays set on July, I was finishing up the final pages of my mother’s book with tears in my eyes.
“Josie,” Maddox’s voice called through the house.
“Back here,” I said with a sniffle.
“Is everything okay?” He stepped through the back door and out onto the porch.
I closed the book. “I finished.”
“How was it?”
“Sad,” I said softly. “I need to talk to my mom.”
“Aren’t you having dinner with her tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’m going to go over there now though.”
“Want me to come with?”
I stood and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you, but no. Stay here. I made Gran’s mac and cheese. It’s in the oven on warm.”
He groaned. “You know the way to my heart.”
“Through your stomach,” I said with a laugh.
“Just you.”
We kissed again, and then I headed out the door with the book tucked under my arm. When I arrived back at my mom’s home, I looked at it completely differently than I had all those summers I grew up here. It wasn’t the bright future for my mom. The place she’d escaped her responsibility. The house was a prison. And I had no idea why she’d kept it.
I knocked once on the door and then stepped inside. “Mom?”
“Josie?” My mom stepped out of the kitchen, dressed to the nines, as always, with a martini glass in her hand. “Is everything okay? We’re not supposed to have dinner until tomorrow.”
I didn’t say anything. I just walked across the living room and enveloped my mother in a hug. She made a sound just short of shock before she put her arm around me.
“What’s going on? Are you and Maddox okay? Because you know I will skin him alive if he hurts you.”
“Yes,” I said on a laugh. “We’re great. I just … I finished the journal.” I held it up, so she could see it. “I got to the end.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “Well, took you long enough. I thought you’d read it right away.”
I chuckled. “I was busy. And it was … heavy.”
“Let’s go outside. Do you want a drink?”
“You know what? I really do.”
She smiled. A soft, genuine smile. “That’s my girl.”
She poured me a martini, and we took the drinks out to the pool. We took a seat on the lounge chairs under an umbrella.
“So, you know my whole story.”
“He hit you,” I forced myself to say.
My mother nodded. “Yes.”
“You chose him after Dad wouldn’t take you back, and then he made you suffer for your choice. He hit you for years. And I never knew. How … how did you survive? Why didn’t you leave?”
“You read why.”
“He wouldn’t let you leave.”
“Abuse never starts out with physical pain. It starts out with psychological torture. With destroying your worth and your financial success and everything you know until all you have is him.” Her voice wasn’t weak. It was strong. Even recollecting what she’d gone through with him, she wasn’t that weak person anymore. “And then, when he hits you, you think you deserve it. You made him do these things. If only you’d been more or better or some unattainable thing, then you would have been enough, and he wouldn’t have raised a hand to you.”
