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Mom’s eyes are piercing. “Tell me. How old were you when this all started?” she says through clenched teeth. It’s the voice that I’ve only heard on rare occasions, and I know I’m doomed. She will not stop until she has an answer.
“Sixteen,” I whisper.
She narrows her eyes and cocks her head to one side.
“Try again.” Her voice is chillingly quiet.
Hell. How does she know?
“Christian,” she warns, prompting me.
“Fifteen.”
She closes her eyes like I’ve stabbed her, her hand flying to her mouth as she stifles a sob. When she opens them, they’re filled with pain and unshed tears.
“Mom…” I try to think of something to say to take that pain away. I step toward her and she holds up her hand to stop me.
“Christian. I am so mad at you right now. I suggest you don’t come any closer.”
“How did you know? That I lied,” I ask.
“For heaven’s sake, Christian—I’m your mother,” she snaps and dashes a fallen tear from her cheek.
I feel myself blushing, feeling stupid and slightly piqued at the same time. Only my mom can make me feel this way. My mom. And Ana.
I thought I was a better liar.
“Yes, you should look shamefaced. How long did this go on for? How long did you lie to us, Christian?”
I shrug. I don’t want her to know.
“Tell me!” she insists.
“A few years.”
“Years! Years!” she shouts, making me cringe. She so rarely shouts.
“I can’t believe it. That fucking woman.”
I gasp. I have never heard Grace swear. Ever. It shocks me.
She turns and paces to the window. I stay standing. Paralyzed. Speechless.
Mom just cursed.
“And to think, all the times she’s been here…” Grace groans and puts her head in her hands. I cannot stand by any longer. I step toward her and wrap my arms around her. This is so new to me, holding my mom. I pull her to my chest, and she starts to weep quietly.
“I’ve already thought you dead this week, and now this,” she sobs.
“Mom—it’s not what you think.”
“Don’t even try it, Christian. I heard you, I heard what you said. That she taught you to fuck.”
She’s said it again!
I flinch—this isn’t her. She doesn’t swear. It’s mortifying to think I have something to do with this. The thought of hurting Grace is excruciating. I’d never want to hurt her. She saved me. And all at once I’m overwhelmed by my shame and my remorse.
“I knew something happened when you were fifteen. She was the reason, wasn’t she? The reason you suddenly calmed down, seemed to focus? Oh, Christian. What did she do to you?”
Mom! Why is she overreacting? Do I tell her that Elena brought me under control? I don’t have to tell her how. “Yes,” I murmur.
She groans again. “Oh, Christian. I’ve gotten drunk with that woman, spilled my soul to her so many nights. And to think…”
“My relationship with her has nothing to do with your friendship.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Christian! She abused my trust. She abused my son!” Her voice cracks, and once more she buries her face in her hands.
“Mom—it didn’t feel like that.”
She stands back and swats me around the head, making me duck.
“Words fail me, Christian. Fail me. Where did I go wrong?”
“Mom, this is not your fault.”
“How? How did it start?” She holds her hand up and continues hurriedly. “I don’t want to know that. What will your father say?”
Fuck.
Carrick will go batshit.
Suddenly I’m fifteen again, dreading another of his interminable lectures on personal responsibility and acceptable behavior. Christ, that’s the last thing I want.
“Yes, he’ll be mad as hell,” Mom interjects, correctly interpreting my expression. “We knew something had happened. You changed overnight—and to think it was because you got laid by my best friend.”
Right now, I want the floor to swallow me up.
“Mom—it’s been, it’s done, it’s gone. She did me no harm.”
“Christian, I heard what you said. I heard her cold response. And to think…” She puts her head in her hands once more. Suddenly her eyes fly up to meet mine, and widen in horror.
Fuck. What now?
“No!” she breathes.
“What?”
“Oh no. Tell me it’s not true, because if it is—I’ll find your father’s old pistol and I’ll shoot the bitch.”
Mom!
“What?”
“I know that Elena’s tastes run to the exotic, Christian.”
For the second time this evening, I feel slightly dizzy. Shit. She must not know this.
“It was just sex, Mom,” I mutter quickly—let’s shut that down right now. No way am I exposing my mother to that part of my life.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t want the sordid details, Christian. Because that’s what this is—nasty, sordid, squalid. What kind of woman does that to a fifteen-year-old boy? It’s disgusting. To think of all the confidences I’ve shared with her. Well, you can be sure she’ll never set foot in this house again.” She presses her lips together in determination. “And you should cease all contact with her.”
