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Oh, what’s that?
Type LOL.
My smile doesn’t care about the need to restrain these feelings. It doesn’t give a damn that texting Jaxson is the last thing I should do.
Across the hall, I hear Mom’s bedroom door open. Her footsteps creak across the floorboards, pausing outside my room. I imagine her kicking the door open, rushing in here.
“What do you think you’re doing? He was my man. I only let him go because it would be a betrayal to your dad, but I always loved him.”
Something new occurs to me. How have I never thought of this before? It’s painful, but I can’t deny the thought. What if Mom and Jaxson flirted, kissed, or slept togetherbeforeDad died overseas? What if Mom gets cagey because of the guilt she feels?
Before I can text Jaxson back, a knock comes at my door.
“Zoey,” Mom whispers. “Are you asleep?”
She knocks gently again. I know what’s happened. It’s the same thing that’s happened several times over the years. Mom had a nightmare about Dad and wants me to comfort her. Shamefully, I think about pretending to be asleep. If I don’t respond, she’ll leave, but I can’t ignore the agony in her voice.
I lock my phone, place it facedown, then click the side button, which turns it completely silent.
“I’m awake, Mom.”
She pushes the door open. She’s thinner than me and looks even more so in her baggy nightgown. Her cheeks seem gaunt as she crosses the room into a patch of moonlight. Her eyes are full of agony. Her short brown bob is damp with sweat.
I stand and pull her into my arms.
“It’s okay, Mom.”
My words are a trigger, causing her to deflate into sobs. She claws onto my back as she cries herself out, then sits on the edge of my bed. I sit next to her.
“It’s not fair, me leaning on you,” she murmurs. “I’m supposed to be the strong one.”
“We both miss him.”
I wipe a tear from my cheek. I always cry when Mom does, both of us sinking into memories of Dad, but these tears have an extra edge. They come from more than grief.
“You haven’t had a nightmare about it in a while,” I murmur, wondering if it has anything to do with Jaxson. I don’t have to wonder for long.
“I think it was seeinghim.”
She puts disgust into the wordhim, and I glance at my phone, wanting to check it, knowing I shouldn’t.
I say nothing. Mom never talks about Jaxson. I can’t risk breaking the spell.
“It brought it all back. The weeks and months and years after your dad passed.”
“When Jaxson used to come by,” I say softly after a long pause.
Mom nods.
“I’m sorry for calling him. I was worried about Axel.”
“Axel is an idiot,” Mom says, “but he’s not dangerous.”
“Still, it worries me having him show up at the house and at your work.”
“I won’t forget my cell phone again. You shouldn’t worry so much.”
“That’s what Dad used to say.”
