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Even after my mother’s death, I feel like I need to keep my promise to her. As if breaking it would mean my mom’s presence wasn’t strong enough to outlast her death.
I might not be able to kill Jillian Finch’s asshole husband, but I plan to destroy the asshole threatening Irina.
After I tell her my truth, I expect Irina to want to leave the basement. Instead, she has me show her around. At first, I fall into a cranky silence. Yet, after a few minutes, I start sharing stories about my friends coming over and drinking booze I swiped from my grandma’s house.
As Irina smiles at my stories, the basement stops feeling so much like a prison. I look around and see where I learned to be a member of a crew that would one day rule this town.
IRINA
As the snow falls,we leave behind Eagle’s childhood home. I notice his vile stepfather watching us drive away. I doubt Lloyd understands what he lost by rejecting a boy who only wanted a family and security.
At the Valley Crockpot, I cuddle with Eagle in a back booth. Families sit at other tables, some getting along, others picking at each other.
I consider the three families I had before creating a new one with Eagle. My parents were just going through the motions in life. Steve resented the family we accidentally created while Owen warmed every room he entered. Fiona and I healed each other.
Now, I’m linked to this complicated man. Eagle is powerful, seeming unbreakable at times. He exhales a quiet aggression, easily intimidating lesser people. However, his heart still belongs to the little boy who only wanted to stay safe in his mother’s heart.
After hearing the pain in his voice when he talked about Jillian, I feel like a coward for hiding my pregnancy. He laid himself bare in the basement and asked me to love him in the way he needs.
“This is a picture of Owen,” I say and rest my phone on the table. “It was taken days before the accident.”
Eagle studies the picture, and a smile warms his face. “He looks just like you.”
Nodding, I let myself sink into the old memories I normally keep bottled up deep down inside. I feel my son’s thick brown hair against my fingertips. I remember his favorite red one-piece with the feet. Owen was growing out of it when he died. I bought him a new one for Christmas. I don’t know what became of his gifts after the accident.
“Owen had the silliest laugh,” I say and swipe to a picture with him shoving his face too close to the camera. “He’d make snorting noises.”
Despite my laughter, I hear the pain in my voice. Eagle shifts closer and wraps his strong arm around my shoulders. “I haven’t looked at these pictures in years.”
“Why?”
“I hate to accept he’s gone forever. If I don’t think too hard about Owen, I can pretend he still exists in the world somewhere.”
Eagle watches me, wanting to say something comforting. I’d struggle in the same way when Fiona would cry about how she’d never fall in love or travel the world. Sometimes, there exist no words to soothe a person’s pain.
“I don’t like to remember my mom when she was sick,” he admits. “I feel like a chickenshit, but I can’t look at her pictures from that time. I need to remember her as young and strong.”
