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I dropped my gaze to the bucket and held on tightly to the handle of the mop. “Holy shit. That’s my mom.”
“I know.” He reached to lay a hand on my shoulder, the way Grampa used to. “You don’t have to see her if you don’t want. I’ll tell them you’re not interested.”
Harry was a good guy. Always looking out for me.
But I shook my head. “No, I’m good. I’ll see what she wants.”
The curiosity would kill me if I didn’t.
I left the mop and bucket in the bathroom and headed through the halls to the visitor center. I’d never been in there before, but I knew exactly where it was, and when I crossed the threshold into a crowded room, guarded by several officers at every entrance, I spotted her right away.
Mom.
She was thinner than I remembered, and her hair was as dry as straw, piled on top of her head in a sloppy bun. Her eyes were fixed on the table in front of her, her hands fidgeting like crazy. She was nervous or doped up—hell, probably both—and I wasn’t sure that I cared anymore to know what she wanted. Maybe I’d be better off leaving her stranded until she got the hint and left.
Honestly, I probably would be.
But I approached anyway.
Slowly, I walked toward her, trying to think of something to say, when she looked up at me, startled and looking as though she’d seen a ghost.
From her perspective, that was probably exactly what it was like.
“Soldier?”
“Mom.”
She dropped her gaze to my hands and said, “Are you allowed to be in here without handcuffs?”
I stepped over the bench across from her and sat, staring at her with narrowed eyes. “Do you think Ineedto be in cuffs?”
“Well, what if you hurt someone?”
I snickered and looked off toward the window, secured by chain links and a lone spiderweb. “I’m not a psychopathic killer, Mom. Frankly, if I were, they probably wouldn’t let me in here at all.”
“Some people think you are.”
My eyes met hers then for the first time in … God, I didn’t even know how long. “Oh, yeah? Is that whatyouthink?”
She shrugged, not a hint of regret on her bony, sallow face. “I haven’t decided yet.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I raked a hand through my hair. It was getting longer. I’d have to start pulling it back if I didn’t want to get it cut, and I wasn’t sure I did. It was nice to have a change for once. It was nice to become a new version of myself … or someone else entirely.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” My voice sounded exhausted to my ears. Like the two minutes in her presence had already been too much.
She seemed taken aback by the question. “I’m not allowed to see my son?”
“Nobodysaid you’re not allowed. But considering you haven’t come to see me in fuckingyears…” I lifted my hands in a shrug. “I mean, sorry, but yougottaunderstand why I’m a little confused.”
She blew outa breath, then nodded. “I guess maybe I’ve missed you. And maybe I’ve been a little nervous about seeing you like this … in here.”
It was a shit excuse, but I guessed it was also a valid one. I’d never visited someone in prison before, and I supposed if I hadn’t already been here, I would’ve been a little nervous about it too. But I wouldn’t have let six fucking years go by without seeing my only kid—I knew that for certain—and it was for that reason I remained void of emotion as I stared across the table at her.
“So, this is it.” She looked around the visitor center. “This is where you’ve been this whole time.”
“Yep.”
“What do you do here?”
