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Maybe they’re available for lessons. Mom could use some of that.
My rage pierces through my calm demeanor. She’d never suspect what I’m going through being this close to her. The way my knife burns in my pocket, aching to make her throat its home. But every artist needs to be patient. And so will I. She will meet the end, and it will be by my hand.
“I can never tell with these things.” She laughs, looking at me.
My heart barely even budges. You’d think your mother talking to you after knowing she gave you up like trash would spark something emotional. But not for me. All I want is to see her dead.
Well, I guess that’s an emotion too.
Inwardly, I smirk.
“You just squeeze.” I strut over, my arm almost touching her shoulder.
I pick up a plum and demonstrate, imagining it’s her throat instead. I grip it so hard it bursts.
Oops.
She inhales and clears her throat. “Well, that is one way to tell for sure.”
I bite into it and grin. “Sweet.”
She laughs nervously and throws some into a clear plastic bag. “Thanks for your help, young man.”
“No worries. My mother always taught me to be helpful in every way that I can.”
She pinches her mouth and throws her fruit into her shopping cart. “I’ve always taught my boys the same. All three of them are men I can be proud of. I’m sure your mother is too.”
“Wouldn’t know.” I shrug, eyeing her intensely. “She’s been dead for a while.”
“Oh.” Her face crumples. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her compassion shines through as she places her hand on top of mine, and it burns. “As a mother myself, I know that your mom is veryproud of you.”
“Wouldn’t count on it. I was never perfect. And she never let me forget it.”
Her chest rises with a ragged breath. “Well, I’m sure she tried her best.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, sometimes our best is simply not good enough.”
She sighs. “You’re right. It’s not. Anyway, thanks again for your help.”
“You bet, ma’am. See ya around.”
And I mean that literally.
I’ll be coming for her.
Real soon.
I follow her to the park where she meets with Sophia and Mabel, Sophia’s babysitter. She doesn’t stay long, though, kissing Sophia goodbye ten minutes later and leaving the little girl alone with Mabel.
Instead of following Mother, I stay back and watch Sophia. I can’t explain why.
How would my mother feel if she were to disappear? If her precious granddaughter was taken? I bet it’d hurt. Would she cry for her the way she never did for me?
A pang hits the center of my chest, but I push it away.
It doesn’t matter, though. I’d never take the girl. I don’t hurt children. No matter who their parents are.
The little girl laughs as she runs with her friend, chasing a soccer ball. I stare at her for long seconds, envying that. I’ve never laughed like that before.
