Chasing Peace (24 page)

His hips bounce and might have unseated me, except he’s
still hard within me. I can feel him as my muscles clench and throb in
titillating agony. I shake the hair from my face as Boston’s fingers clamp onto
my hips, lifting me and then letting go before lifting me again. I slam down
onto him, my body sizzling with thousands of tiny tremors. Tucking my feet
under my butt, I lift myself this time

“Yes,” he groans as I drop. “That’s it.”

Settling into a cadence, heat licks at my skin, flame pools
low in my belly. I’m fragmented, buffeted by hot winds, in control, yet not as
I begin to wander, losing focus. Boston’s hips rise to meet me, pounding me
from below, blasting me as I slam down on him. We’re frantic, urgent with a
pervasive need.

Our motions jerky and reckless, we ignite, meeting this
challenge together, dissolving into cinder, our energy pouring into one
another.

I collapse, falling into Boston, going limp as I drift,
floating on storm clouds with thunder roaring in my ears and lighting sending
the occasional jag through my slack and flaccid body. I jerk with overwhelming
sensation. I can feel him pulse where he impales me, my muscles clenching in
response. We throb together, floating on a tide of sensation until the rawness
calms and our bodies are our own again.

I drop my phone in disgust after checking for about the
hundredth time. Why am I even here? Why did I think circumstances might change?
Of course my mother’s late. She has never valued another person’s time. I
wonder why I ever let myself believe this time might be different. Of course
there’s always the possibility she won’t show. I know my mother. I’ve dealt
with this for years.

Looking around the old-fashioned, greasy and nearly-full
diner, I see a whole lot of people who look like they’ve no where to go. This
is not my idea of a comfortable place to enjoy coffee. It screams of
desperation.

My mother picked it. She wants to meet and I’m hoping to
convince her to come to the trial, although I know it might be better if I don’t
ask. She’s been clean since Emma died. At least I think she’s been clean. I’ve
never seen her sober this long without being in jail where she didn’t have any
other option.

Checking my phone one last time and just about ready to call
it quits I see her heading my way. My heart jumps. She hasn’t let me down.
Maybe things will be different now. As she wends her way through the others
seated at tables much like my own, I see she has coffee, two cups. While I’d
like to think one is for me, I’m pretty sure they’re both for her. When she
doesn’t drink booze, she drinks coffee. It’s like the coffee is a substitute
drug. Fortunately I got my own.

She looks good. She’s not drunk or hung-over, which in my
mother’s case is another word for still drunk, but not quite drunk enough. Don’t
get me wrong. I know that alcoholism is a disease. I still love my mother and I
understand. Telling an alcoholic not to drink is like telling a schizophrenic
the voices aren’t real. I know it’s much more complicated than that, but I’m
the one who has to live with it. I’m the one chronically disappointed. I’m the
one who has to pick up the pieces.

Every time she’s arrested, she acts like the victim. It’s as
if I have to jump, cleaning up after her so she doesn’t lose everything yet
again. She doesn’t even see that I’m a victim too, that she makes me a victim
every time she drinks and especially when she drinks and drives.

“Hi Sterling. You look good, happy.”

“You look good too mom.” Her skin is smooth and clear rather
than flaky. She looks older than forty, but healthy. It’s a good sign.

“How’s school?”

“I’m doing fine. I’ve taken time off for the trial and I’ve
done my work and two tests in advance so I won’t miss much.”

“You’ll still miss out. I’ve learned the hard way. You can’t
make up for lost time.”

“Class work will be fine and some of my best friends will be
at the trial so I’ll be okay.”

She looks at her coffee cups. I’m right even when I don’t
want to be. They’re both for her. I’d like my mother to surprise me sometime,
and then she does.

“I’ll be at the trial tomorrow.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. I should expect her to be there,
but I’ve learned to expect nothing from my mother beyond disappointment.

“That’s great mom. Emma really needs all the support we can
give her.”

“I’m here to support you Sterling. Emma doesn’t need me. She’s
never needed me. She had you.”

“Oh mom, of course she needed you. I filled in, but I’m not
her mother. I could only do so much.”

“Thanks Sterling. That’s nice of you. I know I’ve let you
down. I know I haven’t been there.”

“Thanks mom.” I smile, feeling a small bubble of warmth
growing in my chest. It’s only a small froth of effervescence. There’s still
time for disappointment, but for now, I know she wants to make an effort.

“I want to apologize too,” she continues

“That’s okay mom. I know alcoholism has its claws in you. I
know you mean well, but you can’t always control your decisions, your actions.”

“Still, I’m sorry I’ve let you down. I’m sorry I wasn’t
there for you. We had some good times, but I know I missed out on so many more.”

“I had Lyla.”

“And Emma had you. I thank God for that.”

“But in the end I let her down mom.”

“No you didn’t Sterling. That’s all on me.” She pounded her
chest with a fist as if raging against the truth might make everything better. “I
abandoned her that night, because I couldn’t handle having a baby. I couldn’t
handle that she’d grown to a toddler and I never saw it.”

“I sent you photos mom.”

“Yes and I cherished them, but they showed the result of who
she’d become, not the process of getting there.”

“I suppose.” I felt bad now that I’d even sent them. “I
could have brought her to visit.”

“You know that’s no place for a baby Sterling.” She
unclenched her fists and took a calm fortifying sip of coffee. “Anyway, I’m
sorry I abandoned her and I’m sorry I abandoned you. I’m sorry that I neglected
my precious little girls while looking at life through the bottom of a bottle.”

“You’re forgiven mom. I’d like to believe that this is a
turning point, but you know it’ll take more than just today, more than just
asking for forgiveness, right?”

“I know. I have a lot to make up for.”

“Maybe I can understand it just a little bit.”

“I doubt it.” She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders, a
white line forming around her lips.

“I’m seeing someone mom.”

“I’m so happy for you Sterling.” She reached across the
table and squeezed my hand. It felt like a mother daughter relationship should
feel. At least I think it did.

“Well we had some trouble a few weeks back,” I continue, “and
I found vodka numbed the pain.”

“Oh no Sterling, please don’t do that. The numbness doesn’t
last and then you’re left chasing peace and never finding it.”

“I saw that after only a few days, so I stopped. It helped
that your example showed where I might be going.” I chuckle, not sure if I’m
laughing or holding back a sob.

She laughed a dry bark of a sound. “Well I’m glad I’ve
taught you something, however unintended.”

“I’ve learned a lot from you mom.”

“Yeah, a lot of what not to do.”

“You’ve taught me that running doesn’t work. I learned to
stay.”

“Thank God for that, but don’t feel like you always have to
stay. Sometimes you need to run to protect yourself.”

“I tried that mom. It’s when I tried drinking.”

“Is he good to you?”

“Boston is the best. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

“Then you don’t need to run, but watch out for the ones who
aren’t good and be prepared.”

“Are you trying to tell me something Mom?”

“I’m trying to tell you that when you’re under attack you
need to run. When you run, you survive.”

“We’re not talking about attack like war here are we? You
mean running from our personal demons, right?”

“Sometimes they’re one and the same Sterling.”

“Okay.” I didn’t really get it beyond the fact that she’s
running from something.

“I have to go now.”

I’m not sure where she has to go. She doesn’t have a job or
obligations beyond meetings and curfew at the halfway house, which is hours
away yet. Maybe she’s running even now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She has her remaining cup of coffee in hand and she lifts it
toward me as if she’s going to make a toast. She backs away from the table. I
curl the corner of my lip as I picture her toasting to good health and happy endings
and unicorns and rainbows.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” she says with a blank look on her face.
She looks lost like she no longer knows what’s happening now, let alone tomorrow.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Just remember Sterling, sometimes you have to run.” She
turned and walked away, not running, but not staying either.

I frown wondering what I said or what came into her mind. I
can only imagine my mother is struggling with demons and I pray that she’ll
find peace.

* * *

Today must me the day for coffee shops. It’s freezing, with
small snowflakes floating about, but not really adding to the snow already on
the ground. Still, it’ll be a white Christmas this year.

As I trudge through the cold I fantasize about the heat that’ll
be radiating from the fieldstone fireplace at the sandwich shop. The large
rounded stones in peach and burgundy and tan and chocolate will be warmed by
flickering orange and blue flames.

Bundled for warmth, I never felt the vibrations coming from
my phone. I barely heard the ring.

“Hello?”

“Detective Morgan calling for Sterling Adams.”

“I’m Sterling.” I frown, my eyebrows pulling together and
creating furrows above my nose.

“We have a potential suspect in your case and I’d like to
bring by some photos so you can take a look. I’m coming to campus. Where can I
find you?”

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I didn’t see who
drugged me and I remember almost nothing from that evening.”

“You might be surprised by how much victims remember. Will
you take a look at the photos?” he asked and continued without stopping. “We’ve
found other victims and you might be able to help them too.”

“I suppose.” I fume at his tactics, playing on my sense of
responsibility. “I’m meeting some friends at the sandwich shop on the corner of
Wright and sixth. Can you meet me there?”

“See you in a few minutes.”

I click off my phone, shoving it into my pocket with jerky
frustrated movements. I should want to help find this creep, but I’m selfish,
my focus on Emma right now.

At the sandwich shop, I find an empty table near the
fireplace and shrug out of my jacket letting the heat sink in as I watch the
door. Annie and Boston arrived together, laughing, her cheeks rosy, her nose
kissed with cold. Boston holds the door for her, smiling down into her upturned
face. It’s good that my two favorite people in this world like each other.

Boston sees me waving and smiles in my direction. It’s a
different smile than he shared with Annie. It’s warm and intimate like he has a
secret and I’m the only one he’s told. My cheeks flush as I smile back, warm
now and it has nothing to do with the fire.

“Hi gorgeous, mind if we join you?” He leans into me and
kisses my temple, his lips clinging, breath floating across my cheek. I laugh
instead of answering, embarrassed, but also flattered.

Pulling out the chair across the square table for Annie,
Boston makes sure she’s seated before moving one of the side chairs to the corner
where he can sit, closer to me.

“What? I showered this morning.”

I burst out laughing at Annie’s indignant tone.

“I’m just staking my claim,” he says, leaning back, one
ankle resting on the other knee, his arm draped on the back of my chair.

“A detective’s meeting me here.” It popped out of my mouth,
changing the subject as quickly as an interception in a football game.

Annie looked puzzled for a moment. “About Emma?”

“No, about the guy who drugged me. They want me to look at
some photos.” Boston’s fingers tracing back and forth across my shoulder
stopped stroking. They clutched with question.

“You were drugged?” He meets my eyes.

“Yeah, but this feels like a distraction. I’ve been
concentrating on Emma, making peace with all that’s happened and now I have
something else to deal with. To tell the truth, I’d almost forgotten.”

Boston waved his arm and my eyes zeroed in on the door. He
looked like a detective. His long coat lent credence to his occupation, but his
manner, commanding and brusque told even more of the story.

He moved fast in our direction, skirting chairs, tables and
other students, his path not direct, but his intent clear.

“Sterling Adams?”

“Yes?” I gulp.

“Detective Morgan. We talked a few minutes ago. Can you look
at pictures now?”

“Yes.” I stutter as if in trouble, my eyes glued to the
bristle of his moustache exactly the width of his lips.

He steps between me and the fire, blocking the heat. He
looks at Boston, one eyebrow raised. “Would you mind stepping back? We don’t
want her identification influenced by anyone else.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Detective Morgan waited until Boston stood across the table,
hands on the back of Annie’s chair before handing me a tablet. I paged through
three photos shaking my head no. “I didn’t see who did it. I don’t even know
what happened.”

“Please look at them all.” His stern voice set me back to
work paging through five more photos.

“Sorry. I don’t recognize anyone.”

“You’re sure?”

My shoulders slump as I hand back the tablet. “I’m sure.” It’s
disheartening to believe that someone could do this and I’m no help at all.

“Do you want us to look?” Boston asks. “We were both there
that night,”

“Did you fill out witness statements?”

“I did,” Annie raised her hand as if identifying herself in
class.

“Have a seat sir.”

Failure hung about me like fog as Boston returned to the
chair next to mine. “Don’t worry about it,” he said squeezing my knee.

Detective Morgan handed Annie the tablet. “We were together
all night until she disappeared,” she said, flicking through the photos, her
focus indicating her intent to identify the guy.

“Him!”

“You saw him put something in her drink?”

“Actually, he came up behind and wrapped his arms around
her. He sloshed her drink and splattered our feet.”

“Okay. Keep looking.” The detective pulled out a small
notebook and began writing. “Recognize anyone else?”

Annie handed the tablet back. “No, just him.”

“Okay.” He turned to Boston. “You weren’t there?”

“I attended the party, but didn’t see Sterling until after …
after she was … ahh ... drugged. Annie found me when she disappeared.”

“Can you take a look too?”

“Sure.”

Boston started to move, but the detective handed him the
tablet, apparently not concerned about my influence. I watched as he paged
through the faces, all now familiar to me, until he stopped. “I saw this guy.”