Reclaimed (23 page)

There were two spots of color on her cheeks, making her eyes seem even greener. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I really like you.” I hated the way she was looking at me.

“But?” I was having a hard time staying still.

She rushed through her words. “Just not that way.”

“Really?” I asked. “You kiss all your friends like that?”

She looked really uncomfortable. Good. She had no idea what she was doing. I needed everything to lay flat. I needed my mom to be happy and my dad to be proud. I wanted my life back. And none of that was going to happen if she was with Luke. I wouldn’t have it. I had done everything right. Luke didn’t deserve her.

Her mom beat on the window. “In a minute!” Jenna shouted. She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to go. Can we talk about this later?”

I nodded. I had to be careful, and I wasn’t sure I could keep things in perspective if I opened my mouth.

Jenna went inside, shutting me out. Tiny dots of color swam in front of me. It wasn’t going to hold after all.

I usually enjoyed silence. Distance running normally required being alone, just my feet and my thoughts. I loved the quiet of the woods and the stillness of the house at night and the comfortable whisper of rain. But this silence was torture. It left me alone with myself, and right then, I wasn’t someone I enjoyed spending time with. That person hurt people. My mother wasn’t speaking to me, which was fine, because I wasn’t ready to back down either. She had earned at least some of my anger, and she sure wasn’t apologizing for her own behavior, past or present.

But Ian hadn’t deserved what I’d done to him. I’d hurt him—I’d seen it in his eyes.

My grounding was still fresh enough for Mom to enforce. She took away my keys and drove me to work on Wednesday. It wouldn’t last—she couldn’t be inconvenienced for long. Not even the radio could drown out the silence as we rode to town. I slammed the door when I got out just to make sure it would make a noise. It did.

Mops left me alone and let me work. She didn’t mention Mom, and she didn’t lecture me on behavior or responsibility. I loved her for that.

I stayed late at the shop, eating dinner with Mops and then playing cards until nine. After Mops had beaten me twice in a row, I stood up and stretched. “I’d better call Mom.” I hated being dependent on others for a ride. I hated being dependent on others, period.

Mops stacked the cards in the center of the table. “Why don’t you just spend the night? I can make up the couch.”

I shook my head. “That’s okay. I can call Mom.”

Mops sighed and got to her feet. “I’ll take you.” She grabbed her keys and purse, then came to stand right in front of me. Her face was full of worry and care. “You know you can stay with me any time.”

“I know. And thanks.” But as mad as I was at Mom, she needed me.

The house was dark when we pulled up, just a flicker of the TV shining through the living room window. Mops shut off the engine and started to get out.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I told her. She ignored me. I followed her inside.

Mom was curled up on the couch watching a movie. She’d found a new tumbler. “You didn’t have to walk her in,” Mom said, not even looking at Mops.

That did it. I was tired of her being so damn self-centered. The world did not revolve around her and her pain. The rest of us were hurting too, and she was to blame for at least some of that.

“It’s not Mops’s job to chauffeur me around,” I said. “Besides, the Bronco isn’t yours to take. Pops gave it to me.”

“I’m your mother. I can do any damn thing I want.”

“How convenient,” I said. “I think it’s unbelievably selfish that you don’t have anything to do with Mops unless you need something from her.”

“Jenna,” Mops jumped in, “that’s not fair.”

“Fair?” I was really sick of all the dysfunctional adults in my life talking about fair. “She was so wasted when I got home last night that she’d passed out, puke everywhere. I had to clean everything up and put her to bed. Do you know how ridiculously unfair
that
is?”

Mops paled. “Is that true?” she asked Mom.

Mom held up her hand, dismissing her concern. She always reduced everyone else to nothing. “Don’t start. You have no room to talk.”

Mops wasn’t backing down. “You’re right,” she said. “Take it from someone who’s been there.” She lowered her voice. “You know, you’re not the only one who lost Pops.”

Mom’s eyes popped wide as she jumped to her feet and whirled on Mops. “And you think you were the only one who lost Billy? I was just a kid!” She pointed her finger at Mops. “You turned to the bottle and left me to deal with it as best as I could. And I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. Even once you’d stopped drinking, it was all about your sobriety. You were always too busy being too damn selfish. I got pregnant because I was glad someone was finally paying me some attention.”

I stood silently in the middle of the room as years of bitterness shot to the surface.

“Don’t you dare blame that on me,” Mops shouted. “Your daddy was just as drunk as I was, just as absent.”

Mom crossed her arms across her chest, as if she could shield herself from the pain of his absence. “Don’t drag him into this—he’s not here to defend himself.”

He couldn’t defend himself, but he
was
here, in every drink Mom took.

“No,” Mops said, “you are. You always were. Your daddy could do whatever he wanted, but I was always the one you judged.”

“You weren’t there for Daddy.”

Mops looked at Mom. “Maybe your daddy wasn’t there for me,” she said.

But I could tell Mom wasn’t listening. She’d already decided how she felt about Mops, and that wasn’t going to change. Both of them were so intent on making their points that they weren’t willing to try and see the other side. “Daddy started drinking because of you,” she told Mops. “He joined you. And then, when you got sober and he couldn’t, you left.”

“Not couldn’t, Vi--wouldn’t. And what about taking some of the responsibility? He stayed drunk for three days when you told him you were pregnant.” Mops ran her hand across her face. “I did everything I could to help him. But I had to start thinking about myself. I couldn’t stay sober when he was always drinking.”

Mom’s laugh was bitter. “You had to
start
thinking about yourself? That’s
all
you ever thought about.”

And I couldn’t keep sane if I had to stay here and try to patch things together. I loved them both, but I was afraid that, if I sacrificed what I wanted to babysit my mom, I’d resent her forever. Mops did what she thought was best, but Pops never got better. Would he still be here if he had?

“You little hypocrite,” Mops said. Her voice shook with fury. This wasn’t the Mops I knew. “You can’t forgive me for my drinking, but you’re walking down the exact same path I did. And you think you’re better? Don’t you remember the things you said to me? Do you want Jenna to feel the same way about you?”

I couldn’t voice how I felt about Mom. Watching her destroy herself made me scared and helpless and unbelievably angry. Because she had a choice, and she was choosing wrong.

“I’m nothing like you!” Mom shouted. “I don’t show up to her games slurring and tripping over myself. I don’t pass out in public places. I’ve never crashed my car through someone’s house.”

I flinched. That was cruel.

“Do you think I started there?” Mops asked. She sounded as if she had run through all her anger; her voice became soft and sad. Tired. “Do you think I woke up one day a raging alcoholic? I started exactly where you are. You think you’re in control, but that’s a lie. You’re too much like me. If you don’t stop right now, it’s going to be too late. It hasn’t destroyed your life just yet. It hasn’t destroyed your relationship with Jenna. But it will.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Jenna,” Mom said.

How unbelievably naïve. Or blind. And incredibly self-serving. “It has everything to do with me,” I argued. “Who do you think worries about you? Who covers you up when you pass out on the couch? Me. I have to wake up every day and face the fact that my mother is becoming an alcoholic, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t fix this.” The fact that it was completely out of my control was one of the most terrifying things about it. I wanted to make things better more than anything, but Mom was the only one who could. And she was too stubborn to admit it was a problem. “If you keep getting worse, how am I going to be able to go off to college next year? You already screwed up your own life—now you’re screwing up mine.”

Mom was white as she turned back to face Mops. “Are you happy? Now you’ve turned her against me.”

Mops shook her head. “You did that yourself.”

“Get out.” Mom’s voice was quiet and cold; it was the scariest she’d ever sounded, and the most serious. “I want you out of my house.”

Mops squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving without Jenna.”

I blinked in surprise, then felt anger boiling just under my skin. I didn’t want to choose.

“I’m not leaving her,” I said. Eventually, yes. But not while she still needed me.

Mom looked smug. Mops walked toward me, her voice pitched low. “I don’t think staying is a good idea.”

I clenched my jaw. “This is my house. She’s my mother.” Her drinking wasn’t dangerous to me. I needed to be here to protect her from herself. No one else was going to.

Mops put her hand on my arm. “She’s not your responsibility.”

I jerked away. I was tired of everyone telling me that. Of course she was. “I’m not leaving,” I said again.

Mops looked between Mom and me, then sighed. “Don’t let her drive.”

Mom stormed off to her room.

“I’m just going to run home and get a few things,” Mops said. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“You don’t have to stay. She’ll be fine.” I wondered how many times I’d said that over the past few months.

“I’m staying here for you,” Mops said. She reached up and patted my cheek. “Your mom loves you, no matter how she acts. You’re what keeps this family together.”

I watched Mops pull out of the driveway before shutting the front door. If I was the glue, then I’d never be able to escape.

I made sure Mops was settled into the back room and Mom was sound asleep on her side before I went for a run. I pounded across the ground, shaking the solid mass of worry into manageable pieces that rattled around. I ran harder, hoping the pieces would become sand and trickle away completely. But the fight with my mom refused to break into smaller pieces. It twisted and turned, letting me see different angles. The accusations. Desperation. Fear and worry and complete frustration. Even love. I missed the mom she used to be, like how we’d curl up in our PJs and watch cheesy movies. I missed making tents out of blankets and crawling under them together to eat raw cookie dough. I missed all the laughter, but mostly I just missed knowing she was okay. She didn’t seem to miss those things at all.

The crumbling of my family unit should have been enough. But I’d gotten myself into a complete mess with Luke and Ian. That was entirely my fault—I couldn’t shift the blame on anyone else. I should have done things differently, but I hadn’t exactly planned on any of it happening. That wasn’t like me. I was levelheaded and played by the rules. More than anything, I planned my future. And my future didn’t involve love—at least not yet. When I was out of this town and on my own, maybe then. But not before. I didn’t need to get distracted. I needed to get out before I suffocated.

And then Luke came along and made me realize I couldn’t plan everything, that sometimes I had to let things unfold on their own. The surprises, those things that just happened, were some of the best things. Some of the worst too, but if I wanted out, those were risks I would have to take. I didn’t want to keep myself in some fragile bubble until everything was perfect and I could emerge fully formed and ready for life. Because if I did it that way, I’d never get to live. I’d never get out of that bubble. Things weren’t ever going to go exactly as I’d planned—and sometimes that was okay too.

I left my mother behind. I left Ian standing somewhere in the past. Lost and found—I ran to escape all the worries and in the process caught up with the
me
I was supposed to be. And even though I knew that they were still going to be there when I turned around and headed back, it was enough that, for the moment at least, I was alone.

By the time I hit mile two, my brain had burrowed underneath all that mess and found the quiet stillness that I loved so much. My breath was rhythmic and soothing, and my mind settled down as my body flew over the ground, through the trees, and then out across an open pasture. I thundered across a wooden bridge and back into the woods. I leapt over a log that lay across the path and felt some of me fall away. There was nothing like having a great run. My legs and lungs felt strong; I could run all day. Running made me invincible.

I was surprised to see that my feet had taken me to the pond. I slipped out of the tall grass and stood next to the water. Silence. Sort of. No screaming or accusations. No anger. Just frogs, bugs, and a slight breeze rippling the grass. It was lovely. I scooped up a handful of rocks and tossed them, one by one, into the pond. I must have thrown in hundreds of rocks over the years. Pops had taught me to skip stones out here, though I was never any good at it. I threw them too hard. And I stuck all the pretty ones in my pockets. Mom was always aggravated when they rattled around in the washer.

“Maybe you’re the vampire.” A familiar voice stabbed the dark, and I jumped. “You’re trespassing,” Luke said, stepping up behind me.

“Shoot me.”

He grinned. “I’m thinking about it.”

I turned away from the pond and looked up into his face. Even in the dark, I could see his worry. I just didn’t know who that worry was for. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I live here,” he reminded me. “You?”

I sighed. “I have no idea. I just went for a run and ended up here.” I walked to the beaten wooden chairs sitting farther up on the bank. They were gray and weathered, and they leaned back just enough to make them comfortable. I folded into one of them.