by Lari Smythe
* * *
I followed my old route along the creek until I was at the back of Jason's house. His Rover wasn't in the driveway so I could be certain he wasn't home. As I crept up the bank, I noticed his mom in her garden. This seemed too important for no preparation, but I had no idea what I would say anyway, so I would have to just give this my best shot—that was all I could do. I gulped, and began a slow walk toward her.
"Excuse me, Mrs. Whitaker," I said.
"Oh, you startled me." She stood from her gardening and brushed herself off. "Where—I mean how—" She glanced toward the driveway. "I didn't hear—you didn't drive?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, I was—hiking—and I saw you. I was wondering if maybe we could talk."
Her gaze slowly dropped to the ground. "Izzy, I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
That was enough for me to retreat, but I reminded myself why I had pushed myself this far. I gulped again. "We both love him and want the best for him doesn't that make it a 'good idea'?"
"Very well."
"You already know that I'm in love with your son, and I'm sure you don't think I have any idea what that means, but you're wrong. Yes, I'm young—maybe not as young as I look—but I know how we—how I feel."
"I'm sure you think you understand your feelings, but there is so much more to love than what you feel, what Jason feels, and yes, I do think you're too young."
What was it Elizabeth said? Right, she already knows that you two are in love. This wasn't the right way to start the conversation. I glanced toward the creek, my escape route. I hadn't realized, but I was backing in that direction.
"You came all this way, I'm willing to hear what you have to say. Do you mind if we sit though, my knees ache after working in the garden?"
"Sure." I glanced over my shoulder. "The patio?"
I followed her around to the back of the house and we sat down across the picnic table from each other. That seemed to magnify our differences, her on one side of the table and me on the opposite.
"Izzy," Jason's mom began, "you're a sweet girl—"
"Why don't we be honest? You think I'm a disturbed, possibly psychotic kid that's going to drag your son down."
She slumped forward, but not before I saw the redness in her face.
"I accept that. Given what's happened since I came into your lives I don't know how you could think anything else."
She glanced up momentarily. "I'm sorry, but—"
"You don't have to be sorry, you're his mother, you're supposed to protect him. I respect that." I glanced toward the creek again, but plowed ahead. "I can't tell you about my birth parents or how I was raised—at least for that part of my life. As I'm sure you already know, I've only been with the Faulkners for a few years, but I can tell you they're good people, old fashion values that I admire and respect. They consider my relationship with Jason mere dating, nothing more."
"I'd like to meet them sometime, I'm sure it has been hard on them as well."
The it she was referring to being me. "Yes, it has been hard on everyone, but I'm not here about what has happened, we all know about that."
"Do we?"
When did I open that door? I wasn't going to do that. I pulled at my hair unconsciously.
"A young girl, like yourself, suddenly feels the need to find her birth mother, so much so that she drops everything, leaves her adopted parents and travels all the way across the country. Why? How? She finds her birth mother, only to leave almost immediately with a boy she hardly knows. Why? When she gets home, her adopted parents are gone. Where? Why? You say you found them, but you came back alone, oh, and lets not forget about witness protection. What I just can't understand, is why did you feel you had to involve Jason?"
"You forgot I got him shot." I looked up from the table for the first time since she began her tirade. Her face was flushed, but at the same time I could see sadness in her eyes. This is not what I expected—maybe what I deserved, but not what I'd hoped for. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you." I stood.
"Forgive me. I got carried away."
"You have every right—he's your son—you love him."
"Don't you? Please, sit down. I said I would listen to what you have to say."
I sank back down to the bench. I felt exhausted, drained, my mind was mush. Jason's mom seemed to pick up on my mood swing.
"You must love him very much to come and talk with me, on your own," she offered.
"I do."
She waited a moment, but when I didn't say anymore, she continued. "Did Jason tell you his father was a lawyer?"
"No, he mostly talks about how they used to hang out together."
"Well, Tom was a good lawyer and as such, he knew the importance of looking at a case from both sides. So please, go ahead, make your case."
Great, I just went from it to a case. "This is your fault." The accusation just came out of my mouth, but I kept going. "What kind of mother lets her son go traipsing off across the country after a freaky looking Emo girl he hardly knows? Not once, but twice, the second time even after that girl said she would abide by the mother's decision. And then, when that girl brings her son home—shot—she lets the girl stay with them. And this girl's parents, do you think that maybe they left because they were so hurt by what she did? But did it matter? No, she left them again and came back here because she chose your son over them." I looked up, noticing the deep scratches I'd made in the wooden picnic table.
"Touché."
"You must hate me." I whispered.
"No, I don't understand you." She shook her head. "I can't hate what I don't understand."
"I can't explain the magnetism between Jason and I anymore than I can resist it. I tried, with every fiber of my existence, but it is impossible. Even when I push him away, we're drawn back together."
"Jason has said much the same thing."
"I know what you must think, it's teenage hormones, but it's not, it's so much more than just the closeness, the kissing."
Her brow rose like she feared the worst.
"That's all, honest, I would never be that way with Jason."
"Never? Don't you hope to marry him?"
"Marry him? Why would you think that? We're too young, much too young."
"Yet you say you can't be apart."
I sat back a little, using my hands to discretely cover the scratch marks I'd made in the table. "I don't have all the answers—I don't have any of the answers—I wish I did. I wish I could tell you we would go off to college and then get married and have a family and live happily ever after, or maybe you'd rather hear we'd go off to college and grow apart and he'd meet someone more to your liking, but I can't—I can't."
The wind picked up shaking loose some of the first fall foliage. Mrs. Whitaker pushed a stray strand of hair, that had escaped from her ponytail, behind her ear.
"You frighten me." she said.
I tensed. Did she remember more about that night than she'd let on?
"The feelings you and Jason share are special, even rare, the kind of feelings that can set the foundation for a beautiful life together, the kind of feelings that take a son away from his mother." Her eyes met mine, hers red, and hurt, and sad. "I'm not ready to let him go—I can't." A tear ran down her cheek.
"I don't want to take him away from you."
She looked deep into my eyes and replied, "but he wants you to."
"Then lets agree that I will never take him away from you."
"Matters of the heart are not that simple, not that simple at all, and to a great degree, you already have. What happened between he and I this afternoon would have never happened before you." She slid her hand across the table toward me, but stopped halfway. She was still wearing her gardening gloves so I reached out and patted the back of her hand. I wouldn't call it a smile, but her expression softened. "Please don't hurt him, Izzy. I don't know what he would do if he lost you."
"I won't, I promise."
"With all t
hat has happened is that really a promise you can make?"
"I love him more than my own existence. It's true, I don't know what lies ahead, but I will stand by him, protect him and love him for as long as he will let me."
Mrs. Whitaker pressed her hands against the table top and stood. She looked as drained as I felt. "Thank you for this. It helps to see just how much you care—you love him," she corrected. "And thank you for sending him back to me after the game."
I stood as she wrapped her jacket tighter.
"Do you need me to take you home?" she asked, looking again toward the driveway for my car.
"No, my cars not that far away."
She started toward the back steps, but stopped and turned back. "Izzy."
"Yes, Mrs. Whitaker."
"What you said just then, about how you feel, well, it sounded an awfully lot like wedding vows." She turned and continued on toward the back door.
I waited until she was inside before I walked down to the creek. I walked home, at human speed.