There had been no indictment in the words, only a wary curiosity. For the first time, Christy-Lynn allowed herself a closer study of her mother. She wore slippers and a limp cotton housedress, the missing top button exposing several inches of blade-thin collarbone. Her once dark hair was dull and brittle now, shot through with threads of gray, and her skin was deeply lined. But it was Charlene Parker’s eyes that told the real tale. Once a deep and startling green, they had faded to a washed-out gray, as if the light in them had guttered out. Christy-Lynn did the mental math—fifty-two or thereabouts. Far too young to look so used up. She’d been beautiful once, the kind of beautiful that turned heads. A million years ago.
“I know it’s been a long time, Mama.”
“Twenty years.”
Christy-Lynn dropped her eyes. “Yes.”
“So why now?”
“I’ve been trying to forget you.”
The words had tumbled out unchecked; Christy-Lynn regretted them the moment they were out. She watched as they hit their mark, the brief flash of pain in the dull gray eyes, the quick look away as her mother sank into a shabby velour recliner.
“That’s what I get for asking, I suppose.”
Christy-Lynn perched on the edge of couch with her tea. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. My husband died, and I’ve been dealing with some things. A lot of memories keep coming up.”
Charlene reached for her hand, then drew back, as if she’d thought better of it. “I saw the news about your husband on TV. And in the papers.” She shook her head as she stared at the dirty shag carpet between her slippers. “Nasty business with that woman and all. Do you have . . . are there children?”
Christy-Lynn shifted uncomfortably. “No. No children.”
“Was that by choice?”
“Yes.”
“Because of me?” she asked quietly. “Because of . . . how I was?”
“Because I was afraid of how I’d be. I was afraid I’d . . .”
“End up a drunk?”
“Yes,” Christy-Lynn replied, holding her mother’s gaze without flinching. “Or worse. I swore I’d never put a child through that.”
It was Charlene who looked away first, sighing as she shifted her attention to the glowing tip of her cigarette. “You were never like me. You were always good . . . responsible. I’d have given anything to be a better mother to you.”
“No, Mama, you wouldn’t. Not anything.”
“No,” Charlene admitted, nodding. “Not anything.”
Christy-Lynn put down her tea and reached into her purse for the envelope she had taken from her nightstand. Charlene looked on as she spilled the contents into her lap, then picked up the photo and held it out. “Do you remember that day? You took me to the fair.”
“I remember.”
“And this?” Christy-Lynn held up the tarnished necklace, letting it dangle slowly from her fingers. “Do you remember this? You’re wearing one just like it in the picture.”
“The other half of mine.” Her voice had fallen to a near whisper. “You kept it all these years?”
Christy-Lynn ignored the question. “Do you remember what you said when you put it on me? You said we’d never take them off. But you did take yours off.”
“I didn’t realize it meant so much to you. It was just a cheap trinket.”
“It wasn’t the necklace, Mama. It was the promise you made when you gave it to me. The promise you broke when you pawned it.” She paused to gather up the contents of the envelope and tuck them away. “That’s when I knew the drugs were more important than me—and how easy it is to make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
Charlene nodded dully. “I see. It’s judgment day. Go on then. I can take it.”
“This isn’t about judging you. It’s about wiping the slate clean. My slate. For years I managed to keep all the bad stuff locked away, to pretend it happened to some other girl, someone who didn’t exist anymore. But some things have happened lately, things that make me realize I can’t do it anymore. It’s like a door opened, and all the stuff—the way you were, the way we lived—all came spilling out. The drugs, the evictions, the men. And then seeing you in the hospital with your face all stitched up. You going to jail, and me shipped off to the county.” She broke off abruptly, reaching for her tea. She wasn’t thirsty, but she needed something to hide behind.
“Foster care,” Charlene said, drawing the words out slowly. “Was it . . . terrible?”
Christy-Lynn took another sip of tea, staring at the twenty-year-old burns on her wrist. She had come to exorcise her demons, to force her mother to own her past and acknowledge the damage she had done. But suddenly the words wouldn’t come. What would it serve to dredge up Terry Blevins now? Except perhaps to pass her demons on to her mother. And it was clear that Charlene Parker still had enough demons of her own.
“I ran away,” she said finally, leaving out the why. “I lived on the street for two years until I turned eighteen.”
Charlene’s eyes filled with tears, the scarred corner of her mouth puckering in a lopsided grimace. “They told me. When they couldn’t find you, they came to me. They thought I might’ve heard from you. They should have known I’d be the last person you’d come to.”
Christy-Lynn wasn’t sure why her mother was crying. Were they tears of self-reproach or self-pity? The line between the two had always been blurry, and the years had done nothing to make that line clearer.
“I didn’t come here to make you cry. Or to make you apologize. In fact, today isn’t about you at all. It’s about me looking you in the eye and facing what happened back then, about reminding myself what I’ve been through, and that I was strong enough to survive it. I’m here because I want closure, because I need it. So I can finally stop punishing myself.”
Charlene had been about to light another cigarette. Her head came up as the lighter fell from her hand. “Why in God’s name would you punish yourself?”
“For leaving you,” Christy-Lynn said thickly. “For running away and leaving you alone all those years ago. I never knew if you were . . .” She looked away, blinking back tears she had vowed not to shed.
Charlene shifted in the recliner until she was facing Christy-Lynn, her cigarette forgotten. “Now you listen to me, baby girl. You did right to leave. And you did right to stay gone. Look at you, where you’ve ended up, what you’ve made of yourself. Strong, respectable, beautiful. Do you think for a minute it would have turned out like that if you’d stayed around to babysit me?”
Christy-Lynn dragged in a breath. “There’s no way to know.”
Charlene’s gray eyes flared. “Yes, there is, and we both know it. You think I don’t know what it was like for you, having to take care of me when it should have been the other way around? You think there’s a day I don’t remember coming home drunk out of my mind, stoned out of my mind, passing out or worse? I do. I remember it all. It’s amazing what comes back to you when you lay off the stuff. Things you wish to God you could forget. Hell, you were better off on your own than with a mother like me—a boozer and a junkie. It’s not an easy thing to say, especially to your own daughter, but there it is.”
Christy-Lynn stared at the rapidly melting ice in her tea as she waited for her emotions to right themselves. “Are you . . . ?”
“I’m off the drugs. All of it.”
“But you’re still drinking.”
She smiled grimly. “Old habits die hard. I had to pick one or the other, and I figured I was less likely to kill myself with a bottle than with a needle.”
It was a strange conversation to be having. They had never actually talked about the booze and the drugs. They were just a fact, something to be tiptoed around whenever possible.
“Was it after you got out of jail? Is that when you got clean?”
“No. Not then. Not even to get you back. I wanted to. I did. I just . . . couldn’t. I’ve only been clean about four years. So you see, hanging around waiting for me to become mot
her of the year would have been a waste of time. For a long time—years—I wondered what had happened to you, if you’d turned out all right. And then one day I saw your picture in one of those celebrity magazines—married to some hotshot writer—and I knew you’d be fine. No thanks to me, of course, but I was so proud and happy for you. And so ashamed when I had to call and ask you for money that time. I said it was for rent, but it wasn’t.”
“You used it to buy drugs?”
“No.” Charlene shook her head as she fumbled in her lap for her lost lighter. “But I used it to pay off my guy, which amounts to the same thing. But that was the last time. That’s when I decided to get clean. Not because I was afraid of ending up dead in an alley somewhere. Because I couldn’t bear the thought of ever having to dial your number again.”
There were tears in her eyes. She blinked, and they spilled down her cheeks, leaving a pair of shiny tracks down her ruined face. Christy-Lynn was quiet for a time. In spite of everything, all the recklessness and neglect and shame, it was hard to see her mother this way.
“Do you need money?” she asked quietly. “Or . . . anything?”
Charlene managed the ghost of a smile. “No, honey, and even if I did, I couldn’t take it from you. Things are tight, and this is no palace, but we manage. And you . . .” She reached for her cigarettes only to find the pack empty. “I know it hasn’t been long since the accident, but are you . . . happy?”
“I own a bookstore now. It keeps me busy. And I do some editing on the side.”
A crease formed between Charlene’s brows. “Busy and happy aren’t the same thing. I meant is there someone in your life, someone who makes you happy?”
Christy-Lynn shifted uncomfortably. She found her mother’s sudden concern for her happiness grating. “You saw the papers,” she replied stiffly. “I’m not cut out for happy. Busy is going to have to do. And I prefer being alone. Fewer . . . complications.”
The unscarred corner of Charlene’s mouth turned down. “You always were a terrible liar.”
“It isn’t a lie. And I didn’t come here for a lecture on happiness.”
“No,” Charlene said flatly. “I don’t suppose you did. Have you said what you came to say then, or is there more?”
Once again, Christy-Lynn’s eyes crept to the scars on her wrist. Yes, there was more. Much more. But there was no point in raking through it. She’d done what she needed to do, seen what she needed to see. “Yes,” she said evenly. “I have.”
Charlene stood abruptly and crossed to the door. “Then it’s time for you to go.”
Christy-Lynn stared at her, stunned by the curt dismissal.
“It’s best for us both really,” Charlene said with a fleeting smile. “Roger will be home soon. He works a half day on Sundays, and I don’t want to have to explain you. He knows all the rest of it, but I couldn’t bear him knowing the kind of mother I was. I’ve done a lot in my life that I’m ashamed of, but nothing compares to the way I screwed up with you.”
Christy-Lynn came slowly to her feet, reaching into the side pocket of her purse for a pen and a business card. “I’ll leave you my cell. In case you need anything.” She scribbled down the number and held it out, but Charlene shook her head.
“Thank you, but no. We’re done, you and I, and have been for a long time. You said it yourself—you came because you wanted to forget me, and now you can. At least I hope you can. Consider it a gift. God knows I’ve never given you much else. Except maybe a promise I never kept. So go—forget.”
There was a heaviness in Christy-Lynn’s chest that she hadn’t expected as she moved to the door. “But I can’t just—”
“Go,” Charlene urged, pulling back the door to let in a blast of Carolina heat. “Please. You have a life, Christy-Lynn. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s a life you can be proud of, which is more than I can say. I’m lucky to be alive after the way I’ve lived mine. I don’t deserve to get my little girl back.”
“Won’t you at least let me do something for you?”
“You were always smart. Be smart now. Go back to Virginia and don’t look back. That’s what you can do for me.”
Christy-Lynn stood there a moment but couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally she dropped the card on the coffee table and slipped through the open door. She had come for closure, but as she started the engine and drove away, all she felt was numb, unable to put a name to the dull ache in her throat as she watched the Dixie Court apartments recede in her rearview mirror.
FORTY-SIX
Christy-Lynn watched as Missy wove her way through the crowd, pausing to throw Marco a wave and a wink. It was Taco Tuesday, and the place was jammed with the after-work crowd, unwinding with cheap tacos and full-priced margaritas. She wished she’d remembered before suggesting it. Her mood was anything but festive.
“My God,” Missy said as she flounced into her chair. “You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. You look like you should be home in bed.”
Christy-Lynn reached for a tortilla chip and munched it absently. “My next stop. Promise. Thanks for meeting me tonight. I just didn’t feel like being by myself.”
“You know I never turn down a margarita. Do you want to do some food? We could order nachos and share.”
Christy-Lynn nodded.
Missy waved Marco over and placed their order, then turned back to Christy-Lynn. “So how was it? Your mother I mean. You said you found her.”
“It was awful.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“She says she’s off the drugs, and I think I believe her. But the sink was full of beer cans. She was so beautiful once, the kind of woman men stopped and stared at—but she looked all worn down, like life had broken her.”
“I’m not surprised after everything you’ve told me. At least she’s off the stuff. That’s something, at least.”
“I suppose. She’s got a boyfriend—Roger. They’ve been together two years. That’s all I know about him. Oh, and he works for a lumber company.”
“So did you talk about . . . everything?”
“I did most of the talking. It was all very civil. No fireworks and not too many tears.”
“How did you leave it?”
“She told me to leave and not come back.”
Missy blinked several times. “I don’t understand.”
“I think she was ashamed. It was like she couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”
“I guess that makes sense. It had to be hard seeing you after all these years, remembering how she was back then. Honestly, I expected her to hit you up for money.”
“I offered. She wouldn’t take it. She said taking money from me was one of the lowest points in her life. She claims it’s why she finally got clean.”
“Are you going to do what she asked and stay away?”
Christy-Lynn squeezed her lemon into her tea and gave it a stir. “I don’t know. She meant what she said. She really doesn’t want me to try and see her again. I left my number, but she didn’t even want that.”
“Then maybe you should honor that.”
“Maybe.”
Marco dropped off Missy’s margarita, promising to be back soon with their nachos. Missy discarded her straw and took a long sip, licking salt from her lips. “Sounds like she’s at least trying to take responsibility for the choices she’s made. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I guess.”
“So are you glad you went?”
Christy-Lynn picked up another chip then put it back down. “I don’t know what I feel. Or if I even accomplished anything by going. I felt like I was talking to a stranger. The woman I remember was never much of a mother. She was always too drunk or high or freaked out to think about me. And suddenly there she was, being all noble and self-sacrificing, asking me if I was happy.”
“And you told her what?”
“That I had a bookstore that kept me busy.”
“Is that the same thing?”
Christy-Lynn rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like her.”
“It’s a valid question, honey. I know there’s a ton going on in your life right now, but at some point, you really are going to have to give the happy thing a try.”
The nachos arrived just as Christy-Lynn was about to respond. She waited for Marco to disappear then spread her napkin in her lap. “Speaking of having a ton going on, there’s sort of been a development. Well, several actually.”
Missy set down her margarita a little warily. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Rhetta asked me to adopt Iris.”
“To adopt . . . oh my God, are you kidding? Where did that come from?”
“It’s a long story, but the short version is that Honey’s brother has suddenly decided to play the doting uncle now that his niece comes with a trust fund. He showed up and made a big scene about suing for custody. Rhetta was beside herself. That’s why she asked—because she’s terrified, and there’s no one else.”
“What did you say?”
“What do you think I said? I said no. I’m just getting used to the idea of having a cat. Can you see me raising a little girl? That little girl?”
“I can actually. And apparently so can Rhetta.”
“I can’t, Missy. And you know why I can’t. And it’s not about her being Stephen’s. Seeing my mother, remembering just how wrong things can go . . . I just can’t.”
“For the record, I think you’re wrong. That child has had a claim on you since the day you laid eyes on her. But I get why you’re afraid. So what’s the other development if I dare ask?”
“I slept with Wade.”
Missy nearly choked on her margarita. “Wait? What? When did this happen?”
“Two nights ago, when we got back from Rhetta’s.”
“He went with you to West Virginia?”
“Yes. Another long story, but one thing led to another, and he ended up staying the night—because I asked him to.”
Missy was leaning forward in her chair, grinning like a schoolgirl. “I knew it! I knew you were holding out on me. So spill. Was it amazing?”
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