by E. J. Mara
At the sound of those five words, something deep inside of my heart shifted.
Wherever it is that we just know things, things we can’t quite explain with reason or logic- whatever that place in our souls is called, I felt it experience an earthquake as Mom spoke.
And I realized that she knew.
She knew. And she still loved me.
Frozen with nerves, I just watched her, unable to move or speak.
She smiled and gave my hand another squeeze before standing.
Still speechless, I watched her walk out of the living room.
Numb, I simply sat on the couch, letting question after question run through my mind.
First of all, how did she know? And secondly, seeing as she knew, did that mean she’d be more willing to turn herself in? And, what exactly did she know? Did she realize Van wasn’t who he claimed to be?
I sat like that, nearly catatonic, for the next fifteen minutes.
I heard Mom say goodbye and leave via the back door.
And shortly thereafter, the doorbell rang just as my phone buzzed with a text.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
The bell rang again, followed by an insistent knock on the door.
I didn’t want to open my eyes, but I had to.
Grabbing my phone, I stood and headed to the door as I read the text from Jen:
Me and Mom are here.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and opened the back door.
Jasmine and Jen stood in the doorway, Jasmine’s face was full of sadness and sympathy. Jen’s blank while she chewed the life out of a piece of gum.
“Hey, there honey,” Jasmine said, giving me a huge and uncomfortably long hug.
“Hi,” I said softly, grateful that she’d decided to wear clothes for her outing.
As she released me, I stepped aside, signaling that they could come in.
They walked into the house and Jen looked around, her eyes wide as she took it all in.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
Jen knew that every nice thing in our house, and that the nice house itself, was the result of blood money. She must have been wondering how much my mom got paid for every man she’d killed.
Before I could say anything, Jasmine handed me the tiny hidden camera, audio device, and jump drive Jonathan had let us use.
“Everything’s there,” she said. “If you decide to watch it, you’ll hear it all, including the part where your mom said she’s killed people and she put a tracking device on her own daughter.”
“Yeah, I know about that,” I nodded. “The FBI told me.”
Jasmine nodded. “But they probably didn’t explain it the way she did. She said it was to protect you, something about making sure people who might want to kill her didn’t go after you to use you as bait. She loves you so much…”
I nodded again, but waved this off. I couldn’t afford to hear this right now.
“Sorry to cut you off, but we might have a slight problem,” I glanced at Jen and lowered my voice, “Tonight, I distinctly got the feeling that my mom somehow knows.”
“Are you sure?” Jen asked, her gum smacks slowing until they came to a complete halt.
I nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not sure how much she knows. Just that… she’s aware of something going on.”
Jen’s eyes softened and she quietly said, “Then you need to level with her. Tonight.”
“Okay,” I said. Jen was right, I had to be upfront with Mom, she deserved at least that much from me.
“We’d better go,” Jasmine said with a sigh. “The FBI probably already saw everything that’s on those devices. I think they were live streaming it. I don’t know. Maybe I made that part up. But I don’t think so…”
I nodded, not really listening to what she was saying.
I was lost in my own thoughts, wondering what I was going to say to Mom.
After a bit of rambling and three more completely unnecessary hugs, Jasmine finally left, with Jen trailing behind her.
I went upstairs to my room, put in the jump drive and listened to my mom’s conversation with Jasmine.
When I was finished, I saw that I had a text from Jonathan, asking me if I was all right.
I wasn’t.
In fact, I was so far into the-opposite-of-all-right, that I couldn’t even reply.
***
Mom kept her word. At 11 PM on the dot, I heard our back door open and a few minutes later, she peeked into my room, quietly checking on me before softly shutting my door.
I’d pretended to be asleep, careful to keep my breathing even and my eyes shut.
But the moment she closed my door, I opened my eyes and stared at my ceiling.
I wanted to do the right thing. But didn’t “doing the right thing” also mean respecting the woman who’d given birth to me?
My heart was so full of confusion it felt like it was beginning to crack.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and opened them as I sat up.
Don’t overthink this. Just do it.
I slid out of bed and padded down the hallway, towards my mother’s room.
I knocked on her door.
“Manda?” Mom called from the other side of the door. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding strangled.
She opened the door, an alarmed look on her face. She was still wearing her date dress, but her make-up had been washed off.
She stretched out a hand and, without a word, put her wrist on my forehead.
“You’re warmer than you were earlier,” she quietly said, concern in her eyes.
“But you know it’s not because of a fever, don’t you?” I said.
Mom held my gaze, her eyes sad.
She stepped aside and opened her door wider.
My heart pounding, I walked into her room and watched her sigh as she moved to the edge of her bed and sat down.
She clasped her hands in her lap, her gaze going to them as she said, “You are feeling the effects of guilt. And, it’s my fault.”
I started to reply and faltered, unsure of where to even begin in everything that needed to be said.
Mom looked up and said, “I asked you to live a lie. That’s something a good mother wouldn’t do. And I’m sorry, Amanda…” she took a shaky deep breath and her tone softened even more as she said, “And I’m sorry you had to find out even more about the woman who raised you. Because, you have. Haven’t you?”
I nodded, tears forming in my eyes.
“What do you know?” Mom asked, her jaw tensing.
“Everything,” I whispered.
She blinked back at me, her right eye twitching.
“What do you mean by ‘everything?’” she asked.
My hands were trembling, so I crossed my arms and tried to get a hold of myself as I stammered, “You… you kill people for a living. Men who hurt women- you kill them.”
Mom’s face fell and she looked away as she said, “How did you find this out?”
I hesitated.
“M-mom, you lied to me,” I whispered. “You acted like we were a team. But we weren’t. You lied to me, just like you lied to everyone else. And you…you put a tracking device on me, like I’m some kind of dog or cat. You don’t even…”
Tears fell from my eyes and ran down my cheeks as I struggled to find the words.
“You don’t even, actually love me,” I finally said. “I’m just a pet you take care of out of… some twisted sense of loyalty.”
Mom’s bottom lip trembled as she shook her head, her face crumbling.
“No.” She stood and walked over to me. “No, that’s not true. I lied to you because sometimes we have to lie to the people we love most, to protect them. I mean, look at this. Look at what’s happened now that you know!”
Mom grabbed my shoulders and looked me in the eye, hers watery as she said, “Would you be feeling any of this if you hadn’t found out? This pain is what I was trying to protect you from, Amanda. You
deserve better than this. All I wanted was for you to be happy and safe.”
“Being loved by someone who respects me enough to tell me the truth,” I said, my voice shaky, “would make me happy and safe. Not having a mother who lied to me about my own father and who spies on me when she’s not out murdering scumbags and dodging the FBI.”
Mom’s eyes widened and she dropped her hands from my shoulders.
She took a step back and quietly said, “What makes you think the FBI is following me?”
I could barely breathe.
I shook my head, trying to control my emotions… and my breathing.
“Amanda,” Mom said, her voice low. “What makes you think the FBI is following me?”
“Because they are,” I said breathlessly. “And they’re going to arrest you, but if you turn yourself in things can be better. Just turn yourself in, Mom. Please. For me?”
We stared at each other.
Mom’s eyes were red and watery, but no tears were falling.
She glanced down and then back at me. “It’s Van, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice soft.
I nodded.
She closed her eyes, a look of hurt that I’d never seen crossing her expression.
It reminded me of the way Timothy Dawes had looked when she’d shot him; shock and then unbelievable pain registering in his face.
She sighed and nodded.
“I should have known,” she slowly said, her voice barely above a whisper.
She moved back to the bed and eased back down onto it, the look on her face shifting from hurt to thoughtful.
“You think I should turn myself in…” she said, staring into the distance.
“Yes,” I quickly replied. I made my way to the bed and sat beside her. “They’ll be more lenient on you. Maybe we can even work out some kind of deal.” I thought quickly, “Like, don’t you have connections they’d be interested in? More people who you could turn in to them? Maybe you can use that as leverage. And instead of sending you to… to…you know, jail, instead of that, they can use you as a point-woman.”
Mom looked at me, surprise in her eyes. “Did they suggest that?”
I shook my head. “I just thought of that.”
Mom smiled and in one quick movement, strung an arm around me and pulled me close in a hug.
Surprised, I closed my eyes and hugged her back.
She released me and rubbed my arm as she said, “I’m so proud of you, Amanda. And you deserve better. You deserve a mother who knows what she’s doing.” The tears that had collected in her eyes finally spilled over.
“Mom,” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said with a chuckle. Using her free hand to wipe her eyes she shook her head. “It really isn’t.”
“Actually, it is. Because I love you,” I said. “And love is like chicken soup is to colds. No one knows why it makes everything better, it just does. I love you. And nothing you do will change that.”
Mom looked up at me, more tears falling from her eyes as she nodded.
“Thank you, sugar plum,” she said, her voice breaking.
This time, I hugged her.
“Please turn yourself in,” I whispered as I released her.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, resting her head on my shoulder.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
We sat that way, quietly holding each other for I don’t know how long. But, at some point we leaned back and fell asleep.
I’d been so grateful to hear Mom finally tell the truth and then to listen as she promised to do what I asked that I’d forgotten one important fact: People are basic.
Everyone follows a pattern, and it’s easy to see the pattern if you’re not blinded by your own ideals.
If a person is kind and habitually goes out of their way for others, they will continue to be kind. And if a person is a habitual liar, they will continue to lie.
The next morning, I woke up, alone, on Mom’s bed.
I turned to the empty space on my right and found a note.
It had twelve words: I love you. Don’t be like me. You’re much better than me.
As I was reading it, our doorbell rang followed by several insistent knocks on our door downstairs.
I closed my eyes, clutching the note, letting the meaning of it wash over me.
Mom was gone. She’d lied to me one last time. And now, she was gone.
I heard a loud noise from downstairs, like a door being kicked in. Footsteps, a lot of them, sounded on the downstairs floor and I heard the words, “FBI…come out with your hands up,” shouted into the house that had been masquerading as a home.
My eyes still closed, I remained on the bed, in shock.
When I opened my eyes, Van was in front of me, taking the note from my hand.
And a few seconds later, he was holding me while I cried.
I heard someone saying, “She finally did it, she left me. I always knew she would.”
It took a minute for it to register that the words were coming from me.
After yelling at a bunch of bullet-proof vest-wearing FBI agents with guns to get the hell out of the room, Van looked me in the eye and said, “You did the best you could, this wasn’t your fault. And, Amanda, I want you to know that your mom does love you. She’s just… she’s…” he frowned, at a loss for the words to describe Caroline Hollister.
“She’s basic,” I said, wiping away my tears.
Van gave me a funny look.
“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “You don’t have to feel bad for agreeing with me. She’s basic. Most people are.”
Van gave my shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t speak Gen-Z, so I’m not going to sit here and pretend like I know what that means. But, I’m pretty sure, whatever the definition of that word is, it does not apply to you. Because your mother has an exceptional daughter.”
He offered me a smile and in the moment, all I could do was nod and say, “thank you,” in a zombie-like tone.
But since that morning, I’ve thought a lot about what Van said.
And I’ve realized that we were both right. Most people are basic. Actually, we all fall into a routine of basic, selfish behavior. We do stupid things constantly.
And then, when we’re on the precipice of destroying ourselves and everyone in our vicinity, love comes to the rescue, if we let it. When we do, it softens us and pushes us into doing exceptional things like sacrificing ourselves for others and going against our basic nature of self-preservation.
That’s why Jen broke up with Jonathan, and that’s why an anonymous donor deposited 2.5 million dollars into Farrah Duncan’s parent’s bank account, and that’s why my father moved to Sunnyville to be my legal guardian while I completed high school with my friends.
That’s why I’ve decided that I’m not ever going to be basic.
I mean, let’s be real- I’m not perfect. I’m going to screw up sometimes. But I’m also going to do my best to be exceptionally self-less for the sake of the people I love.
Epilogue
I sit with the rest of Sunnyville High’s senior class, my attention on the speaker at the podium.
Lindsey looks spectacular as she addresses the crowd of about two hundred parents and families.
Two weeks ago, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Lindsey knocked on her home’s guest bedroom door and I opened it to find her grinning wildly as she said, “Guess who’s class Valedictorian?!”
When I first met Lindsey, I never would have believed she was a 4.0 student who’s as side-splittingly funny as she is intelligent. I thought she was your basic cheerleader.
But after getting to know how thoughtful, kind, and hilarious she is, it didn’t take long for me to realize that she was this way because she was smart.
She’s so smart that she chooses to see the entirety of a person- not just their bad qualities,
or only their good side- she’s sees people as they are, flawed and full of potential.
That’s why she convinced her parents to let the daughter of a serial killer move in with them in order to finish her last year of high school with her new friends.
Sure, my father had moved to Sunnyville and he was, technically, my guardian. But we needed time to get to know each other. So, he lived in an Extended Stay hotel and we had dinner together every night of the week. But, for the past eight months, my home has been with Lindsey and her family.
“We’ve all been through a lot this year,” she now says. “And the way we’ve been tested by life has shown us who we really are. And at times, our reflections have been kind of scary.” Lindsey pauses to smile and shifts on her feet as she continues, “This is because we’re not perfect. We’re all a mess. But that’s a good thing because beauty is born from chaos. This year, we’ve seen our faults and we’ve learned from them. We’re learning to be better people. To be more curious, accepting, forgiving, and loving. We’re on our way to becoming the people who you, our parents and loved ones, want us to be. Thank you for putting up with us and teaching us…”
As my gaze goes to the audience and I spot my dad sitting among the crowd, I can’t help but glance at the person beside him. An overweight guy with bright red hair and the palest skin I’ve ever seen. That guy is not who I want to see sitting next to my father.
As confused as my mother’s abrupt …absence… left me, I still love her. I always will. I still crave her attention. And I always will.
Despite Mom’s massive flaws and terrible life decisions, she taught me a lot. She taught me that we really do have to be careful about who we trust.
And without realizing it, she also taught me that love is a strange and incredibly powerful quality. Actually, I think it might be even more than a quality. I think it’s a semi-tangible state that’s as never-ending as time and space.
Think about it: even when it doesn’t make sense to love someone, your love for them doesn’t die. It’s a force that connects you to them for the remainder of your life, and maybe even beyond.