by Lilly Wilde
“Ragan—”
“Get out! Get out!”
Her hands come up to shove me, but my position is unyielding, not swaying an inch. Then with an unharnessed fervor she pounds my chest, her fists striking me repeatedly as she shouts for me to leave.
I grasp her wrists. “Stop it, Ragan. Stop it. I’m sorry.”
“Go. Just go,” she weeps, her energy waning as she falls into me and surrenders to the emotion that’s taken its hold. I wrap my arms around her, letting her release it all, her shoulders shaking and her body vibrating as my chest swallows her sobs.
Her cries are painful to hear. They’re cries of a woman who’s tired of fighting the fight only to be knocked down…the cries of a woman drained of all hope.
SITTING IN JIM BOB’S ON my lunch break, I fill Hayley in on Branch’s crusade to launch my art career. Something I never considered—something I never thought plausible. She’s the only other person, besides my dad, Noah, and Ethan who know of my drawings. She, like Branch, has always encouraged me to do something with it. But nothing as life-altering as what Branch has initiated.
“I told you before, Branch really likes you, Ragan,” Hayley says, a big smile on her face. “I can see it when he looks at you. And he’s done so many things to prove it. He really cares for you. Why would he go through all of this if he didn’t?”
“Did I hear you right?”
I look up to see the mean-girl bitchy face of Skye Jamison. This diner is bringing in all types since word of it being Branch’s lunch spot has spread around town, which is one reason he doesn’t come by as much anymore. “We actually weren’t speaking to you, so if you heard anything, you were eavesdropping.”
“Yeah, nosey much,” Hayley adds.
She casts an upturned nose in my best friend’s direction. “Do you ever have any business of your own, or are you too busy in Ragan’s?”
“This isn’t high school where you can toss out your little burns and wait on your bitch crew to back you up. So keep it up, Skye. I’m pretty sure I can break you in half.”
“Hayley, don’t waste your time on this one,” I say, instantly heated by the memory of her mouth on Branch. “She’s not worth it.”
“Excuse me?” She looks as if I shouldn’t have the audacity to respond to her. “Ragan, please. Just because Branch has thrown a little pity your way, don’t think you’re any more than you’ve ever been. Actually you’ve slid even further down the totem pole.”
“So this is about Branch and how he continues to reject you,” I snap back. “There’s a little something called pride, Skye. Maybe you should try to scrape up some.”
“Pride? You should look into that yourself, sweetheart. If you think you’re anything more than a pity fuck for Branch, you’re out of your mind. You don’t seriously think he wants you, do you?”
I look at Hayley and then back at Skye.
“Oh? So you did? Ragan, Ragan, Ragan. Bless your heart,” she says, her tone condescending. “Look at you. You’re a waitress for God’s sake. So you’ve lost some weight. Doesn’t change who you are under that tacky uniform, my dear. An undereducated reject with a kid. What could Branch McGuire possibly see in someone like you? Especially when he can have someone like me?”
“I’m betting he sees a heck of a lot more in Ragan than he does in a person as vile as you,” Jim Bob pipes in from out of nowhere, a distasteful grimace on his face as he eyes Skye.
Her mouth falls open, her eyes wide with shock.
“Didn’t your parents ever teach you any manners? You should be ashamed of yourself. To say such nasty things to someone as good as Ragan. You’d do good to be half the person she is one day.”
“I don’t think this is any of your concern. Besides I’m a customer and I demand you show me some respect.”
“Well, you aren’t the kind of customer I want, so I demand you get the hell out of here.”
When Skye realizes Jim Bob means business, she turns on a heel with a huff and stalks out of the diner.
Paying no more attention to Satan’s Mistress, my gaze flies back to my boss. I thought he only saw me as a mess of an employee he’d been coerced into keeping on the payroll.
“What?” he asks, taking in my bewildered expression. “A man can’t speak up when he sees someone’s being mistreated?”
“It’s not that. I just didn’t think—”
“You didn’t deserve any of that,” he says. “You’re a good seed, Ragan.”
I smile broadly and say, “Thank you, Jim Bob.”
“Now don’t go getting all bubbly, because although you’re a good seed, you’re a crummy waitress.”
Hayley doubles over in laughter as my boss waddles off. I can’t help but smile myself. But it’s short-lived as I think back to Skye’s description of me. That can’t be how Branch sees me. Or can it?
“Ragan.”
I turn in the direction of the small voice and spot a woman standing near the side of the diner. I think I recognize her, then I question if I really do. “Do I know you?”
She takes a few steps toward me and on instinct, I do the opposite.
A shameful smile thins her lips. “You should, but it’s my fault that you don’t.”
She steps from the shadows and although she looks different—older and a lot worse for wear—I do know who she is. And the shock of seeing her only a few feet away has paralyzed both my legs and my vocal cords.
She brushes a hand over her brittle hair, a futile effort to tidy her appearance. “I can see from your expression that you know who I am.”
Yeah, I know who the fuck you are and I have no desire to see or talk to you. All the words I’ve wanted to say for years, all the words I should say are stuck in my throat. And that’s probably best because they would be wasted on the likes of her. Bolting from my stupor, I spin around and head for my car.
“Ragan. Please wait.”
She calls after me but my steps quicken as I try to place distance between myself and the woman who gave me life.
I reach my car and open the door, anxious to get the hell away from the egg donor who’s never deserved the title of mother. But then she ends me with her next four words.
“He’s not your father.”
My head whips up and I whirl around to face her, the brown of my eyes meeting the same brown of hers. Obviously she wants my attention, and now she has it. “What did you say?”
She takes a deep breath as if summoning her courage. And then on an exhale, she repeats, “David Prescott isn’t your father.”
My eyes crawl over her, rage gripping me as I stare at the woman who’s apparently hell bent on ruining what little is left of Ragan Prescott. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course he’s my father. Why would you say something like that?”
She rubs her hand up and down her arm as if something’s there that shouldn’t be. “Because it’s true. I mean, yes, he’s the man who raised you, but you’re not his…not biologically.”
“If your plan was to come here and tell lies on top of everything else you’ve done to fuck up my life, then you need to turn around and crawl back into whatever drug-infested hole you came from.”
My words do much to deliver the slap across her face she deserves. But she doesn’t move. She stands in place, her eyes locked on mine.
“It’s the truth, Ragan. When I met your dad, I was a mess. Doing just about anything to get my next hit,” she says, scratching a hand over her nose.
From the looks of it, she’s still as big of a mess now as she was then. She takes a step closer and the soft breeze brings her stench to my nose. I look her over. Her shirt reveals several days’ worth of stains, paired with pants that are two-to-three sizes too large, secured at her waist by a ripped cloth. And it looks as if she’s missing at least two of her front teeth. The ones that remain look as though they haven’t seen a toothbrush in ages. My stomach cringes. I don’t understand how I could have been born to a woman like her.
“But
when I met David, for some reason, he saw something in me.” A frail smile morphs her features and for a flicker of a second, I can see she was once a beautiful woman.
“I was havin’ some money problems ‘round that time. Lost my apartment. Was livin’ in my car for ’bout two months. Cleanin’ myself up whenever I could…at restaurants, retail stores, even the car wash. I’d scored some cash one night doin’ things I’m embarrassed to even say, but it was enough to get a motel for a week. It wasn’t much but I was out of my car, so hey, that’s a win, right?”
I don’t remember her voice being so southern. Then again, I don’t remember her voice at all. She shrugs and lifts her brows as if awaiting my agreement. When I don’t respond, she continues.
“It was my last night at the Fleetwood Inn and I wanted to do somethin’ special for myself. There wasn’t a lot of money left so I got all dressed up and treated myself to a night out. I had dinner at one of those fancy restaurants I’d always wanted to go to and then after that, I went to this dive bar on the outskirts of town. And there he was. Your father. We got to talkin’ and we really hit it off. He asked to see me the next day. And the next. By then I was back in my car.”
Dad never told me any of this, so I can’t really say if it’s the truth or not. And even though I don’t want to hear anymore, I listen. I take in every word.
“We dated for ’bout a month. Hardly a day went by that we didn’t see each other. He was always so kind to me. Seeing things in me that I knew weren’t really there. He used to say I was special…his special angel…that’s what he called me.” She falls quiet, seemingly reminiscent as her gaze drops to her battered sneakers. Then, exhaling a sigh, she lifts her eyes to mine. “He eventually learned the truth—that I was down on my luck. He didn’t know ’bout the other part…the drugs. And for a while, things were good. I mean, better than I thought I’d ever have with anyone. Then I got sick. Ended up in the emergency room and found out I was pregnant. David did the math. Knew it wasn’t his, but he wanted to be with me and he wanted to raise you as his own.” She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “And who was I to refuse somethin’ like that? A few years later, I had your brother. Then some months passed and I ran into the gang I used to party with. It wasn’t long before I fell off the wagon. Started usin’ again. I tried to hide it,” she says, stroking her nose like the cocaine addicts I’d seen in the movies. “But David recognized the signs. He tried to convince me to get help, but I refused. I didn’t have the strength to do it. He eventually gave me an ultimatum.”
I dislodge the lump in my throat. “And you chose the drugs.”
She struggles with what to say, her mouth opening and closing, her gaze wandering my face as she fights for the words. “I didn’t choose the drugs, Ragan. They chose me.”
I shake my head disgusted by both her and her story. “The addict’s motto. What a load of bull.” I have the sudden urge to punch her. To keep punching her until all of my pain is gone. But no amount of punching would ever eradicate the ache that sits with me every day. I choke back the rage that threatens to take its hold and I glare at the person who gave me birth. The woman who brought me into this world only to leave me.
And then for some asinine reason, she steps even closer and reaches out to me.
I take a few steps back. “Don’t ever touch me.” The hatred I thought I felt for her is nothing compared to what I feel as I look at her now. She’s a lying, used-up, pathetic excuse for a mother. And she’s never served a purpose in my life unless you count her as being my ongoing representation of what not to be. Then out of nowhere, she shows up. And for what? To tear me into even smaller pieces with her lies? What kind of person does that?
I remain firmly implanted, a few feet away from her, warring with myself and barely containing what I’ve only dreamt of unleashing. She’s a liar. She’s an addict. And she’s a waste of humanity. I rake my eyes over her, questioning why. Why is she doing this? What does she want from me? A thank-you? Money? A relationship? None of that will ever happen. She has to know that. So why bother with this crap? Unless…unless she is telling the truth? What if David Prescott isn’t my father? Is that why it was so easy for him to let Cassidy torture and degrade me? Is that the reason I was never truly loved by either of them? And it’s that logic that fuels my next question.
“If the man who raised me isn’t my father…who is?”
Our eyes hold.
My chest constricts as I await her reply.
And something that resembles shame washes over her face when she finally answers, “I don’t know.”
“COME IN,” I SAY, SHOCKED to see her at my front door given the way our last quarrel ended.
“Thank you,” she replies, and follows me to the living room.
I sit on the couch and she assumes the chair across from me. To break the silence, I ask, “Can I grab you something to drink?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “He told me all these things so that I could be the person he wanted me to be.”
First I’m confused but then I realize, she’s ready to talk about Ethan. About what he’d done to her. So I sit back and listen.
“And I didn’t know it then, but I know now. It made me resentful. It made me angry. And that’s why I was always so defensive and sullen with you. I think I started to think that men wanted to use me and treat me however they wanted and then expect me to just take it. That’s what he’d convinced me of. And that’s what I’d become for him. I was his own special version of what he thought I should be. I fell at his feet and treated him like a god. And when I stopped doing that, everything changed—a different Ethan surfaced. When I finally got up the courage to leave, I told myself, no more. After Cassidy and then Ethan, I was done. I was determined to stand up for myself at all costs, even at times when it really wasn’t necessary.”
She sits on the edge of the chair, her fingers twisting in her lap. And then all of a sudden, she speaks, adding more detail to her story. “Over the years, he somehow usurped every ounce of my independence and my pride. I felt as if I was nothing without him. And that’s what he wanted. That’s how he made me feel. He would sometimes even say it aloud when he saw even a tiny glimmer of spirit in me. He said I would never have a better life than the one I had with him. That I’d never have anyone half as good as him and that people like you would overlook me or treat me like I was a scrap of garbage. I think when you hear that type of thing for so long, you start to believe it. Between him and Cassidy, and how they degraded me, it’s a wonder I had the will to get out of bed every day.”
“He’s a piece of shit, Ragan.”
She meets my eyes. “I know that now. And I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time. You’ve been more to me in these last few months than anyone has been for me in my entire life. You made me feel worthy and you gave me hope. You’ve protected me, defended me, taken care of me…and my daughter. And the only thing you’ve asked for in return is for me to be my best self.”
I see how difficult this is for her, but I’m glad she’s opening up. It means she’s ready to move on from the dark cloud of her past. “So is this what you came by to tell me?”
“Yeah. And to say thank you for removing my last obstacle.”
My brows scrunch.
“I got the papers—only allowing Ethan supervised visitation. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but I owe you big.”
“I was shooting for no visitation at all but that didn’t pan out, but if he missteps just once, we’ve got him. He’s out of your life for good.”
“He’ll mess up. It’s in him. He won’t be able to help himself.”
She looks around the room, as if she wants to say more but doesn’t know if she should. When she finally parts her lips to speak, loud rock music blasts through the speaker system.
“Jace has some friends over,” I explain. “The music is supposed to be focused in the game room, but I don’t think he quite understands how to work the control system. Let’s go to
the porch.”
Once I’m outside standing in front of her, I ask, “So how are the paintings coming along?”
She gives me a shy smile. “I guess you heard, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So he made me an offer.”
“And?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Why? It’s a no-brainer, Ragan.”
“Yeah, maybe for you, but…”
“But what?”
Heat rises to her cheeks and her eyes leave mine. With her gaze resting at my chest, she says, “I feel like for the first time in my life, I have someone on my side. Someone who’s willing to fight for me even when I’ve done my damnedest to push that someone away.”
I want to pull her in my arms, but I resist the urge. “That someone will always be on your side, no matter how many miles are between you and that someone.”
“Maybe,” she says, finally looking back up at me. “But it won’t be the same.”
“I want you to go.”
The sadness in her expression deepens. For long seconds, she stares at me, the light in her eyes starting to fade. I see what my words do to her but I can’t be selfish and ask her to stay.
“But what about you?” she finally asks.
I grasp her hand and we take a seat on the steps, just like we did at my childhood home. “I suppose I’ll be here. Besides, you’re ready to stand on your own. You don’t need me anymore.”
“I never needed you. But it was good to have you around…just in case I did.”
“You have to do what’s best for you and your daughter,” I say, although I want to swallow each one of those words. “And Blue Ridge isn’t it.”