ask.
Eve nods. “She cleans houses for a living. It was easy to bring her on.”
“She left me in the hospital,” I say.
Eve looks up at The Cure. He clears his throat. “She looked for you.”
My head snaps up. “How do you know?”
“She paid for your birth records. Went to the hospital. But she didn’t think to check with the offices for name changes. She didn’t know that you weren’t Joanna Barnes anymore.”
I stand up. My mother tried to find me. I let go of Eve and dash for the front door. The Cure steps aside. In an instant, I’m down the steps and flying down the road.
But after only a block, I stop. She’s still sitting there on the rock. Like she’s trying to decide what to do.
I walk more slowly. The breeze picks up my hair. I haven’t tied it back in ages, not since the attack. But this woman, Marianna — my mother — has hers back.
She watches me approach. Her elbow pins the quilted bag to her side. She’s in a tight little knot sitting on that rock.
I halt next to a stop sign just a few feet from her and wrap my arms around the pole. I need something to hold on to. The world is shifting beneath me too fast.
“So, you’re Joanna,” she says.
I nod.
“Is that your father-in-law? That difficult man?”
This makes me smile. “Not yet.”
A tendril of hair comes loose and blows across her face. As she pushes it aside, I see a gesture I’ve done a thousand times. It’s like looking in a mirror. “You seem to really love that boy up there,” she says.
I haven’t admitted this out loud to anyone, not even Colt. “I do.”
She nods. “I hope you’ve had a good life.”
I can’t tell her how awful things were. How Grandma died, then Dad, and I got stuck with Retta and Rich. It’s over now. It’s past.
“I’m in a good place right now.”
The unspoken question sits between us. What about before?
We both know it. I can’t give it voice. She doesn’t want to know what her choices cost me. And I don’t want to revisit it.
She stands up from the rock, and I think she’ll leave me now. That this will be all I ever get of her. That she’ll disappear in the wind again, like my father told me was her nature.
But she says, “Walk with me a minute.”
I let go of the pole and fall into step beside her.
“When I was a young girl, I used to fly into these terrible rages.”
I halt immediately. Her too?
She stops and looks back at me. “I see you know what I am talking about.” She holds out her hand, just like Eve did in the hospital the day I met her. I stare at it a moment, but then I take it.
Her palm is rough and calloused. She has had a hardworking life. “I once hit a boy in elementary school and broke two of his ribs,” she says. “Luckily, he was a bully that no one particularly liked. So, I was more hero than troublemaker.”
We’re closer to the ocean than I realized. We leave the road and cross an expanse of dry grass that ends in sand. Beyond it, the water sparkles blue.
“Your father loved this about me, this unpredictable wildness.” She shakes her head. “But what works well for a girlfriend,” she looks over at me, “makes a terrible mother.”
We’ve made it to the sand now. A lone palm tree juts from the ground. No one is out. It’s just us on the beach for as far as we can see.
“You didn’t give yourself a chance,” I say. I don’t want to sound bitter. But she’s making her story sound all romantic and full of drama. “You left, plain and simple. You were a coward.”
She lets go of my hand. “I was that, yes.” She stops walking and faces me. “On the first night you were born, you cried and cried. Your father left to pick up some things for us. We hadn’t planned any of this very well, starting with birth control and ending with showing up at the hospital with only an hour until you arrived.”
“What made you leave?”
“You wouldn’t stop crying. I got so angry. I felt such rage toward you.” She looks out
Eve nods. “She cleans houses for a living. It was easy to bring her on.”
“She left me in the hospital,” I say.
Eve looks up at The Cure. He clears his throat. “She looked for you.”
My head snaps up. “How do you know?”
“She paid for your birth records. Went to the hospital. But she didn’t think to check with the offices for name changes. She didn’t know that you weren’t Joanna Barnes anymore.”
I stand up. My mother tried to find me. I let go of Eve and dash for the front door. The Cure steps aside. In an instant, I’m down the steps and flying down the road.
But after only a block, I stop. She’s still sitting there on the rock. Like she’s trying to decide what to do.
I walk more slowly. The breeze picks up my hair. I haven’t tied it back in ages, not since the attack. But this woman, Marianna — my mother — has hers back.
She watches me approach. Her elbow pins the quilted bag to her side. She’s in a tight little knot sitting on that rock.
I halt next to a stop sign just a few feet from her and wrap my arms around the pole. I need something to hold on to. The world is shifting beneath me too fast.
“So, you’re Joanna,” she says.
I nod.
“Is that your father-in-law? That difficult man?”
This makes me smile. “Not yet.”
A tendril of hair comes loose and blows across her face. As she pushes it aside, I see a gesture I’ve done a thousand times. It’s like looking in a mirror. “You seem to really love that boy up there,” she says.
I haven’t admitted this out loud to anyone, not even Colt. “I do.”
She nods. “I hope you’ve had a good life.”
I can’t tell her how awful things were. How Grandma died, then Dad, and I got stuck with Retta and Rich. It’s over now. It’s past.
“I’m in a good place right now.”
The unspoken question sits between us. What about before?
We both know it. I can’t give it voice. She doesn’t want to know what her choices cost me. And I don’t want to revisit it.
She stands up from the rock, and I think she’ll leave me now. That this will be all I ever get of her. That she’ll disappear in the wind again, like my father told me was her nature.
But she says, “Walk with me a minute.”
I let go of the pole and fall into step beside her.
“When I was a young girl, I used to fly into these terrible rages.”
I halt immediately. Her too?
She stops and looks back at me. “I see you know what I am talking about.” She holds out her hand, just like Eve did in the hospital the day I met her. I stare at it a moment, but then I take it.
Her palm is rough and calloused. She has had a hardworking life. “I once hit a boy in elementary school and broke two of his ribs,” she says. “Luckily, he was a bully that no one particularly liked. So, I was more hero than troublemaker.”
We’re closer to the ocean than I realized. We leave the road and cross an expanse of dry grass that ends in sand. Beyond it, the water sparkles blue.
“Your father loved this about me, this unpredictable wildness.” She shakes her head. “But what works well for a girlfriend,” she looks over at me, “makes a terrible mother.”
We’ve made it to the sand now. A lone palm tree juts from the ground. No one is out. It’s just us on the beach for as far as we can see.
“You didn’t give yourself a chance,” I say. I don’t want to sound bitter. But she’s making her story sound all romantic and full of drama. “You left, plain and simple. You were a coward.”
She lets go of my hand. “I was that, yes.” She stops walking and faces me. “On the first night you were born, you cried and cried. Your father left to pick up some things for us. We hadn’t planned any of this very well, starting with birth control and ending with showing up at the hospital with only an hour until you arrived.”
“What made you leave?”
“You wouldn’t stop crying. I got so angry. I felt such rage toward you.” She looks out
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