Craving Resurrection
Page 96
“I think Renee is gonna call you,” Nix said as we reached the front porch.
“Good, I can tell her what a little fucker her son is.”
“I think she’ll probably say the same thing.”
I came to an abrupt stop and my gaze shot to his.
“I’m pretty sure I broke his nose… maybe his jaw, too,” Nix said nervously.
I looked closely at my tall, strong son. He was so many things. Smart and kind and handsome and funny. He had a way with people—they just seemed to gravitate toward him—and he’d never met a stranger. When he was really little he’d been kind of shy, but I sometimes wondered if it had been my nervousness rubbing off on him, because as I’d healed, he’d become more outgoing. He was the best man I knew.
“That’s my boy,” I said with a solid nod, reaching up to cup his cheek in my palm.
“I thought you’d be mad at me,” he said in relief, his shoulders slumping as he continued to hiccup with leftover sobs.
“You never let anyone treat you like less than you are, you hear me? You stand up for yourself. Always. Now go upstairs and shower. You smell like BO and manure.” I looked down to see blades of grass sticking to the bottom of his dress shoes. “Oh, gross! Take your shoes off, I’m pretty sure you stepped in some.”
Nix’s startled laughter made my lips curve as he slid his shoes off without untying them, then went up the stairs, taking two at a time.
“Yer a good mum,” Patrick said, startling me. “Ye know just what to say to him.”
“Nah, I’m just winging it most of the time.”
“I wasn’t sure what to—”
“I think you should probably go, Patrick,” I said, setting Nix’s shoes on the front porch. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but you’re not going to find it here.”
“What are ye sayin’?” he asked cautiously, stepping toward me.
“I’m saying that I can’t do this with you—whatever this is.” I raised my hands palms up. “I have nothing to give you. Nothing. I have a son that’s heartbroken, medical supplies that I have to go through and dispose of, a boyfriend who’s probably wondering where the fuck I’ve been all week, and a yoga studio that won’t run itself, even though it’s been doing a pretty good imitation for the past few months.”
“A boyfriend.”
“Don’t act like you’re surprised, we just talked about this.”
“I didn’t realize it was serious—dat ye would choose him—”
“Are you shitting me right now?” I asked incredulously. “Choose him? Is there a choice? I swear to God, Patrick, you think you can change the past to suit your purposes.”
“It has always been ye,” he said, and I couldn’t take one more word of his distorted reality.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said flatly. “Thank you for coming, and for helping with everything this past week. I’m not sure how I would have done it without you. But now—now you need to leave.”
He looked as if I’d just punched him, but he didn’t say another word and I didn’t back down as he gave me a nod. He left me there in the entryway as he strode into the kitchen for his coat, and I was still standing frozen in the same spot when he came back.
“I apologize for takin’ advantage of yer hospitality—” his words were so quiet and almost embarrassed, that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from reassuring him. “I want ye to know, no matter how much time has passed or how far away ye are, if ye ever need me, all ye have to do is call. I’ll be dere in an instant. I know I’ve not done what I promised all dose years ago, and ye’ve no reason to trust me word, but ye’ve got it, anyway.”
He leaned forward and pressed a scrap of paper into my hand as he kissed my cheek, lingering for just a moment.
“I’ve loved ye for as long as I can remember,” he whispered before pulling away.
I didn’t say anything as he strode out of the house. I couldn’t.
Once again, my voice was stuck in my throat.
It was finally over. There was no longer any reason for us to cross paths again.
And I had no words left.
Nine Years Later
Portland, Oregon
Chapter 49
Amy
“Hold on a second, son,” I mumbled into the phone, setting it down to pull my hair back into a massive bun at the nape of my neck.
My dreads were getting too long again, and I knew I needed to cut them—but the process involved a night in, pot, red wine, and Nix wielding a pair of yard clippers. Hands in my hair was a trigger I’d learned to live with, but over twenty years later, I still wouldn’t allow a pair of scissors in my house or shop.
I was okay with that, even if it meant my hair grew too long on occasion and I had to have my son cut it when I was buzzed out of my mind.
It was funny that when I was a kid I’d so badly wanted to fit in somewhere, and as an adult I stuck out like a sore thumb. I guess that’s life, though. Experiences change you, there’s no way to escape it.
“Are you and Ken coming over tomorrow night for dinner?” I asked, picking the phone back up.
“His name is Mat, Mum.”
“With one T,” I confirmed with a snort.
“You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Ditto, kiddo.”
“Good, I can tell her what a little fucker her son is.”
“I think she’ll probably say the same thing.”
I came to an abrupt stop and my gaze shot to his.
“I’m pretty sure I broke his nose… maybe his jaw, too,” Nix said nervously.
I looked closely at my tall, strong son. He was so many things. Smart and kind and handsome and funny. He had a way with people—they just seemed to gravitate toward him—and he’d never met a stranger. When he was really little he’d been kind of shy, but I sometimes wondered if it had been my nervousness rubbing off on him, because as I’d healed, he’d become more outgoing. He was the best man I knew.
“That’s my boy,” I said with a solid nod, reaching up to cup his cheek in my palm.
“I thought you’d be mad at me,” he said in relief, his shoulders slumping as he continued to hiccup with leftover sobs.
“You never let anyone treat you like less than you are, you hear me? You stand up for yourself. Always. Now go upstairs and shower. You smell like BO and manure.” I looked down to see blades of grass sticking to the bottom of his dress shoes. “Oh, gross! Take your shoes off, I’m pretty sure you stepped in some.”
Nix’s startled laughter made my lips curve as he slid his shoes off without untying them, then went up the stairs, taking two at a time.
“Yer a good mum,” Patrick said, startling me. “Ye know just what to say to him.”
“Nah, I’m just winging it most of the time.”
“I wasn’t sure what to—”
“I think you should probably go, Patrick,” I said, setting Nix’s shoes on the front porch. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but you’re not going to find it here.”
“What are ye sayin’?” he asked cautiously, stepping toward me.
“I’m saying that I can’t do this with you—whatever this is.” I raised my hands palms up. “I have nothing to give you. Nothing. I have a son that’s heartbroken, medical supplies that I have to go through and dispose of, a boyfriend who’s probably wondering where the fuck I’ve been all week, and a yoga studio that won’t run itself, even though it’s been doing a pretty good imitation for the past few months.”
“A boyfriend.”
“Don’t act like you’re surprised, we just talked about this.”
“I didn’t realize it was serious—dat ye would choose him—”
“Are you shitting me right now?” I asked incredulously. “Choose him? Is there a choice? I swear to God, Patrick, you think you can change the past to suit your purposes.”
“It has always been ye,” he said, and I couldn’t take one more word of his distorted reality.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said flatly. “Thank you for coming, and for helping with everything this past week. I’m not sure how I would have done it without you. But now—now you need to leave.”
He looked as if I’d just punched him, but he didn’t say another word and I didn’t back down as he gave me a nod. He left me there in the entryway as he strode into the kitchen for his coat, and I was still standing frozen in the same spot when he came back.
“I apologize for takin’ advantage of yer hospitality—” his words were so quiet and almost embarrassed, that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from reassuring him. “I want ye to know, no matter how much time has passed or how far away ye are, if ye ever need me, all ye have to do is call. I’ll be dere in an instant. I know I’ve not done what I promised all dose years ago, and ye’ve no reason to trust me word, but ye’ve got it, anyway.”
He leaned forward and pressed a scrap of paper into my hand as he kissed my cheek, lingering for just a moment.
“I’ve loved ye for as long as I can remember,” he whispered before pulling away.
I didn’t say anything as he strode out of the house. I couldn’t.
Once again, my voice was stuck in my throat.
It was finally over. There was no longer any reason for us to cross paths again.
And I had no words left.
Nine Years Later
Portland, Oregon
Chapter 49
Amy
“Hold on a second, son,” I mumbled into the phone, setting it down to pull my hair back into a massive bun at the nape of my neck.
My dreads were getting too long again, and I knew I needed to cut them—but the process involved a night in, pot, red wine, and Nix wielding a pair of yard clippers. Hands in my hair was a trigger I’d learned to live with, but over twenty years later, I still wouldn’t allow a pair of scissors in my house or shop.
I was okay with that, even if it meant my hair grew too long on occasion and I had to have my son cut it when I was buzzed out of my mind.
It was funny that when I was a kid I’d so badly wanted to fit in somewhere, and as an adult I stuck out like a sore thumb. I guess that’s life, though. Experiences change you, there’s no way to escape it.
“Are you and Ken coming over tomorrow night for dinner?” I asked, picking the phone back up.
“His name is Mat, Mum.”
“With one T,” I confirmed with a snort.
“You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Ditto, kiddo.”
