Chapter 15
I stumble through the rest of the weekend, a prisoner to my own malaise. Before it’s over, I decide to preemptively make plans for the following weekend to stave off further wallowing. I haven’t seen or even really talked much to my mother in a while, so I make plans to visit. And, as an afterthought I ask Hunter if he wants to get together. That set, I dive back into protection mode, deeply burying myself in work.
And it’s a good thing too, as after being in and out of the office so much these days, there’s plenty to do. I find myself getting in early and staying late every day. Charles is happy for the relief and progress, and I don’t have to think about anything but zoning permits, building materials, and the like.
On Thursday afternoon Heather calls and asks me to meet her for drinks the following day. Since I wasn’t planning on heading up to my mom’s place until Saturday morning, I agree. Besides which, my interest is piqued as she won’t say anything about the trial, and I haven’t dared talk to Charles about it since he’s made it obvious he’d rather pretend like it isn’t happening. I try not to think about the fact that Bryce doesn’t remember any of it.
When I stride into the bar on Friday evening, I find myself anxious to hear whatever it is she has to share. I spot her waving at me from a small table on the far side of the room, her long black braids twisted prettily into a bun atop her head. And based on the barely suppressed grin on her face, I know she has good news.
I rush over to her, throwing my arms around her. She embraces me back fiercely, laughing and crying.
I pull away, keeping a firm hold on her shoulders. “Good news, then?” I ask brightly.
She squeezes my arms and nods. “The best,” she responds. “Guilty. On all counts. Unanimously. They recommended the maximum sentencing, and he was given a sentence of seven years at a hearing this morning.”
I sink onto the barstool, relieved that at least something is going right. “Oh Heather, I’m so glad,” I admit. “You must be so relieved.”
“Beyond,” she acknowledges. “I was afraid, at first, that since neither you or Bryce …” a deep blush appears on her dark skin. “I’m sorry, Sera, I didn’t mean to …”
I hold up a hand. “It’s okay,” I assure her. “I know it must have been disheartening that neither of us were there. But I’m glad it worked out, and you’ve come out on the other side all the same.”
“Me too,” she confesses. “And I’m sorry, again. I know he probably doesn’t remember how much he helped me, but I wish I could thank him anyway.”
I swallow against the lump forming in my throat. “Me too,” I reply softly. “Someday, perhaps.”
Heather considers me carefully for a moment. “Shall we talk about something else?” she asks quietly.
“Yes, please,” I respond, smiling. “And alcohol. Lots of alcohol.”
We both laugh, and I go to the bar for our drinks. And we spend the evening drinking and talking about what a bastard Daniel was at the trial, Heather’s job, my job, and everything in between. It’s a welcome reprieve from, well, everything else.
It was so nice, in fact, I don’t even regret waking up slightly hungover on Saturday morning. And the pain in my head is easily put aside with a good breakfast, coffee, and a handful of ibuprofen. By the time I’m halfway to Bellingham, I find I’m actually even able to enjoy the ride.
Despite the early November chill in the air, the clouds have parted, and the sun plays spectacularly on my pastoral surroundings as I make my way between towns. I always forget how calming this drive can be, and all the little sights on the way that remind me of going home — the expansive garden store Mom and I always liked to trek to on the odd weekend, the apple cider barn where we spent fun fall days, and the vast, marshy fields filled with huge, white geese at certain times of the year.
By the time I arrive at my mom’s house, I’m feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. A twitch of the curtains tells me I’ve been spotted, so I’m not surprised when my mother comes rushing out the front door.
And I do something I don’t think I’ve ever done. I leap out of the car and race into her arms. She holds me tightly, only letting go at my signal.
“Welcome home, darling,” she says. The love in her voice wraps around me, warming my aching heart. As I’m still holding her closely by the arms, I notice for the first time her hair, once a few shades darker brown than my own light brown, is now streaked more gray than anything. And her hazel eyes, which are just like mine, are couched with creases. I realize she must have looked something like this for a while. But there had always been distance between us, even as we’ve grown closer lately. I’m ashamed it’s taken such tragedy for me to be this close to her, to really see her.
“I love you, Mom,” I declare spontaneously.
“Oh,” she replies in surprise. “Well, I love you too.” Her smile causes me to pull her in for another tight hug. “What brought that on?”
I pull away and go to retrieve my bag from the car. “Life is too short,” I reply. “Too precious not to say it.” I close the trunk and approach her. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
My mom shrugs and holds the front door open for me. “I can’t say I blame you,” she admits, following me into the living room. “Our relationship has never been easy.”
I huff a dry laugh. “That’s an understatement,” I agree, smiling. I drop onto the old, flower-patterned couch with a sigh. My mom takes a seat in the armchair next to me, eyeing my warily. “But I’m glad I’m here now.”
“Me too,” she replies. “You’ve been pretty tight-lipped about everything that’s been happening. I’ve been more worried than I cared to admit. But I didn’t want to press.”
I nod. I know I’ve been withholding all but the necessary information from her for some time. And though I’m learning to trust her again, it’s all been a lot. And I’ve barely spoken in depth about it to anyone. Even Allie, with everything she’d been going through, I’d kept at a certain distance. My main confidant of late had been Bryce, or occasionally Emily, but obviously the former is no longer an option and the source of most of my sorrow, and the latter, well, now it’s so very complicated. So really, it’s a good time to let my mother in a little more. Because I need it. And I think she might too.
“I appreciate that,” I respond. “But I’m ready to let it all out. I think I need to, so I can move forward.”
My mother raises an eyebrow. “You’ve given up hope,” she guesses. “That he’ll remember.”
I blink back tears. “I’m starting to,” I admit. “And I know it hasn’t even been a few weeks yet, but there’s nothing. No indication that he remembers me at all.”
“Maybe you should give him a chance to get to know you again,” she suggests.
“I just don’t think he’s there,” I reply. “He’s got so much to absorb. And honestly, I don’t know if I have the strength to love him like I do, to want him, when he barely even knows who I am.” I shake my head and laugh through the tears that have started falling. “I don’t know how he did it for so long. Hell, he had it worse — he had to watch me be with someone else first.”
My mother’s hand slips over mine. “This is different,” she says. “He was in love with you, and that’s a very theoretical thing. He didn’t know what it was really like to be with you. For you, well, you two were in love and together, completely. And now you know, really know, what it is that you’re missing.”
Her words break my heart on a level I can barely handle. Tears fall unreservedly down my face at their truth. And I know I’m not strong enough to go from what we were, to what we’d have to be. I shake my head, trying to throw off the tears, the sorrow, but they just keep coming.
I feel my mother slide onto the couch next to me and wrap her arms around me. “Let it all out, baby,” she encourages me. So I bury my face in her chest, and I do.
After a comforting day and night with my mother, Sunday dawns and I prepare to meet Hunter at a local diner for breakfast. Still plagued by nightmares, I’m exhausted and defeated, but somehow looking forward to spending time with my half-brother anyway.
I pick him up from our father’s house, purposely avoiding going in. Thankfully, Hunter bounds out and hops in the car before either of his parents catch on.
“Hey, Hunter,” I greet him, pulling quickly away.
“Hey, Sera,” he replies. “Figured you wouldn’t want to deal with the old people.” I laugh drily.
“Thanks,” I reply. “What’s new? Got a job yet?”
“Nah, there’s really not much here,” he replies.
“Oh,” I say, unsure of how to respond.
“Where’s Bryce?” Hunter asks curiously.
Thankfully, I was prepared for that question. I’d purposely arranged our meeting via text, so I had time to figure out what I wanted to say.
“Bryce and I aren’t together anymore,” I reply evenly. And I leave it there. I know he won’t question it.
“That sucks,” Hunter remarks. “I liked him.”
“Me too,” I reply softly.
Over breakfast, Hunter tells me about how he’s moving to “confined” art — aka actual canvas or space that’s meant to be painted. He thinks he might want to be an art teacher or something along those lines, so it’s his attempt at going “mainstream.”
I’m so not an artist, but the conversation is entertaining in a way I can’t even quite explain. But in any case, it’s clear that Hunter is tired of his dead-end life and he wants out. And as we finish eating, something occurs to me.
“You know, there are bound to be a lot of opportunities in Seattle,” I bait him.
Hunter pushes his empty plate away and nods. “There is a really great artist’s community. I’ve thought about moving there, but I don’t really want to have to work at a fast food place just to be able to afford to share a place with twenty other dudes,” he replies.
I smile mischievously. “Then I have the perfect solution,” I respond lightly. He looks up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “You should come live with me.”
His eyes widen. “In your condo? Seriously?” he asks disbelievingly. “I don’t think I could afford the rent.”
I laugh. “You don’t have to pay me anything,” I clarify. “Just pull your weight. I could use the company. Really.” I hope I’m not inviting something painful and awkward, but it seems like a pretty great solution for both of us right now. “And if it doesn’t work out, no harm done.”
He considers me pensively for a bit. “You do seem like you could use an assistant,” he allows.
I chuckle at the idea. “How so?” I ask curiously.
“Well, you work a lot, right?” he asks. I nod in agreement. “So you could probably use someone to like, do your grocery shopping, pick up your dry cleaning, that sort of thing, right?”
“Yeah, I guess I could,” I admit. “Think you’re up for the job?”
Hunter, uncharacteristically breaking his carefully cool façade, grins eagerly. “Hell, yes!” he exclaims. “When can I move in?”
“Whoa there,” I caution him. “Don’t you want to talk to your parents first?”
“Sera, please,” he scoffs. “I’m twenty-three. I don’t need their permission.”
I suppress a smile. “All righty then,” I allow. “I’m going back later this evening. You can join me. Or I can come pick you up next weekend.” But I already know which he’ll choose.
Hunter has regained his carefully indifferent pretense. “Might as well go with you when you’re already here,” he replies with a shrug.
I bite back a laugh. “It’s a plan, then.”
When I tell my mother that afternoon she is, understandably, skeptical of the arrangement, but true to her word that she wants to support me on my terms, she doesn’t say much. Neither does my father, to whom I say very little as he helps Hunter load his few possessions into my car. Thankfully, I somehow manage to avoid meeting Barb, Hunter’s mother. I’ve been through enough lately, and that’s not really something I’m ready to do yet.
Hunter and I banter about the various things to do in the area, though he’s clearly already got his own agenda.
When we get home, I get him settled in the guest bedroom, give him a key, and show him how to work the security system.
As I go to sleep that night, I’m hopeful for the first time in a while that the future holds something besides the painful recovery I know I still have before me. But it’s not enough to stave off the nightmares.
I wake in the dark, panting, a garbled cry dying on my lips. I hold my breath for a moment, hoping I didn’t wake Hunter. But his room is far enough away that, after a few moments, I decide he likely didn’t hear me. As my dreams, and my reality, catch up with me, I roll over and cry myself back to sleep.