Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Jackson

I stood stiff during the short service—a service that had to have been the strangest I had ever attended. I was often invited to funerals, as it was a small town and I knew pretty much everyone. But this was the first one I’d ever been to where every single eye was dry.

My own heart was heavy with grief, but it wasn’t exactly because Russell was dead. Truth was, my life would be easier moving forward. At least I hoped it would. It was a kind of closure on the past, and if nothing else, I knew I wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open anymore. And there was intense relief that he couldn’t hurt Allison.

But grief was there too, for what was and what never would be. A numb sadness that I hadn’t been able to convince him to turn his life around. That I hadn’t been worth fighting for. That I hadn’t been enough—period.

Like she could somehow read my thoughts, Allison squeezed my hand. When the minister finally finished his awkward sermon, I turned to Allison and buried my head on her shoulder, sinking into her embrace. I wanted to cry—what kind of son couldn’t shed a single tear for his own father? But I couldn’t.

There just weren’t any tears left for him.

I walked away from the grave without looking back.

Greg and Janet had offered their home for dinner after, even though Mom had insisted on taking care of the meal. Food was her love language, and based on the spread she had set out, she was intent on showing me all the love she possibly could.

“Did you stay up all night baking?” I asked, surveying the counters in wonder.

“Just about.” She reached up and hugged me. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah.” I looked down at this sweet woman who had taken me in, raised me, and loved me like I was her own. My heart swelled with gratitude for the million different ways she had been different than Russell. “Thanks, Mom. For everything.”

She got teary-eyed but tried to hide it. “Well, of course,” she sniffed. “Now, go eat. You need to put some meat on those bones. And I need to stop your dad from arguing with Greg.”

“Arguing?” I asked, flicking my gaze toward the window. The two men were engaged in an animated conversation.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Something about sports. I don’t know.” She lifted her hands helplessly and walked outside to break up the discussion just as Allison walked through the door.

“Hey,” I said. I had to clamp my mouth shut to stop myself from saying everything I wanted to say the minute I saw her—that she looked beautiful. That I couldn’t stop thinking about her. That keeping my distance was killing me. That having her by my side was the only thing that really mattered to me anymore.

But I didn’t. Not with Russell’s words still playing in my head on repeat.

“Hey yourself.” She glanced around the room, realizing we were alone. “Where is everyone?”

I nodded toward the deck. “Outside, setting up the table to eat. Mom insisted we needed fresh air and sunshine, even though the sun’s nowhere to be seen today.”

“Maybe it will come out soon,” Allison said.

“Maybe.” I looked at her and for the first time today realized that I wasn’t the only one shaken up. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

But I could see the hesitation in her eyes. “Allison. You don’t have to lie to me.”

She crossed her arms, rubbing herself for warmth—a move that I had learned was automatic when she felt scared. “It’s been a rough day.”

“What happened?”

She glanced outside to make sure no one could hear. “Beverly dropped a bombshell on me and I’ve been a mess ever since. She told me”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“that Mama had to pay off Dad’s gambling debts.”

“What do you mean?”

Her face turned bright red. “I mean, she insinuated—no, flat-out said—that Daddy traded Mama to men when he lost big and couldn’t pay. That all those nights she would dress up and leave to work late, she was basically prostituting herself out.” Tears swam in Allison’s eyes.

I opened my mouth to say that couldn’t be true but stopped. Truth was, Beverly’s story fit and answered a lot of questions about the past.

“Allison, what happened the night you moved away?”

She stared at me blankly for a moment before answering. “Mama woke me up. Told me we had to go. She started throwing all my clothes into a garbage bag before I realized what was happening.”

“Brent had a poker game that night, didn’t he? You told me your parents had fought about it before you came down to the creek.”

She nodded slowly, catching up to my thoughts. “That’s right.” She raised her hands to her face and let out a long sigh, shaking her head. “She was always begging him to stop gambling. Now I understand.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, pulling her into a hug. I held her in my arms, thinking over a million moments from my childhood that made sense now.

How Russell would make snide remarks about how he wished he could get in on Brent’s poker games. But to play at those games, you had to have money or something better to bet. He’d sneer at my mother and tell her she’d be more valuable to him if she took better care of herself.

As much as I hated to admit it, Beverly’s story added up. And I couldn’t blame Allison’s mom for leaving, no matter how much it had ripped me apart.

“Are you okay?” I asked, stroking a hand down her silky hair.

She sniffed. “Yeah. Look at me.” She pulled back and shook her head, giving me a rueful smile. “You’re supposed to be the one grieving today, not me.”

“I guess we both have some things to bury from the past.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“Have you talked to your mom about any of this yet?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not ready. I don’t even know what to say. She never told me any of this, so I imagine she’s pretty ashamed.” Tears welled up in her eyes again. “And I’m so angry at her.”

“That may not be fair,” I said, shaking my head. “We don’t know the whole story, but my gut says she was a victim, not a willing participant. At least not a fully willing one. Otherwise, why would she have left?”

“I’m not angry about that,” Allison explained. “I’m angry because, after everything she went through, she still wants me to get back together with Mike—a man who practically asked me to do the same exact thing for a job. If she knew what it was like to be with someone who…” She clamped her mouth shut as Mom walked in the back door.

“Whew,” Mom said brightly, glancing at each of us in turn but apparently choosing to pretend she hadn’t just walked in on what was obviously an emotional conversation. “I think I got things sorted out. But your father needs to talk to you.” She motioned for me to go outside.

The last thing I wanted to do was leave Allison’s side, but Mom opened the door and didn’t give me much of a choice. I glanced at Allison, who waved me on, letting me know we could talk later. I gave her a small smile before I headed out, hoping she would be okay.

After all, I was leaving her with an interrogator who was second only to Fiona—and who clearly had just orchestrated a private conversation.