Chapter 2

2

Nola

Six months later …

“Tell her I’m a bad mom. Just say it,” I whisper, staring through the window of a small conference room.

Inside there, Oliver sits beside a heavyset woman, who’s spent months trying to help him find his voice again. A speech therapist, but DeeDee is more than that.

His eyes are on me, angry and resentful for scheduling an appointment two days early. Speech therapy is Friday, but so is the psychotic day of shopping, otherwise known as Black Friday, which means I have to cover a double shift, so here we are. Him hating me and me hating myself.

“I know I’m a shitty mom,” I mutter. You don’t have to say it.”

“You’re not a shitty mom.” The voice startles me, and I turn just enough to catch Oli’s psychologist, Sarah Buckley, standing beside me. “You can’t change what happened to him, Nola. And no matter how much you try to blame yourself, it isn’t your fault.”

“This again, huh?” I snort, returning my attention back to Oli, who won’t even try to work with DeeDee. Instead, he looks every bit the rebellious teenager that he isn’t yet, with his arms crossed, brow permanently furrowed. Even through the glass that separates us, I can feel the hostility. He’s only eleven, but the anger he carries makes him seem so much older. “You know, I think about that night, and the one thing that bothers me most is that I woke Denny up before I left. He’d have probably stayed passed out on the couch while Oli slept, otherwise.”

“If you’re trying to convince me of something, you’re doing a crap job of it.” The gentle stroke of her hand down my arm adds just enough contact to spring tears to my eyes. “You were looking for opportunities to make him a better husband and father.”

“That’s the problem,” I say through a blur of tears. “I’m not a quitter. But if I had been …”

“Oliver is still here, Nola. Focus on that and quit beating yourself up for things you can’t go back and change.”

“I’m sorry. You’re not my therapist. That’s not fair.”

“Doesn’t stop me from caring.” Her arm nudges mine, and I offer a smile. “How’s the pottery going?”

“Haven’t really done a whole lot of it in the last few months. Picking up shifts leaves me exhausted most nights.”

“You’re a hard-working mom. Remember to take time for yourself.” She crosses her arms. “Take a bath, read a book. Whatever you have to do to unplug and enjoy that time without the guilt. It’s good for Oliver to understand that, as well.”

“He hates me. He knows Denny and I were … that our marriage was …. I still resent him, even after death. Every time I have a moment where I think I could forgive him, I remember that he took my son to meet with a drug dealer in an abandoned building. He endangered his life, and for what? A fix?”

“And how do you think a mother should react to that?”

Doctor Buckly has a knack for trying to lessen my guilt, but she’s not been successful at eliminating it altogether.

“I just want to do right by my son. I want him to feel safe again. To trust the world again.”

“Then, keep doing what you’re doing. Give him time to mourn and heal. And give yourself time to do the same. Your guilt is getting in the way of what your soul needs right now.”

“My soul?” I want to laugh at that. I don’t even know if I still have one, it’s been so long since I felt anything. “No. I don’t cry for him anymore. Surely, someone who loved the other person would need more than six months to get over it.”

“We all mourn in our own ways. And you’re clearly not over it. How are you sleeping at night?”

Rolling my head against my shoulders fails to loosen the incessant knot of remorse for having brought all this up. “Like I said, Sarah. You’re not my therapist. You don’t have to do this.”

“Nola. How are you sleeping?”

“Couple hours. It’s the same every night. Sometimes, Oli wakes up screaming. Sometimes, I swear he wakes up screaming.” Two months ago, I started sleeping with a knife under my pillow, but I don’t tell her that, because only crazy, paranoid women sleep with weapons.

“If you’d like, I can refer you to a friend of mine. She’s a psychiatrist. She can prescribe something for—”

“No. No pills. I don’t need to be hopped up on prescription drugs all night. I lived with that as a teenager. I know how it feels when your mom is practically comatose.”

I wish I could say Denny’s was the only tragedy I’ve been through, but my life is a circle, and outside of the lines is a darkness that wants in so badly, it pokes at me every day. It poked at my mother, until she finally gave in and let it consume her entirely.

The fringes weren’t always so bleak, though. In fact, there was a time they were so bright, we couldn’t see past the blinding light. That was before my older sister disappeared. I was only ten, on the brink of eleven at the time—about the same age as Oliver. She left for a date with a boy I’d never met and didn’t come home. Ever. The questions she left behind morphed into a vacuous hole that’s never gone away. So I’m no stranger to tragedy, or the effect of mind-numbing drugs meant to soften the lines, to coexist with that darkness. I don’t want a single drop of it inside me.

“It doesn’t do Oli any good, if you’re running on fumes, either.”

“Lesser of two evils, as far as I’m concerned.” I am tired. Tired and frustrated with how difficult it is just getting out of bed every morning. Maybe Denny was right when he said I’d never make it without him. Maybe part of me died alongside him that night, and this is my hell.

I stare back at my son, who sits with his head in his palms, his frustration clear as he kicks at the legs of the table in a poor attempt to calm an oncoming tantrum. “Just tell me this much, Sarah. Will he ever forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For lying to him. For telling him monsters didn’t exist.”

* * *

Iturn the car into the McDonald’s drive thru and order a chocolate milkshake and fries, just like every Friday after one of Oli’s sessions. Today, he doesn’t eat much, but picks at the small pack of fries like a bird, while we drive toward Jonah’s house. My brother’s wife, Diane, usually picks Oli up from the house after school for me, and takes him until I get home from my night shift at the diner, but as I have to work on Thanksgiving and the day after, they’ll be taking him until Sunday. Doesn’t help that Denny didn’t have a life insurance policy, so I try to grab as many hours as I can.

It’s been a while since I’ve left Oliver alone overnight, and I’m, admittedly, nervous about it.

“Hey, you won’t even miss me.” A fake chuckle escapes my lips, in a poor effort to hold back tears.

Oliver tosses his fries toward the cup holder between us, which sends a few of them bouncing onto the floor.

“Don’t be like that. Look, I know it’s hard right now, but … it’s going to get better. I promise. Just stick with me, okay, kiddo?” Tears blur my view, and I clear my throat. “I can’t do this without you.”

Despite his head being turned toward the window, I can see the scowl on his face, the permanent marks of his resentment that have added new lines.

“I was thinking maybe … in a few weeks, I’ll take a few days off, and we can go up to grandpa’s cabin. Do some fishing. I’ll let you bait the hook.” This time my chuckle is real and brimming with tears. “That sound good to you?”

His chest rises and falls with a huff, and he turns back toward the windshield. Without looking at me, he nods and nabs a fry from beside us.

A few days off will be tight, but if it brings him back to me, I’m willing to figure shit out with the bills. As if I need another reason to hate Denny, I wouldn’t owe anything more than taxes on the house if we hadn’t taken out a loan against it to pay off his debts and tools that were meant to start a new business and change our lives. My father left the house to me when he died, and Jonah inherited the cabin. Between waitressing and the small craft shows where I sell my hand-thrown pottery, I’m still not making it.

I pull up to the curb of my brother’s house, where Diane stands on the front porch. Looking far more healthy and beautiful than I feel right now, in her black turtle neck and hoop earrings, she waves, her face plastered with a bright smile, and makes her way toward the car. Unable to have children of her own, she’s practically begged to have Oliver over to stay with them, and as much as I should be comforted by the love and joy she gets from spending quality time with my son, I’m green with jealousy about it.

But I do appreciate her.

Young and vibrant, she’s a reminder of everything I used to be, when Denny and I were first married. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m just as much a reminder to her of what happens when you reach the end of that happy road.

“Hey, Potterhead! Ready for a movie marathon?” she asks, as she reaches the passenger door.

The question catches me off guard. Six months ago, that was a favorite past time with my son, and now he has no interest in watching anything with me. “You guys are watching Harry Potter? I didn’t …. I mean … that’s awesome.”

The door clicks as Oliver nabs his duffle bag from the floor, and I reach out for his arm. “Wait. No kiss?”

He leans toward me and lays a quick peck on my cheek, before slipping out through the half opened passenger door and up the staircase to the house.

Diane’s gaze trails after him a moment, before she swings her attention back to me. “Hey, Nola … if I overstepped—”

“You didn’t. At all. We haven’t watched those movies in … months.” I’ve tried to engage Oliver in doing the things we used to love before that night, but everything I’ve tried is a reminder of everything that’s different now.

Diane stuffs a hand inside her pocket and pulls out an envelope with a bank emblem on it.

Shaking my head, I set the gearshift to drive, but not before she reaches inside and drops the envelope on the passenger seat, where a stack of twenties spills out.

“Take it. Your brother wanted you to have it, but he knew you’d refuse him. I’m not so nice. You need it, Nola.”

“I’m not … taking money from you.”

“I’m not taking it back.”

In spite of the tears in my eyes, a laugh escapes me. “You already do so much for me, Diane. I can’t take this from you.”

“Watching Oliver helps me cope. So there’s that.” She turns away, and I can see her eyes are filled with tears, too. For three years, she’s tried to have a baby with my brother. Every month, she’s greeted with the disappointment of loss. Oliver’s acted as a substitute child, until the surrogate mother they’ve hired delivers, which should be sometime around Christmas. “You don’t let people do enough for you. Go … buy something nice for yourself, and for Oliver. And try not to worry so much about things, okay? Jonah and I … we got you.”

“I know.” Jesus, the more she talks, the more tears I have to wipe away. “Thank you for everything.” Sniffling, I clear my throat and curl my knuckles around the steering wheel. “I’m actually thinking about renting out the in-law suite in the back.” It’s not something I want to do, since I’ve grown just as wary of the world as Oliver, but a few extra bucks a month will certainly ease things, particularly with Christmas right around the corner.

“Be sure to have Jonah run a background check on whoever decides to take it. Don’t want some weirdo moving in.”

I snort at that, shaking my head. “I’ve had enough of those. Believe me. Bethany’s husband asked me if I’d consider a threesome with the two.”

A burst of laughter flies from Diane’s mouth, quickly capped behind her hand. “Are you kidding me?”

Bethany works with me at the diner, and it’s common knowledge that she and her husband swing. In fact, the owner has had to pull her aside to keep her from propositioning the customers. That didn’t stop her husband the last time he came in, though.

“I wish. I’d masturbate a cucumber before I’d crawl into bed with those two.”

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sister.” The waggling of her brows sets my teeth on edge, and I have to mentally force myself not to grimace at the thought of her and a cucumber when my brother isn’t around. “Just make sure you grab some lube.”

“Okay, TMI.” Eyes clamped shut, I pretend to bang my head against the steering wheel. “I gotta get to work. Thank you … for Oliver, for the cash … for the lube advice.”

“Don’t fear the lube. Pour a glass of wine, put on some music, and …”

“Yeah. Let’s not go there. Let Oli know I’ll miss him, okay? And I love him.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you back.”