Page 109

I learned a few things in rehab. Forgiveness. They say you’re supposed to let go of all negative emotions and memories from your past and move on with whatever positives remains. If nothing remain, then the relationship was all negative—abusive, even if invisibly so.
For longer than I’d like to admit, I punished myself for my mom walking out. For not choosing us against alcohol or drugs, or men. I had guilt of failure, the weight of my own let down had left me in a living nightmare.
Did I want to forgive her? No. I didn’t.
My brothers don’t know I saw her, years later. I was eleven when I knew the truth. That she’d left my dad for Rod Mulin.
Shade and Scarlet pick me up from rehab. It’s the first time I say to him, “I met our mom. She was fucked up at the time and I told her I hoped she overdosed. She also had an affair with Rod Mulin. It’s why I hate him.”
Admit it, even you weren’t expecting me to admit all that, were you? Hell, I don’t think I was either. It just sort of came out.
Scarlet stares at me, then Shade. He raises his sunglasses, sets them on the dash of his truck. “Hey to you too, bro.”
I breathe out, my stomach tight with nerves. “I just needed to get that out before anything else.”
“Anything else?” He tips to Scarlet beside him. “Did you fuck him? Is that why you like him so much?”
She gasps and smacks his head. “Stop that. I’ve never had sex with him.”
Leaning forward, I reach over the seat and pull Scarlet’s hair. “Ah, Northwest, tell him the truth. He deserves to know about us.”
Laughter erupts in the cab of the truck. Shade knows the truth. He thinks. For a minute. Then reaches for his sunglasses and then starts the truck. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”
“Our mom?” He nods. “Yeah. I think she’s buried next to her parents in Montebello.”
“Have you ever been there?” Scarlet asks, twisting around from the front seat and looking at me.
“No.” I haven’t. I’ve never even been to my dad’s grave and it’s in the same city I’ve grown up in. I don’t know why, probably out of fear.
Shade pulls out of the parking lot.
“Take me there,” I tell him. His eyes find mine in the rearview mirror, then he slips his sunglasses on.
We drive to Montebello.
It’s an hour drive and then we’re standing in front of a grave. I stare at the weathered stone time has forgotten with overgrown grass. The sky’s bright, the air cooler as fall begins. Everything dirt brown and in need of nourishment.
A mother should love you enough. Willa did. She appreciated there was more to me. Loving a child isn’t just a feeling, or something you should do. It’s a decision, a judgment, and a promise. One she couldn’t give us growing up. I don’t know why she couldn’t, but I don’t think about it anymore. I won’t.
Cynthia Sawyer, I won’t think of you.
My jaw clenches, words stall, but then I say, “We were your kids. How could you not fight for us?”
Once I say it out loud, I realize how trite that sounds. Pot meet kettle, right? Either way, she left an imprint on my life, for better or worse. Some people can bury the past, hide it, run from it, whatever you chose, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t with her.
Are you surprised? Don’t be.
Shade doesn’t say anything, but he’s strangely focused on the ground. “Feel better?”
I shrug. “I guess. You?”
“I don’t remember anything about her. Not a goddamn thing.”
I kneel, brush away dirt and dried leaves from the headstone and I look at Shade. “It’s not even her grave.”
He laughs. “Oh well.”
We leave. Scarlet drives and Shade tells her he’s going to have her license revoked. I can’t say I disagree. In a state full of asshole drivers, I can honestly say Scarlet is one of the worst.