Page 111 of Middle Ground

MEYER

Chaos reignsin the aftermath of Felix’s arrest. Jackson’s blood is all over my hands, and I want nothing more than to wash it off. Wash this whole day away. Sink into that clawfoot tub in his room at the inn and forget abouteverything.

I take a few steps back from the ambulance, sucking in a deep breath. After forcing Jackson to get assessed by the paramedics that just arrived on the scene, I need a little space.

My head is spinning. In the span of an hour, I not only found out who my birth parents are, but I also had to talk my father down from shooting the man that I love.

Talk about daddy issues.

For now, I try to stuff those thoughts in a box and store it in the back of my mind. I don’t want to think abouthim.

Leaning against the outer wall of the flower shop, I close my eyes and pretend my hands don’t feel tacky from the blood. I really should find a way to get that off.

When my eyes open, I spot Ilsa wrapping up her conversation with a uniformed police constable. When they partways, she turns and locks gazes with me, and then she tentatively makes her way toward me. She has a water bottle and a towel in hand, and she offers them both to me.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

I take the items gratefully and begin to clean my palms as best as I can. A scalding shower is in my future, one where I can scrub at my skin until it’s left raw, but this is better than nothing right now.

“Hi,” I reply.

Once I’ve done what I can, I rub a hand against my arm, goosebumps trailing my flesh even though the summer heat is still bearing down. This isawkward, and I don’t want it to be.

“I am so sorry, Meyer. I didn’t know Felix was in town until just yesterday. If I had known, I…” She looks down at her feet. “I would have done things a lot differently.”

I place a hand on her arm, the need to comfort instinctual. “It’s not your fault, what he did.” I swallow thickly as my next words lodge in my throat. Maybe it’s not the time, but I can’t help myself. “What he said… Is it true? Are you my mother?”

Ilsa shakes her head. “Beatrice is your mother,” she corrects. “But I did give birth to you. When I was sixteen.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as having too many mothers,” I argue. “Besides, she’s all the way in Calderville, so right now, I think I could maybe use a hug from my other mom. If you wouldn’t mind.”

We have a lot to discuss, there’s no denying that, but Idoreally need a hug. I can’t pick apart all of my feelings on thematter right now, but I’m feeling unmoored and I need a steady presence to keep me grounded.

Ilsa’s resolve crumples. She winds her arms around me and holds me tight. Smoothing my hair back from my face, she begins to sway, and I imagine this is what it would have felt like for her to hold me as a child. At that thought, I let the tears fall freely, for all that we missed out on together.

“Schatzi,” she whispers.

I pull my head back. “Excuse me?”

She places her hands on my upper arms. The smile she offers me is watery. “Schatzi,” she says, clearer. “It’s German. It means my little treasure.”

“Little treasure…” I trail off as my thoughts try to organize themselves. “That’s the name of your flower shop.”

She nods, a soft smile gracing her lips. “It’s because of you that little Ilsa’s dream became a reality. Even though you would never know it, I wanted to make you proud, Meyer. I wanted to show you that you could have whatever you set your mind to.”

Too much. This day has been entirely too much. Both good and bad, a dizzying combination that leaves me spinning. It feels like it will take years to process everything properly.

“Gah,” I exclaim, “is this normal?”

“Is what normal?”

“For my heart to feel like it’s being squeezed inside my chest.”

She laughs. “I don’t know about normal, but I can tell you that I feel the same way.” Her eyes turn somber, and myheart begins to ache. “I’m so relieved you’re okay. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t. You and Jackson.”

“I’m relievedyou’reokay. I—” I break off, my mind running a thousand kilometres an hour. There’s so many things I want to say, to fit into these fleeting moments we have. “I’m just relieved.”

“You probably have a lot of questions. We?—“