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CHAPTER FOUR

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant,” I say, asking for forgiveness.

“I know I left scars on you, sweetheart, and I’ve carried that pain every day since. But we’ve now been together much longer than we were ever apart. You need to learn to trust people.”

“I trust you.”

She places her hand gently over mine on the table. “I know. And I’m so grateful we managed to rebuild our world, brick by brick. But I don’t want what happened to me to become a legacy of fear and pain for you.”

“It’s not,” I lie—even though I know that a huge part of the reason I don’t let myself have fun or date or even make real friends is because I can’t stand the thought of being abandoned again if they ever leave.

“Don’t tell me that with all the handsome guys who walk into that restaurant every day, you’ve never felt something for anyone?” she teases.

“Physical attraction? Sure. But nothing strong enough to make me want to go further.”

“You should open yourself up more. Working yourself to death at the restaurant and visiting me every week can’t be all that's left in your life.”

“I’m also studying to get into law school. I’m hoping for a scholarship.”

“Oh, right! How could I forget that? I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become, but you need balance, Alexis. Go out, laugh more, and maybe even date the right boy.”

“I’m not into boys, Mom. They’re all so . . . silly.”

“Then who are you into?” she asks, raising a curious brow.

“Men. Real men,” I say, feeling my face flush. “Over thirty.”

“Jesus, Alexis. I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Then I guess I’m dying single, because there’s no way I’m letting one of those spoiled rich boys from our town—or the ones nearby—kiss me ever again. I’ve tried. Didn’t work. And the guys from our social circle? They’re all taken. That’s what happens in small towns—people settle down early.”

“You could take a trip. Just for a week. Doesn’t have to be with a boyfriend. Living life doesn’t necessarily mean being with someone. What worries me is how closed off you are to everyone. Angela told me she invited you to a party and you turned her down.”

“For the same reason I told you—I’m not interested in guys my age.”

She still looks worried, so I go on, “I thought you said all that mattered was finding someone we connect with. I don’t think that has anything to do with age.”

“That’s true . . . I just never imagined you’d be drawn to someone over thirty.”

“Don’t worry. There’s no one on the horizon. All I meant was if there ever was, it wouldn’t be someone my age.”

When it’s time for our weekly goodbye, I put my fake smile back on, the one that hides the scream building inside me—the injustice of it all. My mom should be coming home with me, not be locked away in this place.

When she was arrested, I cut ties with God. I was furious that He’d let it happen.

That’s who I am—I erase people from my life the second I sense they might hurt me.

But it didn’t take long for me to realize how pointless it was to shut out the Creator. Not just because it was ungrateful—He had answered my prayers before—but because my nighttime monologues with Him brought me peace.

I stand and let her hug me for as long as she wants. My mom is a natural-born hugger and kisser. The month she got arrested, I used to dream she was there waiting to hug me after work, just like she always had.

There’s something special about a mother’s hug. It feels like being held by your favorite superhero—your personal protector. In my case, my heroine. The one I trust to shield me from all the bad in the world.

That’s why I feel so helpless. I couldn’t protect her.

I didn’t save her.

I leave her here, alone, week after week.

“Will you think about what I asked? Will you really try to live a little?” she asks, thankfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

“I am living, Mom. Don’t worry.”

“I mean outside your comfort zone, Alexis. You need to go out and see the world. Feel the warm sun on your face, breathe in the ocean air and the scent of flowers. Don’t let your mind stay locked up in here with me.

I have faith in God that I’ll be released soon—but when that happens, you won’t be able to get back the time you didn’t enjoy. ”

“That’s the kind of advice moms never give their daughters, Marla.”

“I’m not like most moms. I actually care about your happiness.”

“Okay, I’ll try. But traveling is off the table. We can’t afford any extra expenses. The lawyers are expensive enough.”

“I know. How’s the sale of the Flying Fish going?”

“We got two offers this week. I’m trying to push for a little more.”

She smiles. “You’re a natural negotiator—just like your dad was.”

My heart swells with pride and joy.

And like always, I’d trade anything just to have known him.