48
Sophie spends a half-hour in the room with my mother as we wait in the hall. Jake has asked me a dozen times if I’m sure about not going in, and I glare at him coldly. He clamps his mouth shut and looks away. His jaw tenses in agitation, but he leaves it alone.
He just doesn’t get it at all; he has no way of understanding my relationship with her when his mother is everything you could want in a parent: kind, caring, protective, and loyal. She would move mountains for her sons and is an advocate for abused children across all states. He wouldn’t understand.
My mother is the polar opposite. I spent my childhood being her carer, protector, and mother and fighting off the aggressive men she brought home. When I was eleven, I bought my baseball bat with money from a paper route, and I used it more than once to shield her from overly violent arguments with her current boyfriend. Even at such an early age, my fire and rage were uncontrollable. It saved me from advances so many times from men who pushed the line into perversion, but I fought back, said ‘no,’ and erupted. I have been hit so many times, but I would lash back for each strike. It was never worth their while to pursue me, a crazy little fireball of spitting rage, wielding fists at them. On the other hand, Ray was truly a monster, and the fighting back only turned him on. He pushed the boundaries and showed me that I was still just a weak little girl at the end of the day.
Sophie finally emerges, her eyes wet and her nose running. I’m hit with a bite of anger. My mother always knows how to break you down and make you feel guilty. It is just one of the many reasons I can’t walk into that room today or ever again.
“She’s asking to see you,” Sophie says softly, touching my hand gently. I say nothing, shake my head and turn on my heel, indicating they should follow. Jake doesn’t, however; he stands his ground and regards me with narrowed eyes before turning and walking into my mother’s room with a frown. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat, and gawp after him.
I snap around and run after him, ready to haul him back out as my anxiety peaks; he knows nothing about why she’s in here, and one look will tell him everything. I’m too late; his long strides have him past the curtain around her bed as I enter the room. My mother has the good grace at least to sit up and fix her hair at his sudden entrance.
Well, who wouldn’t? Look at him!
There is confusion in her eyes as she takes in his appearance: casual jeans, leather jacket, trademark tight T-shirt, and his shades nestled in that spiked hair. Definitely not a doctor, although he looks like he would make a gorgeous one. He’s appraising her face, his eyes moving to her broken arm, the bruised, swollen chaos. I slide up beside him, glaring coldly, but he only raises an eyebrow at me, and I know what he’s thinking. He knows this was no accident; he knows I’ve been keeping this from him, and, somewhere in that quick brain, he’s wondering if Ray is involved. I can bet he’s already figured it is Ray who did this. I crumble under his scrutiny as my mother grabs at my hand, taking full advantage of my distraction.
“Emma, I’m so glad you changed your mind,” she wells up, sounding pitiful and childish. I force down the wave of guilt and emotion. I won’t let her get under my skin this time.
“I never had a choice.” I glare at Jake again, who at least has the sense to step back and shove his hands in his pockets. His eyes rest on me, but his face is blank.
“Hey, Mrs. … Ummm, Jocelyn?” He pulls a hand free again and waves awkwardly at her. “I’m Jake Carrero. Emma’s …umm, boss.” His eyebrows twitch as though he feels stupid introducing himself that way. My anger simmers. I don’t see shy and awkward from him very often; in fact, I have never seen shy or awkward from him. It is so at odds with who he is.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Jake. I’m sure Emma told you about my car accident,” she lies easily, and I roll my eyes and clench my teeth.
Mother, he’s not a fucking moron.
She’s still gripping my hand forcefully, but I tug it free and move away from her so she can’t try to touch me again. My mother never really showed affection in the form of touching as I grew up; she never cuddled me or sat me on her knee. This little scene is for Jake’s benefit, much like yesterday was for Sophie’s.
“I came to say goodbye, Mother. The doctors informed me your injuries are not life-threatening; you’ll be home in a couple of days.” Cool and distant. Jake’s gaze is on me, studying my tone of voice and controlled manner. I know he’s trying to analyze the relationship; I wish he would stop watching us so closely.
“I will be, yes. I hoped you would stay a few days,” she whines, blinking wistfully, big eyes fluttering up at me childishly, trying to give me her most needy look through the swelling and bruises. I turn my face away to inspect the tubes hanging by her bedside. Avoidance always works a treat.
“I have work, a life,” I mumble; there is a minefield of emotions and thoughts rushing through me. I hate how she always reduces me to this over-emotional, erratic mess so that I never know which way is up. I made the best decision years ago when I walked out on her. I needed my mind free of this trauma and tugging to find myself and gain some inner peace. I need it again now.
“Emma, you’re my child,” she whines quietly, putting on a show for Jake. I snort involuntarily, causing Jake to narrow his eyes at me. My mother carries on unhindered, used to this aggressive, insolent Emma, used to my coldness toward her. “Regardless of how you behave, I know you love me. Somewhere deep inside the icy exterior is a heart. It’s why you came at all,” she continues. A tear tugs at my eye involuntarily, and I storm away from the bed in response to her. I won’t do this again; every time she’s near me, this is how she gets to me.
“We have a plane to catch, Mother. Jake’s arranged for home help until you’re healed, so she’ll be there for your release and won’t leave until the cast comes off,” I throw back flatly, “Appreciate it, and sort your life out.” I stalk out of the room, my heart pounding with many sensations and trembling hands. I walk past Sophie, who’s staring out of a window in the stark hall; she turns and follows as we start heading toward the main floor exit. I keep a fast pace.
Jake catches up in a jog moments later, coming to walk beside me. He reaches down and takes my hand in his, entwining our fingers softly. He opens his mouth to say something, but my cold, ‘back off’ glare makes him clamp it shut again. He looks away, that familiar tension in his jaw as he quells his annoyance. We know each other too well. He slides his arm against mine as he thinks better of pursuing it. My body relaxes as the calming effect he always has on me kicks in, enjoying his hand enveloping mine securely. I’m grateful that he’s here after all, grateful that he says nothing and just holds my hand. We leave the hospital wordlessly.
***
Everything Sophie owns is in the car with our bags, which isn’t much, just one grubby and torn rucksack that’s so full the zipper is coming undone. She is, after all, a runaway from a poor town and impoverished parents.
The trip to the airfield is short and silent as we all mull things over in our heads. Jake has glanced down at his cell many times, and I know he’s been waiting for his mother to call back with more definite plans for Sophie. In the meantime, we have agreed that we’ll both stay at his Manhattan apartment with her until she’s placed in a safe environment through the proper channels. He has more than enough rooms for all of us. Jake feels she needs me there to feel safe, as having her with him alone just doesn’t feel right to him, considering her back story; it’s not appropriate.
Sophie is sitting with eyes as wide as saucers. All of this is so overwhelming to her, and I think the realization is finally dawning that this is the start of her new beginning. I remember feeling that way on the coach out of Chicago with Sarah by my side. Finally free, running far away from all of it and running from my mother's influence. Running from a lifetime of terror and fear.
She reaches out and takes my hand as she sits between Jake and me on the rear seat, this small motion bringing up an internal feeling I had for her before, a maternal protective instinct. This girl will have the chance I should have had at her age. I’ll make sure she has a far removed life from where she has come. In a way, I know my reasons are partially for myself, as though adult Emma is somehow reaching into the past and pulling teen Emma to freedom, saving her in a way I could not save myself so many years ago.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
