Lifers (43 page)

I stared at her coldly.

“Well, that’s just not true, Mom, is it? You cared more about your reputation as the community’s moral guardian. Couldn’t have your daughter screwing the local leper.”

Her face flushed, and she looked down.

“I’ve tried to do the right thing by you as well as by my conscience. But I’m not perfect, and I don’t always get it right. I really am sorry about what I said, Torrey. About you, about Jordan. You’re right, it was a bad case of double standards. But I hope you’ll believe me when I say I was worried about my daughter. I was behaving like a mom, not like a priest. I’ve had time to examine my conscience, you might say. I’ve prayed a lot.”

I rolled my eyes. “Great. Did ya get any good advice this time?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she shot back.

I had to smile at that. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So,” she said, slowly. “How are things with you and Jordan?”

“It was getting really good. We were making plans for the future.”

“And now?”

“Honestly, Mom, I want to say we’ll be fine…”

“But?”

“But I need him to stop blaming himself for Mikey’s death. I mean, he just let those guys beat the shit out of him. He just stood there. And you know what he said to me? That he was ‘paying a debt’. When does he stop paying? When does he start living his life? For us?”

Mom sighed heavily and shook her head.

“Guilt is a terrible burden,” she said quietly, looking up at me. “Believe me, I know.”

I understood what she was saying. I appreciated it, but it didn’t really help either.

She didn’t stay long after that. But just before she left, she bent down and whispered something to Jordan. I couldn’t hear what she said, but it felt like she’d made her peace with him. With us.

Torrey

“A whole month without sex? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Jordan whisper-yelled, his face disbelieving, his eyes hurt.

I folded my arms.

“Nope. No sex. Doctors’ orders.”

I picked up the leaflet we’d been given when he’d been discharged after four days in the hospital, and waved it in his face:
What to expect after your retinal surgery
. When he ignored me, I pulled the leaflet open and read the relevant section out loud.

“‘
The first week after surgery should be reserved for rest with slow, careful movements only
,’” I enunciated carefully. “‘
Activity may be resumed after one month, but heavy lifting, for example objects over 20 pounds, as well as strenuous activities should be avoided while the eye continues to heal
.’ So basically, Jordan, if your eye isn’t healing properly, you won’t get laid even
after
a whole month is up. We are
not
risking your eyesight. You went without sex for eight years—you can manage a couple of months.”

He’d been home from the hospital for less than half an hour and had already begged me to get naked with him.

“I mean, jeez! Look at you!” I hissed, not wanting his parents to overhear our intimate discussion. “You’re all banged up, broken ribs and shit! Other than blowing you, there’s not much we can do anyway.”

His uninjured eye widened and he licked his lips. “Uh, that sounds real good, sweetheart.”

“No. Freakin’. Way,” I said shaking my head, annoyed with myself for giving him false hope. “God knows what damage you’d do! Having an orgasm is like sneezing. Your ribs would just about kill you, let alone what it could do your eye. Ask me again in a month.”

His face fell and it was quite a job to keep from laughing.

He bit his lip, thinking hard.

“Well, how about I get you off?” he asked, hopefully.

I hadn’t thought of that. Huh, I had to admit I liked the way his mind worked.

“That’s a definite maybe, but right now you need to rest.”

Despite his objections, he was obviously exhausted. I helped him pull off his pants and shirt, trying not to wince when I saw again the mottling of yellow bruises that covered his chest, hips and back. At least the swelling on his face had gone down, but he had to wear a protective guard over his eye for another day, and for the next two weeks at night to prevent him rolling on it or damaging it in his sleep.

I’d just pulled up the sheets around him when there was a knock on the door.

“Everything okay?”

Gloria’s voice was hesitant on the other side, but Jordan frowned.

“What does she want?” he snapped, not bothering to keep his voice down.

I shrugged.

Gloria had started trying to make some more effort toward Jordan since visiting him in the hospital, but I was afraid it was too little, too late. I hoped I was wrong. Hell, Jordan was the most forgiving person I’d ever met, but his temper was worn thin right about now, especially with his parents. Ironically, it was because of Gloria’s previous attitude to me, rather than what she’d put him through over the last eight years.

His relationship with Paul was more tenuous, too. He seemed to think his dad had chosen sides by having Gloria back in the house. One way or another, Paul was between a rock and a hard place. I felt sorry for him, but my priority was Jordan.

I opened the door and found Gloria waiting outside with two mugs of herbal tea.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” she said. “It’s herbal tea … you mentioned that he shouldn’t have caffeine, so…”

“Oh, right. Thanks,” I said, accepting the drinks. “Jordan’s going to take a nap now.”

Her face crumpled.

“But I’m sure he’ll want to drink this first. Thank you, Gloria. That was very thoughtful of you.”

Behind the door, Jordan was pulling a face and shaking his head.

I closed the door again and tried to give him the mug with the thin brew. He wrinkled his nose.

“I hate this shit.”

“Shut up and drink it. You’re not getting coffee. Not while you’re trying to rest.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked mutinous.

“She’s trying, Jordan,” I said, softly.

He shot me a bitter look. “When did you join her cheer team?”

“Don’t be a jerk. She knows we’re going to be out of here as soon as your parole is up. She wants to make her peace with you. At last.”

He sighed heavily. “I know. I just don’t care, and I’m not sure I want that anymore.”

“Maybe it’s not about what you want,” I hinted. “Maybe it’s about helping
her
to come to terms with Mikey’s death and everything that’s happened. She knows she’s been a shitty mom for the last eight years, but you said she wasn’t always like that. If all she can manage is to make you a lousy herbal tea, then fine—it’s better than nothing.” I looked at him directly. “It’s better than her hating you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, I get it. Still fuckin’ hate this. It tastes like piss,” he moaned, taking the mug.

I smiled, because I knew that meant he’d let her in, eventually.

The next day my words came back to bite me in the ass. Of course.

I’d been up long enough to get Jordan some juice and a plate of scrambled eggs courtesy of Gloria. Then I shoved some more pain pills at him and helped to take care of his eye. Just doing all that wore him out, so I left him to go back to sleep while I showered and dressed.

Paul had headed out to work and Gloria left a note saying she’d gone to the store. I was left to wander around the house by myself.

I ended up in Mikey’s room. It was less of a mausoleum than it had been, but it still looked as if they were waiting for him to come home. It made me sad.

I picked up his yearbook and started going through it. I flicked through the photographs, seeing pictures of Mikey on every other page: the football team, the senior prom, prizes for the best smile, the best body and the guy most likely to succeed. He’d also won biggest flirt and biggest party animal. I felt like putting stickers on those pages and making Gloria look at them. But what would be the point.

Then I saw a photograph that made me pause: Mikey, Ryan and Jordan. Mikey was in the middle and they were all standing with their arms around each other’s shoulders, grinning at the camera. You could see that Mikey and Jordan were brothers. Jordan was the taller, but slighter than he was now. He looked very much a kid. That picture must have been taken just a few months before the accident. The caption said,
Best Buddies, 2006
.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the front door. God, I hoped it wasn’t a surprise parole inspection. That was the last thing that Jordan needed. Or me, for that matter.

But when I yanked it open, it wasn’t anyone from the parole team.

“Hello, Torrey. May I come in?”

“What are you doing here, Mom?”

“Well, after our talk, I felt I wanted to speak to Jordan, too, if that’s all right. I wanted to apologize to him personally.”

I opened the door wider. “He’s sleeping at the moment. He gets pretty tired.”

“Perhaps I could wait?”

I sighed and waved her inside.

“Yeah, fine. He’ll probably be awake shortly. You want a coffee or something? I can’t drink it in front of Jordan because he’s supposed to be off caffeine for now.”

She smiled.

“That sounds wonderful. You always make the best coffee.”

“Yup, almost a professional,” I said, snippily.

She followed me into the kitchen while I made a fresh pot.

“I bet you’re glad to have him … home.”

I threw a look over my shoulder.

“I don’t think this is much of a home for him, Mom. For either of us.”

She hesitated a moment.

“You could always come to me, to the Rectory.”

“I’m not leaving him here!” I snapped.

“I didn’t mean that—I meant you could both come, if you like.”

I blinked at her in surprise.

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. You’re my daughter … and I hear Jordan is going to be my son-in-law—although I can’t see a ring.” She paused when I didn’t say anything. “Is it true?”

“Maybe, yeah. I just said it to the hospital staff because they weren’t telling me anything, but yeah, he has mentioned it to me.”

“And?”

“And I don’t have the highest opinion of marriage.”

“Oh, I see.”

I shrugged.

“I don’t know, Mom. I think Jordan plans on wearing me down until I cave in and say yes.”

She smiled and her eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I think he’ll make you a very good husband, Torrey. You need someone to stand up to you.”

Her optimism was making me uncomfortable.

I finished my coffee and stood up. “Come on then. Just … don’t upset him, Mom. He’s been through enough.”

She shook her head. “I just want to talk to him, that’s all.”

“Yeah well, words can hurt as much as fists,” I pointed out.

She nodded her agreement, and we made our way up the stairs.

“Just give me a second while I wake him. If you walk in on him now, he might think he’s getting the last rites.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Very funny, Torrey.”

Yeah, except I wasn’t joking
.

I pushed open the door and walked in. Even though I was used to seeing the bruises, it still hurt to look at him.

He opened his good eye as I sat on the bed next to him, and he smiled.

“I sure like this dream,” he said. “Who are you, beautiful?”

“Ha-ha. If this were a dream, you wouldn’t be all banged up.”

“And you’d be naked,” he added, winking at me.

“Rein it in, cowboy. My mom’s outside—she wants to see you.”

He looked confused for a second, then his anxious look was back.

“She wants to see me?”

“Specifically, she wants to apologize to you.”

“What for?”

Mom’s head peered around the door. “A few things, Jordan. Quite a few things.”

She winced as she walked into the room, shocked again as she took in his bruised and battered body, and the eye guard taped in place.

He mumbled something under his breath and struggled to sit up.

“How are you, Jordan?” she said.

“Fine,” he answered, automatically.

Mom paused. “Well, I’m glad you’re out of the hospital. I was … worried when I heard what had happened.”