Uncovering You 7: Resurrection (12 page)

“No.” She stops and her eyes take on a faraway look. “Not someone like him. Someone
worse
. Your father, he did drugs. But he could…he could control his cravings. A ‘functional addict’, isn’t that the term they use these days? And I…I was exactly the opposite.”

“But you’re not anymore!” I say gruffly. I smile.

“No,” she agrees. “But the damage had already been done. I know I ruined your teens, Lilly. Those are years you can never have back. Things should never have deteriorated into what they became. And who holds the ultimate responsibility for that? I do. I’m just shocked—astounded, really—at all you’ve managed to accomplish. All you’ve managed to do, despite your upbringing. I mean really, Lilly: Yale? That’s almost beyond belief. Hell, to be honest,” she fixes me with one of her looks, “I don’t know if I would have believed you, had you come to me today and told me, if I hadn’t seen it in print.”

“Thanks for having faith in me, mom,” I say dryly. Then I wink.

She laughs. Then she stops, blinks, and says, “God, it feels good to laugh. Especially because I’m doing it with you.”

That sentiment warms my insides.
This
is the woman I’ve despised for so long?
This
is the woman for whom I’ve held so much contempt?

I can hardly believe how stupid I’ve been. I couldn’t see past my own struggles to look at hers. All I could see was the alcoholism. I never even tried to understand the woman—the person—behind it all.

And for that, I am truly sorry. But I already know better than to live with regret. I’m just glad to have finally gained the strength to find her, to see her, and to put the past where it belongs.

“So enough about that,” I say. I’ve gotten the other thing I needed from her: confirmation. Confirmation that Paul’s story checks out. Now I know that he was telling the truth, and that Jeremy didn’t set it all up to deceive me.

If only I could say the same about Hugh.

“How have
you
been, mom?”

“Oh, you know.” She gives a half-hearted shrug. “Hanging in there, I guess.”

“I saw you at work earlier,” I say. “You owned the place.”

“What, you didn’t think I had it in me?”

“No, no,” I backtrack. “It’s just—”

“Lilly. Relax. I’m toying with you. Nothing you could say can ever upset me. You don’t know how grateful I am just to see you again. It still feels a bit surreal, kind of like a dream, to have you sitting in my trailer.”

“Well, I’m no miracle,” I say with a smile. “I’m really real. And I’m really here.”

“I’ve been working there for almost a year,” she says. “It’s good. It’s stable. The customers aren’t so bad. There are a few regulars who tip well…” she winks. “I pay a few of them back in my own special way.”

“Mom!”

“What? You don’t think I still have it in me? Last I checked, I’m more or less the same age as the man
you’re
currently involved with, and I don’t see you doubting his sexual prowess—”

“I do
not
want to talk about your sex life, mom!” I exclaim. “Or mine.”

Her eyes twinkle. “So he’s good, then? I mean, I would assume so…a man with so much charisma, so much power. How
did
the two of you meet, honey? You haven’t yet told me a single thing about
Jeremy
.”

“It’s a long story,” I say, and launch into the same practiced lie Jeremy and I invented for Thalia and Fey.

Chapter Fifteen

Hours pass. By the time we’re done talking, the sun is starting to rise.

I’m exhausted. Seeing my mother and reconnecting with her on a personal level is nothing I could have believed possible a few months ago. But then again, so many things have happened to me since then that my entire worldview is now different.

I used to think that there were bad people and there were good people in the world. That there was no such thing as bad people doing good things, or good people doing bad things. The things you did defined you as a person, and so your actions were the true measure of your worth.

Admittedly, it was a very narrow view of the world. But it helped me immerse myself in academics for long enough to end up where I wanted to be. And then Jeremy came storming in…and all that changed.

Despite all the bad he’s done to me, I can no longer deny the good. And I don’t have to. I’m not afraid of it anymore.

Jeremy opened my eyes to the true nature of the world. What is that nature? It’s indefinable. It’s ever-changing, constantly in flux, and never, ever what you expect. To try to put your finger on it would be like trying to stop a river with nothing more than a handful of twigs.

It can’t be done.

But that’s not the point. The point isn’t to try to understand and define something so much greater than yourself. The point is to acknowledge your place in the world, to realize how little you can ever truly know, and to make peace with that understanding.

People will surprise you. Events and circumstances will surprise you. The only way to ready yourself for it is to become infinitely mutable. To forge ahead on the untrodden path. To trust in your ability to lose yourself and to accept it, once you do veer off-course.

Because stability, truth, and expectations? They’re not lies, exactly, but they will never be the anchors you want them to be.

Jeremy showed me that. He showed me that forgiveness is possible. My mother and I are but the latest examples. It would have seemed inconceivable to me that I would be lying down, about to fall asleep, under the same roof as her, after having made peace… if you would have suggested it to me while I was still at Yale.

But here I am, about to do just that. She gave me her bed, despite all my protests. But they were half-hearted, at best, given how tired I was when it finally came time to call it a night. Tomorrow—or whatever day it’ll be when I wake up—I’m going back to Jeremy. I’m going back to Jeremy, with full control and confidence in my mind. And there, I will demand answers from him: about Hugh, about the video, about his driver. We’ll see what face he shows me then.

Chapter Sixteen

When I wake up, mom’s gone. I find a note from her in the kitchen:

Meatloaf’s in the fridge.

I smile. It’s been a long time since she’s cared enough to feed me at home.

I look through a window. It’s dark outside. A freshly fallen, white, fluffy snow covers everything. It makes me think of the holidays, even though they’re past. For a few nostalgic moments, I reminisce about the Christmases of my childhood.

Those are memories I haven’t recalled in a long time.
Good
memories, of my mother and me. No matter how poor we were, no matter how much she struggled just to put food on the table, I never felt it. Not as a child. Every Christmas, she would delight me with boxes of chocolate that I devoured and, sometimes, other little trinkets to let me know she cared.

They weren’t expensive. They didn’t have to be. For a child, every gift on Christmas feels like a little miracle. Mom never deprived me of that.

Not until alcohol took over her life, at least.

But we’ve moved past that now. She’s sober, which is a revelation I would have never believed. I witnessed it when she poured the Johnny Walker down the drain. Liquor still has its pull on her. I saw the struggle play out before me. But she was been able to resist. That takes strength. Real strength, of the type I didn’t know Renee possessed.

I turn away from the window and look over her small dwelling. I live in a huge mansion, while she lives in…
this
?

Could I give her some money? Would she take it? Or would it—

I stop short, and wonder at the direction my thoughts have turned in disbelief. I’ve been in my position at Stonehart Industries for less than two weeks. I’ve been the recipient of a real income for less than two weeks. Not that I’ve even checked the bank accounts that Jeremy opened for me after I signed the employment offer. I haven’t had time. Still, it’s astounding to think that
I
have enough money to consider offering a portion to my mother.

But do I really want to get her involved in anything to do with Jeremy Stonehart? No. Not yet, at least. It’s still too early to consider doing that. Hell, I don’t even know where
I
stand with him. Or how on earth I’m going to get to California without having to swallow my pride and tell him I’ve been robbed.

That
is a conversation I want to put off for as long as possible. I shudder to think of the damage it’ll do to his impression of me.

But I cannot allow myself to be childish. My need to get back to California overpowers everything else. The need to get revenge, to see Jeremy pay for the things that he’s done to me hasn’t been forgotten.

Yet the problem is: I can feel that desire slipping away. I rely on Jeremy for pretty much everything in my life. If I, somehow, bring him down, what will I have left?

No
! I shake my head wildly to dispel the notion. I’m a survivor. Always have been, always will be. I’ll find my way. Didn’t I just prove that with my mother? I just need to trust in myself…to believe in my own abilities…enough to overcome whatever weakness I’ve allowed into my life since that watershed phone call from Fey. Granted, I lost some confidence in myself. But I think, finally, that it’s coming back.

I look around once more. Today is already lost. Judging by the clock, I got nearly fourteen hours of sleep. Tomorrow, then, I’ll call Jeremy and ask for a return flight. It keeps this trip on its original, intended schedule, that way. And it wouldn’t feel right to simply leave mom without saying good-bye.

I might not be ready to give her money. But I sure as hell can surprise her with something I used to do all the time.

I can tidy up her place.

***

By the time I’m done, six hours have flown by.

I wipe the sweat away and look around in satisfaction. When mom comes home, she won’t recognize the place.

It’s spotless. Everything is in order, from the living room to the bathroom to the tiny kitchen. I dusted and vacuumed and washed the floors. I worked out the old stains in the carpet, cleaned the grime off the window screens, and washed the counters. I folded her clothes, stacked them in neat piles, and organized her closet. I scrubbed the mold out of the tub and tried to disinfect the bathroom counter with baking soda and vinegar.

It felt good to clean. To lose myself in mindless busy work. Maybe that’s because it diverted my attention from more pressing matters, or because I’ve simply been deprived of the opportunity for so long. With Rose taking care of all domestic needs at the mansion, I’ve never been given the chance.

The only thing left is to take out the trash. I pull the overflowing bin out from under the counter, tie the bag up, and pull it loose. Something hidden behind it catches my eye.

I kneel down. Wedged behind the trash bin in a dark little inconspicuous corner is an old cardboard chocolate box, about the size of a small notebook. There’s an elastic band around it that tells me it’s not something that just missed the can. It’s something that mom
hid
.

I take it out. There’s a layer of dust on top. I blow the dust off, then shake the box gently, trying to judge the contents. Whatever is inside is not very heavy. Photographs, maybe?

I bite my lip. I know I probably shouldn’t…but curiosity gets the better of me. I slide the elastic off, slowly, and lift the lid.

What I find there surpasses all my expectations.

The box is filled with…all of my school stuff. Report cards I’d gotten in high school. Copies of the newsletters announcing the honor roll students. Medals and ribbons I’d been awarded at science fairs, math competitions. Assignments and tests from my sophomore, junior and senior years with proud markings of 100%, 98%, A+, and so on.

At the very bottom is a single photograph. The colors are washed out, and the edges are dog-eared. There are three people there, two of whom I recognize right away.

My mom. Grinning like a lunatic from the backseat of a car. My dad—Paul—with his full lumberjack beard, one arm around Renee’s shoulders, his attention all on the little bundle in her hands.

That’s me. Only the top of my head is visible, peeking out from under an excessively bundled, tiny body.

A tear falls from my eye. It lands right in the middle of the photograph. I hurry to wipe it away with my thumb, not wanting to ruin something this precious.

I cement the photograph in my mind and lower it, gently, to the bottom of the box. Seeing that photograph means so much to me. It’s a snapshot of the life that never was.

My parents both look so young, so… happy. Paul… no! I can’t think of him as Paul—not anymore. Not after seeing that picture. My
father
…I can just feel the pride radiating from him, frozen in that moment in time. Maybe I’m being stupid, or sentimental, or whatever, but I truly believe that I can see the love my parents had for each other. From the way my dad holds my mom, to the completely unburdened, genuine, and full-of-life smile that lights her face, and yes, even to the way he looks at me, it all…it all cements things, in my mind.

Here is the family I could have had. Here is the life that was taken away from me. But, it’s not even about me. I’ve managed. I’ve survived.

No, this picture is a representation of the life that was taken away from
my parents
. Of the one they should have lived. Of the one that could have been so much better, for both of them.

It fills my heart with sadness, how two people who were so clearly in love with one another could not make things work. There’s no third party to place the blame on. I can’t say it was Jeremy’s fault, which has been the natural conclusion for almost everything that has gone wrong in my life recently.

No, this picture was taken before my family was even on Jeremy’s radar. Imagine. If my dad had never left, if he’d never found his way to California…