Page 87 of The Charm of You

I pause next to my bed, a towel wrapped tightly around my waist as I decide a change of sheets would be preferable. As I retrieve them from the closet, I notice a light through my window. With one hand, I inch the curtain to the side and find the kitchen light at my mom’s is on, which is odd at this hour. Ma always turns off every light in the house, except for the one in the hall outside her bedroom.

“Huh,” I mutter, then return to my task, although a nagging idea eats at me.

Should I check on her?

She probably just forgot the light. Or, she needed a glass of water. People need water sometimes.

Besides, the last time I rushed over there because of a rogue light, I was practically scarred. She had, in fact, ventured into the kitchen for a drink, and she was in nothing but her robe. Which she hadn’t properly fastened, and I thought my eyes would burn right out of my damn skull.

I busy myself with securing the new mattress sheet over the corners of my bed, and once I’m done, I straighten my back and notice the light is still on.

Instantly, I stiffen as my mind races through the possibilities, none of which are good.

I’m hurled back to my sixteenth birthday. Instead of receiving a cake and a new truck like many of the other kids in my class, I’d returned home from school to a mess.

My mother had been rummaging through the kitchen. She’d flung all the cabinets open, and their contents were scattered around her like a tornado had ripped through the house.

Her hair was high and frizzy on one side, and her eyes—I’ll never forget the chaos in her eyes.

They were haunted.

My heart shriveled like dehydrated fruit, and it lodged itself into my throat. I couldn’t speak. Rather than try, I dropped my backpack by the refrigerator and hugged her.

Before then, I’d let her be. If she wanted to hole up in her room, I wouldn’t push her to come out. If she didn’t want to eat, all I could do was make sure she had a hot meal if she changed her mind.

I never overstepped. Who was I to tell her how to process her grief from losing my dad?

But the night of my sixteenth birthday, I wanted to make her whole, so I wrapped my scrawny arms around her and tried like hell to hold her together in one piece.

She kept mumbling that she’d misplaced one of Dad’s pocketknives. That she had to find it. That she couldn’t lose any more of him.

It was a turning point for her—and me. Things changed so much for me that night, and beyond.

Later the same night was when I’d scrambled into her car and drove around town until I found the bridge. It was the first of many nights I’d spent out there. After I’d saved up enough money to buy my own truck, which Judd helped secure a good price on, I went out to the bridge a lot.

Emotions sink like lead into my limbs as I lower myself onto the edge of my bed, staring out the window like it’s a portal to the past.

When Ma’s kitchen light finally shuts off, I release a breath of relief.

Lying back, I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easily, even as I repeat to myself that I’m here. I’m watching over Ma. She’s not only fine, but she’s happy.

We’ve come a long way since my sixteenth birthday.

chapter

twenty-seven

CAROLINE

I twirl in the kitchen with a skillet of scrambled eggs in hand, singing Miranda Lambert to myself. Of course, it’s with a few original notes, as I can’t always hit them with the same gusto as the country music star.

But I’m still in my pajamas with the kitchen to myself, and a steaming cup of coffee is my only audience. Singing perfectly is not at the top of my agenda on this Thursday morning.

The sun’s bright rays glow over the two plates I’ve set on the island, and I scoop eggs onto each, then retire the pan to the sink. As I croon the final note of the song, the oven dings, as if to punctuate the ending of my private concert.

With a polka-dotted oven mitt on one hand, I retrieve the tray of golden-brown biscuits, steal a healthy whiff, and place it onto the stove.

I spin on my tiptoes to grab another plate with the start of the next song bursting out of me, but I freeze when I realize the coffee is not my only listener anymore.

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