Page 43 of Bone Dust

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mom?”

“Momma had issues. She died by suicide. My father hated her for it. He hated her even more for leaving him with a kid.” He paused. “She was a great storyteller, though.” His tone pitches, and the lighter, tender one presses a smile to my lips. “That’s what I remember most.”

“You loved her very much.”

“I did. I’m surprised I remember as much about her as I do. She was beautiful and loving. She doled out affection like candy on Halloween. She made me feel special, even if all she was doing was holding my hand. What I remember most are her hugs. They were amazing. I was the sun and her world revolved around me. I can’t remember a day when she didn’t make me happy. Everything changed when she died.”

“How so?” I press.

“Both of my parents were only children, and my grandparents were dead. My dad was it. There was no one else. He told me he couldn’t stand to look at me because I looked too much like my mother. He blamed her issues and her death on me. ‘She was fine till you came along’, was the most frequently used phrase. Now that I’m older, and I’ve been through some pretty extensive counseling, I believe she might have suffered post-partum depression that lingered. I don’t know for sure. In my mother’s absence, things with my father got ugly. There was no affection, and he seemed happiest when taking his rage out on me.” Sadness lingers at the edge of his voice. “Love is a risk. It can take you from the highest high to the lowest low but it’s worth the gamble.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. All I’d ever known growing up was security and love. Mine and Ian’s upbringings couldn’t have been more different. The loneliness in his tone is hard for me to stomach, especially because I’m a mother.

“Anyway, back to tonight,” he continues. “This is an apology. We both have a connection with Sam. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize it. He means a lot to me, and I know you mean a lot to him. I wanted to call and make right my wrong.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So, are we good? I mean, the night wasn’t a total loss; Gigi had a good time and, if we’re at odds, it might put a bad spin on how she remembers it.” He takes a breath. “I can take pretty much anything, Savannah, but I don’t think I could forgive myself if something I did stole a smile from that kid. She’s a sweetheart.”

The tenderness in his voice brings a sheen of tears to my eyes. “Yes, she is.”

“If I’m not overstepping here; she’s also pretty independent.”

A laugh bursts out. “That’s an understatement!”

“She’s cool, though. I like her. She’s hard on herself when she doesn’t get her words right, but other than that, she’s a pretty happy kid.” He clears his throat. “Now, you? You seem to take everything seriously.”

“I do not,” I laugh out a protest.

“If you say so, but that’s why I called. To apologize and make things right so you wouldn’t overthink it. Old habits are hard to break. I don’t really think of myself as ‘asshole Ian’ anymore, but I still make mistakes.”

“We’re fine, Ian,” I assure him.

“I hope so because I suck at conventional norms.”

“I’m glad you called.”

“Me, too. Goodnight.”

“Night, Ian.”

We both hang up and, suddenly, sadness washes over me. It’s heavy, and the loneliness in his tone knocks at my stomach. I sink into my feelings, replaying our kiss over in my mind. I liked it, though I denied it and am raddled about whether I’d like him to kiss me again. “Oh, Savannah. Get over yourself.”

I push off the sofa, the pain in my head now reduced to a thrum. It’s been a long day and an eventful night. Sleep is what I need.

As I enter my bedroom, I slip out of my clothes and pull a tee shirt over my head. My soft, cushy bed is a comfort as I crawl beneath the covers. Ian speaking about his parents has made me think of my own. Mom used to say things have a way of working themselves out and, right now, that thing is Ian. I sure hope she’s right.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ian

“O

k. What do you want to talk about?” Sam asks.

His tone makes me more than self-conscious. I feel like a kid in the principal’s office. Like I’m about to get into trouble for something I did. He takes a seat across the table from me, the tilt of his head in line with a half-lipped smile. I steal a glance before I talk, and then drop my gaze to the scratched tabletop. Sam’s a pretty intimidating figure and could easily kick my ass. I should look at him directly—straight in the eye—but I can’t. Guilt’s clawing at my insides and I’ve had trouble doing that since my father warned me with the line, “Don’t eyeball me, boy.” The consequence of staring at him was a slap or a punch. Sam wouldn’t do that but I feel safer when I keep my head down.

“Once I tell you what I’ve got to say, you might not be too happy with me.”

---