Page 79 of Hat Trick

“I’d rather not. I’ve let you get away with enough excuses over theyears.”

“Gwen Adaline James, if you have nothing nice to say to me then I will hang up this phone rightnow.”

I haven’t bothered to turn the car on, and the icy temperature permeates the car so that I see little puffs of air when I exhale. My body, on the other hand, is so heated with anger that I could light up this half of Weston and the other side of town would only see gulfs of flames reaching up above thetreetops.

“I need a mother,” I finally say after I’ve worked up the patience to not immediately spit fire into the phone. “I’ve always needed a mother and instead I hadyou.”

“Well,I—”

I cut Adaline off without a second thought. “You who taught me at a young age that women were spiteful and untrustworthy, that men would only ever want me for what’s between my legs—and that I should give it to them. Whoever wanted it, whenever they wantedit.”

“It’s called marrying up,” she says stiffly, her nose no doubt brushing the ceiling it’s tipped so far back withindignity.

“No, it’s called not having any self-worth.”

“Watch your tone,Gwen.”

“I will not watch my tone.” The silence in the car thunders in my ears like the greatest deafening stampede there ever was. I have waitedyearsfor this moment, for the chance to speak my mind and, Christmas Day or not, I refuse to squander it. “You made sure that I didn’t have a relationship with my dad,” I add, thinking of the forty-two letters I opened this morning and read three times through. “You sent back his letters and let me believe he wanted nothing to do with me. How could you do that? How could you do that to your owndaughter?”

If she’s wondering how I discovered my dad’s letters, she doesn’t say so. Instead, with a decided chill in her voice, she murmurs, “Is thatall?”

My ears pop, I’m grinding my teeth so furiously. “What do you mean,is thatall?”

There’s the sound of fingers tapping on something hard, and then: “It’s a special night for me, Gwen, and I won’t let you ruin it with your negativity. Now, as I said, is thatall?”

I’d like to pretend that I answer with some modicum of civility. But Civilized Gwen took a hike around the time I broke both my heart and Marshall’s, and all I say is, “Screw you,Adaline.”

And then I hang up on her splutteringvoice.

Dignified? Not one bit, but it sure does feelgood.

For a moment, I hold onto the hope that she’ll give me a call back and apologize for everything she’s done and hasn’t done for me. I hold onto that hope for about the length of time that it takes for my car’s lights to shut off from disuse until I’m left in thedarkness.

Alone.

Always, alwaysalone.

You could have been with Marshalltonight.

If I hadn’t been an idiot. If I hadn’t carried a lifetime of trust issues and hightailed it the moment the road grewbumpy.

Before we’d even discussed what truly mattered—Dave and the accusations he’d leveled againstMarshall.

For what feels like the fiftieth time, I scroll through my past texts with Marshall and stare at the one that I’ve left half-written:You frighten me, you know. You frighten me to take a leap of faith into the unknown, where my only safety net is your arms. You frighten me with the realization that I have never trusted another human in my life not to hurt me. I strike outfirst—

I stopped writing after that. It all felt like an excuse and I’m done withexcuses.

The truth of the matter is, I panicked. I panicked and I ran, and the blame for our broken relationship can rest on my shouldersexclusively.

Movement in my rearview mirror catches my attention, and I squint at the mirror. Behind me, at the house across the street, the front door cracks open and light spills out onto the snow. Kids pile out of the house, one after another, as they dart into the front yard and start tossing snowballs at theirsiblings.

A couple stands in the doorway, arms wrapped around each other’s waists. No coats from what I can tell, just their combined bodyheat.

Without realizing quite what I’m about, I turn on my car and roll down my window so that I can listen even as I keep watching in the rearviewmirror.

“I’ve got you!” one kid squeals. “Bam! Bam! Bam! Triplethrow!”

“Not at the face, Toby,” the mom warns loudly enough that I can hear both the censure and the humor in her voice. “Below the shoulders,remember?”

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