Page 55 of Breaking Storm

A slobbering idiot, convulsing in pain, James shakes his head, whispering, “She’s in a house on the far southside.”

“Address.” He rattles it off, and I let go of his finger. “How many guys are covering the place?” He remains silent, so I grasp his hand again.

“Two! Two guys are there. One in front and one in back.”

I place the pliers on the table and say to Frankie, “I’m heading over to the house. Don’t let him go. I want to make sure he isn’t playing me.”

“I’m coming with you. The other guys can watch him.”

“Can we trust they won't let James go if he threatens them?”

“Definitely, but if you want, have Reuben or Danny stay behind.”

We leave the silo while James is yelling for me to let him go, saying he gave me what I wanted.

I wave Reuben and Danny over, telling Reuben to stay. Since I know and trust Reuben enough not to release James, I take Danny along. In the SUV, Frankie sits in the passenger seat, and Danny and another guy are in the backseat. Because it’s mid-afternoon, it takes an hour to get to the Beverly area.

Down the street from the address James gave us, I tuck my gun into the back of my waistband and slip a knife into my ankle holster. The others are arming themselves for a fight. From this vantage point, I see one guy in the front yard, sitting in a chair by the door. I point to the guy, and Frankie and the others follow where I’m pointing at and nod. Frankie and his guy take the front of the house while Danny and I slink around the back.

Through the neighbor’s yard, I walk along the hedge, Danny close behind, and stop mid-yard. I lift myself onto the top of the wood fence. The guy in the back is asleep. My eyes scan the yard for anyone else, but it looks clear. Heaving my body over the fence into a crouch position, I ease my gun out, click off the safety, and walk toward the guy. There are shouts in the front, which rattles him. He wakes, eyes meet mine, and goes for his gun. I’m faster and get off a couple of rounds. Danny comes up, kicks the guy’s gun to the side while I break in the back door. Frankie is already inside, heading toward me as my eyes do a sweep of the kitchen. Up against the cabinets, curled into herself, is my mother. Her boney fingers cover her head, and she’s visibly shaking. I gesture to Frankie and the others to stop. When they notice her, they retreat to the front of the house.

I place my gun in my waistband, step toward her, and whisper, “Mom?”

Standing in front of her after all these years, I have the jitters, and my emotions crack. I’ve waited so long to see her. To hold her. Any good parts of me come from her. In all my life, I’ve never seen her look at me with disdain. Or as her rapist’s son. My mom protected me the best she could. Taught me the love of words. Sheltered me when James and our world tried to invade my childhood. She let me be a kid. There were no boundaries as to who and where I could play. Away from home, under her watch, I had friends, places to go, and things to see. Lincoln Park Zoo was a refuge from James’ onslaught of verbal and physical abuse. Our playground became a world of make-believe. Fighting dragons. Playing ball. My mom sat for hours just so I could have the normalcy many children have.

So, when her feeble hands slide from the top of her head, raising it until our eyes meet, I begin to lose my emotional battle. Tears prick the back of my eyes, throat, and I find it hard to breathe.

I watch her delicate fingers touch the counters to help her stand as she says, “Joey?” On shaky legs, her hand presses against her mouth, tears soaking her cheeks as she adds, “Is it really you, Joey?”

In two steps, I’m lifting her into my arms as she wraps hers around my neck, chanting my name.

“Joey.” Her voice sounds like the friction of two stones. “My little boy.” She runs her hand down the back of my hair. “My sweet, sweet little boy.”

She’s squeezing me so tight. I kiss the side of her head, rocking her in my arms. I don’t dare to speak. My legs are wobbly. She tightens her arms even more, and her sobs drown out all noise. It’s a while before she’s able to get her crying under control.

I place her down, still off-balance, and take her face in my hands. “Mom, everything’s going to be fine.”

“But your father.”

I kiss her forehead and step back. “He won’t be a problem.” Sirens blare in the distance.

Frankie walks into the kitchen and says, “I don’t mean to intrude, but the cops are going to be here any minute now.”

My hand takes my mom’s and I lead her outside to the SUV. Frankie joins the others in the back while my mom takes the passenger seat. No one says a word as I maneuver the car down the street. In the rear mirror, I see the squad cars pulling up to the house. I weave through streets and alleyways until I don’t see or hear anyone following us. Since it’s my SUV, I drop the guys off at the silos and instruct them to dump James at his house. I inform Frankie I’ll call him soon to discuss the future.

I’m on the highway, heading to the lake house, and phone Sean to let him know we’ll be stopping at a motel overnight. I’ll tell them everything tomorrow. Mom is constantly staring and touching me. She rubs my arm, kisses the back of my hand, and smiles.

“You’ve grown so handsome.”

I let out a laugh. “You’re biased.”

She shrugs. “Maybe.” Pressing my hand to her cheek, she says, “I can’t believe I’m here with my little boy.” Mom swallows a sob, and continues, “I’ve dreamed about this moment.”

“It’s no longer a dream. We’re going to my lake house in Michigan, but we’ll stop off for the night. It will give us time to get reacquainted.”

My mom kisses my knuckles. “Your father robbed us of so many years.” She sighs, hugging my forearm. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. I know we’ve talked over Skype, but James monitored what we said.” A soft smile forms on her face. “Tell me about your wife.”

I glance over at her. “How did you find out about my marriage?”

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