Page 31 of Something that Could Last

“About six years, but my brother and I stayed with her a lot even before that.”

His brow furrows with a look of contemplation. It’s obvious he wants to know more, wants to dig a little deeper. I hope he doesn't. I don't want to get into all the ugliness and pain.

“If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your mother?”

I wince at his inquiry. Even though I knew it was coming, I still wasn't prepared for it. He knows my father died in a coal mining accident and that I haven't seen my mother in a long time, but he doesn’t know why. I've been dreading this conversation and trying to avoid it since we met. I hate talking about this. I'm embarrassed and ashamed at what my mother has become, but more than that, it hurts. It hurts like hell knowing she chose a life of drugs - and the man who keeps her high - over her children.

I know it's not fair tonotshare my past with him, especially since he told me so much about his family. Telling me about his sister must have been incredibly painful for him, but he did it anyway. He wanted me to know him, really, truly know him. I owe him the same.

“My mother is a drug addict and an alcoholic,” I confess, unable to look him in the eyes. “She took off years ago and left my brother and me in my grandmother's care.”

“Abby...” Jacob begins, dumbfounded. I don't think he was expecting that revelation.

I sigh, knowing I should continue, but not wanting to reveal all the gory details. He deserves to know the truth, though, considering all that he’s told me.

“My dad's death was really hard on my family, my mom especially. He was the love of her life. They'd been together since they were teenagers. They were high school sweethearts.” I smile to myself, imagining my parents young and in love. “After the accident, she started drinking. She drank more and more to numb the pain, but eventually, the booze wasn’t enough so she moved on to pills. Oxy's, Xanax, whatever she could get her hands on. Sometimes she did both, washing her pills down with a fifth of vodka. Or Jack. She wasn’t really picky by that point.” We stop walking and Jacob squeezes my hand reassuringly, encouraging me to continue. I try to be brave. I want to be brave for him like he was for me. So, I push through the ache in my chest and the lump in my throat.

“At some point, I don't even remember when, she started shooting up. She'd long since lost her job and had burned through most of the settlement from Dad's accident. She was starting to get desperate. She begged my grandmother for money, but she wouldn't feed into Mom’s habit. Ethan and I were practically living with my grandmother by then, but she wouldn't let Mom stay there because of the drugs. We tried several times to get her into rehab, but she refused to go. My grandmother threatened to call the cops on her and rat her out for the drugs if she didn't at least give up custody of my brother and me. She was afraid of what would happen to us in that house, especially to me.” I'm sickened at the thought of what she feared my mother would subject me to just to pay for her next hit. Addicts can be desperate, malicious people sometimes.

“The straw that finally broke the camel's back was the day she hit me. She'd been verbally abusive for a long time, but had never done more than push me around.” I tremble as I remember the moment it all changed. Jacob turns my body so I’m facing him and takes my free hand in his. I take another deep breath and continue, unable to meet his gaze.

“She was screaming horrible things, things about me, things about my dad. I started yelling back. I’d never done that before. I'd always been too afraid of her to fight back, but I couldn't keep it all bottled up any longer. I called her a crack whore and she slapped me. She slapped me so hard, it busted my lip and rattled my teeth.”

I pause a moment, not looking forward to revealing the worst part. “I hit her back. I balled up my fist and hit her as hard as I could. I wanted to keep hitting her. I wanted to hurt her as badly as she'd hurt me, but that wasn't possible.”

My breathing is fast and labored, tears burning the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over. I feel panic rising like bile in the back of my throat. “The pain she inflicted on me went way deeper than anything I could possibly do to her.” My words come out weak and low, barely above a whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stem the flow of tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. I inhale deeply through my nose to calm my breathing so I can go on.

“Before she had a chance to get back up and come after me, I grabbed my brother and took off to my grandma's house, running as fast as our legs would carry us. We made it almost two miles before a neighbor saw us and picked us up. Thankfully, Mom was too high or drunk to find her keys.

“We didn't see her much after that. She gave up custody and took off with some low-life dealer named Mickey. Last I heard, they were running drugs between Detroit and some small river town in Ohio to fund their habit. She calls me once every couple of years asking for money, but other than that, I don't hear from her. I don't even know if she's still alive.”

I continue to stare at the ground after I finish. I’m mortified, and I can't look at Jacob. I can't stand to see the pity and disgust I’m sure is written in his face. He's quiet for a moment and then he wraps his arms around me and tucks my head under his chin.

“Dear God, Abby. I'm so sorry,” he whispers into my hair. “How old were you when that happened?”

“Fifteen.” Jacob’s warm arms squeeze me tighter, and I know I've never felt safer in my life.

He pulls back and places his hands on each side of my face, tilting it up to look at him. “I'm sorry you had to go through that. No one deserves to be treated that way.”

Feeling brave enough to lift my eyes, I look into his and see no disgust there. Not even pity. Yes, he hates that I had to go through something so horrible, but he doesn't feel sorry for me. Relief washes over me like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. There's no judgment on his part and no need to feel ashamed on mine. A peacefulness settles into my soul, and for the first time since that day, I feel free of this burden.

“Tell me more about your brother,” Jacob inquires after we begin to walk again.

Eager to move on to a happier topic, I begin, “Ethan is younger than me by about a year and a half. He's a musician and a singer, and he fronts a local band.” My baby brother is insanely talented. He's been the lead singer of his band since he was seventeen. I love to see how much he’s accomplished.

“Does he live with you and your grandma?”

“Not anymore. He and his bandmates all live together.” I giggle at the thought of their living arrangement. Four grown men packed into a single wide trailer. “He insisted on moving out when he graduated high school. He works at a garage during the week and plays music on the weekends.”

“Is his band any good?”

“They’re amazing. I look for them to take their gig to Nashville soon.” I know I'm beaming with pride, but I can't help it. I just know he'll be a big star one day.

“I'd like to hear them play.”

“Well, you'll get the chance this Saturday if you come to The Barn with us,” I tell him, hoping he’ll say yes.

“Is that another bar in town?”

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