Page 38 of Shot Through the Heart

Missing nine months of Stella’s pregnancy and four and a half years of my child’s life kind of warrants yelling, though…

My teeth clench and I snatch my phone off the counter, pull up my mom’s contact, and hit call. There’s no doubt she’ll answer. While she prefers scheduled calls a few times a month, I hardly ever call unless something is wrong. The last time that happened was four years ago when I moved down here, and that wasn’t even for me. My dad had driven down with me to help me move and decided to stay a couple extra days so he could come to my first game playing with the Bobcats. Only he ended up in the hospital from second-degree sunburn after spending the entire day at the beach without sunscreen.

“What’s wrong, Greyson?” My mom answers before the first ring has even fully finished.

“I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me straight up. No bullshit, no deflecting. Just an answer.” My voice sounds eerily calm, completely opposite from the chaos that’s raging inside me, but I’m okay with it.

“Young man, watch your language.” She gasps, no doubt clutching at whatever thousand-dollar necklace she’s wearing today.

I roll my eyes, not surprised in the least that she managed to ignore everything else I said so she could single out the swear word.

“Your adult son swearing should be the least of your concerns.”

“What happened? Did you get hurt? I didn’t think your game was until seven but?—”

“Why did you tell me that Stella left?” How I manage to keep my voice calm is beyond me. All I want to do is scream through the phone.

“Oh, honey.” My mom sighs as if we’ve gone over this a hundred times and she’s exhausted from explaining things to me. “I knew nothing good was going to come of that girl coming around again. Women like her are trouble. She’s probably hoping to get money from you. You need to stay far away from her.”

“Ah yes, money. She probably wants more to store next to that check you gave her over five years ago.”

There’s a long pause and I almost laugh.

“Check?” she asks dumbly, and I scoff.

“Yeah, you know, if you were smart, you would have checked to see if she ever actually cashed it.”

“Greyson, I don’t know what lies she’s telling you, but that’s exactly what they are. She’s smart, I’ll give her that. Painting me as the bad guy and trying to drive a wedge between us. She’ll say whatever she needs to get her way.”

“You mean like tell me we have a kid?” I placate.

“Oh, dear, please tell me she didn’t do such a horrible thing like lie about having a baby?” The tone of her voice makes my heart drop. I have to close my eyes and lean against the counter for support.

My mom forced me to go to countless parties and events with her. I had to listen as she said one thing to one person, then went behind their back and lied straight to the next person’s face. Not that any of them could tell the difference in the intricate web of lies and deceit she was weaving. She had everyone eating from the palm of her hand. But I picked up on the subtle shifts of her voice when she was deep in a lie or secret.

Which is exactly how she sounds right now as she digs herself deeper into her grave.

“Don’t give her a single cent. I have some connections and can figure out the best lawyer. We might need to get you a restraining order, but that’s no?—”

“Enough,” I snap, unable to listen to her go on any longer. For almost five years I wasn’t able to stand up for or support my girls and that stops now.

My girls.

It’s a thought that is so right, it eases some of my anger. But only a fraction.

“If you’re going to try to call someone else a liar, you might want to make sure they don’t have evidence that proves their innocence.”

“Pr-proof?” my mom stutters, her confidence finally faltering.

“Yup.” I put extra emphasis on the P before pulling the phone from my ear and pulling up a text message to my mom. I hit send on the picture that was drafted and waiting to go for this exact moment.

Stella didn’t even hesitate to say yes when I asked her if I could borrow the shoebox to go through everything, which is what I spent all morning doing.

I can tell the exact moment the attachment goes through as her breath hitches and if I heard correctly, a curse rings through the line.

“Maybe you should have followed up to confirm that Stella cashed any of the checks you gave her. Or maybe you shouldn’t have used your personal email. Or actually maybe the slip-up was your handwriting of “return to sender” on the letters she tried to send me.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” she whispers without denying anything.

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