Page 2 of Long Road Home

Eventually those whispers filtered down to Toby’s ears. His back went straight, his jaw hardened, and his hand in mine tightened. With each passing moment, the urge to scream and claw at all the church-going Christianmiserablegossips almost reached my breaking point.

Until I heard the one word that almost made my heart completely stop.

I wonder if Jordan knows she’s in town?

I hissed in a breath, my eyes darted through the small gathering to see if I recognized who asked that question. In my hand, Toby’s grip was so hard he risked crushing my knuckles.

I held him back tighter, grabbed our linked hands with my other one, covered them both, and held on tight.

“We’ll be done soon,” I whispered, glancing down at him. “Hang in there.”

“Mom,” Toby said, and I knew without looking he was gazing up at me.

He’d caught that name, too. Damn it. I should have had him stay in Houston with my friend, Allison.

He nodded. His tan face now ashen. He’d heard, and my kid wasn’t dumb.

In front of us, Pastor Emmerson continued speaking. He was giving a message on one of Tillie’s favorite Bible passages, a short teaching moment telling those not to cast the first stone.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. Neither were all the moments she told me the same thing.

Never cast that stone, girl, unless you can look in the mirror and find yourself faultless and pure. Those biddies who talk too much haven’t looked in a mirror in far too long and you pay them no mind.

You are destined for great things. The good Lord tells us that.

She was wrong. And so was that good Lord she loved so much.

I wasn’t destined for anything except following in my mother’s footsteps, drug abuse aside.

“Few more minutes, baby.” I caught the tears in his eyes and his hardened jaw now jutted in my direction. “Hang in there.”

“They said—”

“I know.” I nodded and squeezed his hand. This was not the time, but his shoulders had started shaking. “Few more minutes. Okay?” I dipped my chin low so he could see my eyes, wet ones that mirrored his, above the frame of my glasses. “Please, honey.”

His nose scrunched, black brows furrowed and he jerked his head back to the pastor.

“Ashes to ashes….” The voice of the pastor trailed off, muted to my ears.

I lifted my head to turn it back toward Tillie’s casket, covered in her favorite spray of pink roses and caught my eyes on him.

He was there. The edge of the crowd, black suit, black dress shirt, black sunglasses, all black from his shoes to the top of his head.

His lips were almost non-existent he had them pressed in such a tight line.

He wasn’t paying attention to the pastor. He was staring at me. The force of his glare behind those frames was so tangible he might as well have had his hands wrapped around my shoulders, pinning me to my spot.

It catapulted me back to that summer.

That day.

The day I’d shouted at him all the lies I could conjure where he’d shaken me, that same glare, that same tight jaw that was currently on my own son’s while I threw away our future and our dreams to provide something better for myself and the boy next to me. It hit me with such force I gasped in a breath.

Toby’s head jerked to me. “What’s wrong?”

Everything. Absolutely everything was wrong.

Him. Jordan Marx. He was here. Why was he here? A tremor rolled through my body and I squeezed Toby’s hand so hard he hissed in pain.

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