Page 4 of Salvation

Chapter 4

Blake

Istep out of the car, slinging one of my bags over my shoulder.

"Thanks," I say to the driver, slipping him a tip.

The man gives me a nod in return, and I watch as the red car peels down the road, kicking up dirt and rocks as it goes, before eventually disappearing from view. I watch, as if I can track it long enough to delay taking in what awaits behind me.

Clover-Hills still smells and looks exactly as it did the day I left. It's fresh, quiet, and peaceful. There are mountain ranges, trees, and fields that stretch for miles. A few updates have been made to accommodate the town but most of the land has been left in its natural state. It's a small town consisting of mainly the necessities with few family-owned businesses scattered throughout.

Such a stark contrast to the bustle of New York City.

Anxiety, fear, and a little nostalgia course through me as I turn and take in the little white house with green shutters beforeme.So many happy memories. But so many painful memories, too.

How can something be so terrifying yet so comforting at the same time?

The all-too-familiar creek of the screen door draws my attention. As it slams open, my eyes lock on the blonde mop of curls and brown eyes that so fiercely resemble mine, standing frozen in the doorway.

“Hi, Mama,” I choke out.

When I speak those two words, I finally let the burning in my nose that’s been building for days wash over me. I let the tears fall as my mom rushes toward me, reaching for me as if I’m a lifeline. Hugging me as if I’m as fragile as I look. As fragile as Ifeelbeing back in my hometown and so far away from what I thought was the right space to piece myself back together.

Chapter 5

Blake

“You haven’t changed a thing,” I comment, looking around the place I once called home.

Booking a plane back to New York City is my first and only thought the minute I step into my old bedroom. It’s as small as I remember it being. My old vanity is consumed with little trinkets I hoarded in my early years. Posters of my favorite bands cling to the baby-pink walls. The twin bed still houses a pristine white comforter that my mom replaced dozens of times due to my clumsy habits. The dark ebony dresser is tucked neatly underneath the little window in the room, and its matching nightstand is still to the left of the bed. No dust or wear and tear, as if it’s been upkept since I’ve left.

“Didn’t feel right,” my mom says, leaning against the doorway. “Do you want to talk about it?

“No,” I shake my head. “Just – just not yet.”

“Baby, you haven’t visited in years, and I wasn’t all there when you left. I have no idea why you’re suddenly home, and aside from a few texts or calls, I have no idea – "

“Mom, please.” I cut her off with a pleading look. “I promise we’ll talk about it. About everything. Just not right now.”

She sighs, clearly not happy with me avoiding the subject.

“Alright. Well, get some rest and then take a shower. You stink,” she teases, shooting me a wink and grin as she shuts the door, leaving me alone in a room that feels far too small and suffocating.

***

“I’ll be back, baby. I promise. I’ll be gone for just a little while, okay? And then you and I will have all the time in the world. It’s best for all of us if I go.“ My mom places a warm hand on my face before pulling me in close, hugging tight.

I knew this, but it didn’t mean that it hurt any less. After my parents finalized the divorce, my mother spiraled. The anxiety meds became all too easy to abuse. She quickly understood that she needed help and wasn’t scared to ask for it regardless of how hard of a decision it was. I deserved a mother who was whole, not bits and pieces of one, and that’s why it was the best decision for my mom to make.

Ana could see what was happening with her friend early on, and despite their joint efforts to get her to quit naturally, it wasn’t working. So, Ana helped guide her into the right hands, and my mom was off to a rehab center until she made progress in turning around her addiction. It could be just mere weeks, or it could be months, but either way, my heart hurt at the idea of not seeing her every day and of being with my father 24/7, who had become far more distant from me than he had ever been. “I know. I know, Mama. I love you.”

I hug her tighter and let a few tears roll down my already red cheeks.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” My mom reassures me. She looks over my shoulder to where Ana waits behind me and nods her head in a way that says, ‘Take care of our girl.’

“Always,” Ana replies.

Ana and I spend the next few minutes hugging each other, watching as my mom steps into the passenger side of a black car and pulls onto the only road out of town.

---