Page 71 of Forever & Always You
We pull into our old neighborhood, the Georgian mansions on the right and the housing projects on the left, and immediately I feel a flood of relief when I spot Mom’s car parked in our driveway. Though it lasts only a moment, replaced instead by agitation, because why hasn’t she moved her car into the garage? Why aren’t any of the windows covered up? Why are her stupid decorative stone bird baths still in the front yard?
“She hasn’t doneanything,” I remark in exasperation as Austin parks my car up on the drive behind Mom’s. He kills the engine and we meet each other’s eyes, the rain thundering against the metal of my car, then nod in perfectly synced agreement—time to get out of the car.
I pull the giant hood of Austin’s coat over my head and kick open my door, stepping out into the torrential downpour. After a long summer of scorching sunshine and muggy humidity, the smack of cold rain that blows into my face is a shock to my system. It sends a chill down my spine.
“Run!” Austin yells, and in the seven seconds it takes us to dash to shelter on the front porch, somehow we are both drenched. Austin shakes out his wet hair and raps his fist hard against the front door. “Mrs. McKinley?”
“Mom?” I call out over the rain, following up Austin’s knock with more thumps of my own.
We jump back a step when we hear the deadbolt unlock, and the door cracks open a few inches. My mother peeks out, her eyes narrowed warily as she looks Austin and me up and down.When she realizes it’s me beneath the hood of this raincoat, she does a double-take. “What are you doing out in this weather?! Come inside right now.” She throws the door open wide and ushers us both over the threshold before the wind rips it from her hands and slams it shut again.
“You weren’t answering your phone!”
“It’s on charge,” she says.
“It’s on charge,” I repeat flatly, then gape at her as I push down my hood and send drops of rainwater flying over her pristine floors. “Why is your car still outside? We have built-in shutters on the windows, Mom. Why are they still open?”
Mom anxiously toys with a loose strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. “It’s fine, Gabrielle. It’s not a hurricane.”
“The winds are still going to get up to sixty miles an hour out there!” I argue, then press my hands to my temples as I roll my eyes angrily. “You didn’t even move the bird baths! That’s so dangerous.”
“Did you come here to lecture me?”
“No,” I say. “I came here to check you were okay.”
“Mrs. McKinley,” Austin says, clearing his throat and gesturing outside. “If you don’t mind, I can help secure things for you. Where are your car keys?”
Mom fastens her attention on Austin, and I wonder if it dawns on her too that this is the first time she has ever let him step foot inside the house. She doesn’t hesitate to accept his offer. Grabbing her keys from the hook by the door, she hands them over and tells him, “Thank you, Austin. I’d really appreciate that.”
Austin throws up his hood and bows his head, bracing himself to get soaked all over again as he opens the door and dips back outside. It’s such an Austin thing to do; helping out my mom during a storm despite the disrespect she’s always thrown his way.
“Get out of that wet coat,” she instructs, and I immediately shrug it off. “I’ll get a pot of coffee going to heat you both up. Austin does drink coffee, right?”
I try not to stare at her too dubiously, for she’s being uncharacteristically hospitable. “Only decaf.”
“Okay. Pot of decaf coming right up.”
She scurries off into the kitchen and I head into the living room to watch Austin from the window. He moves both mine and Mom’s cars into the garage, along with all of Mom’s yard decorations, and then works his way around the house utilizing all of the shutters. When he gets to the window I’m watching him from, he adorably blows me a kiss before pulling the shutters closed.
Now that the entire house has been plunged into darkness, I turn on some lamps and curl up on the couch with a pillow hugged to my chest just as Mom walks into the room carrying a tray of coffee and cookies. She sets it down on the center table and looks at me awkwardly, unsure how to navigate my unexpected visit.
“You didn’t need to come out in this storm to check on me,” she says.
“We kind of did. Those bird baths of yours were about to become projectiles.”
She purses her lips, almost sheepishly, and settles on the couch opposite me. She doesn’t relax, though. She remains perched upright and rigid with her hands interlocked together in her lap. “I’m not very good at these things, Gabrielle. Whenever there were storm warnings, your father .?.?.”
“Took care of it,” I finish, becauseI know.He took care of everything for me, too.
Mom’s gaze drops to her hands, and I don’t push the subject further. We aren’t going to bond over how useless we both are at being independent, functional human beings, but I’m also notgoing to give her too hard of a time. I’m still learning how to exist in a world without Dad’s guidance, too.
“Can you stay?” Mom asks so quietly, I almost second guess the question. I raise an eyebrow at her, seeking clarity. In what universe does my motherwantme to impinge on her privacy? She explains, “You shouldn’t be heading back out across town in this weather. I’d feel more comfortable if you stayed here tonight. And Austin, too.”
As if summoned by his name, a gust of wind tears through the house when he returns back inside. He appears in the living room, soaked to the bone with a trail of rain on the floor behind him, hair completely sodden. “All sorted,” he announces.
“Here,” Mom says, hastily getting to her feet and pouring him a cup of coffee. “This ought to heat you up.”
“Oh, thanks, Mrs. McKinley, but I actually only drink decaf—”
