Page 21 of Drifting Hearts
Patricia narrowed her eyes at me, but I saw the way her lips twitched as she suppressed a smile. “Every decent home needs a birdbath.”
“It’s the sign of a crumbling society, you know, the lack of birdbaths.”
Patricia smiled like she’d won something. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
I wanted to thank her for so many things. Her kindness and her grace. Her hospitality. Patricia was a rare sort of person. She helped people because she wanted to. There were no strings attached. She had a way of talking to me and looking at me that made me believe she didn’t hold my past against me.
My own mother had never been as forgiving. Each mistake I made was a treasure to her. Something she could drag out and show me when she wanted something from me, even if that something was just my misery. If my own mother never found it in herself to forgive me for even the smallest things, how was Archer going to forgive me for what I’d done? How would anyone?
“Make sure Kieran stops for lunch,” Patricia said. “It wouldn’t kill him to stop and smell the roses now and then.”
“Is that why you suddenly need an antique birdbath?”
Mischief danced in Patricia’s eyes. “I’ve always wanted one. Imagine all the little birdies we’ll see. Maybe we’ll get some squirrels or bumblebees or something showing up to use it.”
“You fancy yourself a Disney Princess, Mom?” Kieran’s deep voice startled me and I jerked in my chair.
“Well, I can hardly live out my princess dreams if I’m not surrounded by tiny woodland creatures.” Patricia closed the lid on the cooler of snacks she’d packed and motioned for Kieran to get it. “I made you snacks, but you’ll have to stop for lunch.”
“It’ll be quicker—” Kieran stopped mid-sentence. Patricia was giving him the look, the stony, don’t-argue-with-me look that motherseverywhere were seemingly born knowing how to execute. “We’ll stop for lunch.”
Kieran grabbed the cooler off the counter and kissed his mom on the cheek. “Come on, Clayton, we better get going.”
Heaving myself out of the chair, I followed Kieran to the door where I stepped into my one running shoe. He put the cooler in the back seat while I climbed into the truck.
It was easy to see that we’d both been manipulated into this pointless trip, but both of us had willingly been talked into it. I hadn’t put up much of a fight, and even my therapist thought the time away would be good for me. A change of scenery now and then was important, she’d said. Not that I’d tell Patricia that. She was already far too pleased with herself.
“Are we really picking up a birdbath?” I asked Kieran about five minutes into the drive.
He rolled his eyes and did his best to look annoyed, but the affection he had for his mom outshone his annoyance. “An antique birdbath.” Kieran smiled. “We can’t forget that part.”
“I know she orchestrated the whole thing to get me out of the house. I didn’t mean to worry her, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
If Patricia wanted me to do one-armed handsprings, I’d try for her because she’d done so much for me. Her patience and acceptance were big factors in why I was determined to turn shit around for myself. The idea of disappointing her made my stomach clench.
First things first, I needed a job. My cast was due to come off my arm in another week, and then I had more physical therapy. And still no clue how I was going to pay Shane back. I still hadn’t heard from Archer. Not that I expected to, but part of me had hoped, even though I knew hope was a useless thing to carry with me regarding Archer.
Asking for help had never come easy to me. Help came with strings. It came with obligations. If someone did you a favor, they could use it against you later. But this wasn’t Sam or any of the people who’d been willing to use me and suck me dry. This was Kieran and so far the only thing he wanted from me was for me to not take advantage of his mom’s kindness.
“You said before that you and your mom have all kinds of connections in town. Do you think you could help me find a job? I don’t—besides being a tattoo artist, I’m not qualified to do much.” Part of me was still terrified about getting the cast off. I stayed awake at night worrying about what would happen if my arm didn’t heal right and I couldn’t make art anymore. I’d already lost so much; I didn’t think I could take losing that too.
For weeks now, I’d been crawling the walls with the urge to draw. Art was my outlet. My escape. It was my friend when I hadn’t even had Archer. And it was still there even when I fucked things up.
“Between Mom, Shane, and me, we know pretty much everyone. I’m sure we can find you a job when you’re farther along in your recovery.”
“I wonder if the casino is hiring?” I went for humor, but the flat look Kieran gave me let me know just how badly it had landed. “That was a joke,” I clarified. “I don’t want to work there.”
“How’s therapy going?” Kieran asked, I wanted to say out of nowhere, but I’d given him the opening with my dumb attempt at being funny.
“It’s therapy. I’m—I’m doing my best to put the work in.” I didn’t know if I was “cured.” It was easy right now to not want to gamble. I had no money. I had no way of gambling. All the temptations had been removed. It was easy not to eat if there was no food on the table. The real test would be when I was on my own again.
Desperate for something to change in my life, I’d been delusional enough to think that money would solve everything. And even more delusional to think that I could strike it rich at the casino. Or the track. Or the fights. Or any of the other things I’d bet on.
“Mom says you’ve been working your ass off.”
Something warm—pride maybe?—bloomed in my chest. When was the last time someone said something that made me feel good about myself?
