Page 65 of A Twist of Faith
As if I ever stop thinking about the girl and her confounded vowels and consonants. I'm worn out, thinking about her, and watching her lips and her teeth and her tongue, not to mention her soul, which is the quaintest of the lot. (Pygmalion, Act 3)
Dee’s mama sat at the kitchen island, coffee mug in hand, with Grace Mitchell nearby. Two years and untold poor choices deepened the wrinkles on her mother’s face and the silver in her hair outnumbered the auburn. As Dee entered the house, her mother’s red-rimmed gaze met hers, drawing Dee back years to a time of harsh words and harder experiences.
A cold swell of hate almost frightened her as readily as the flash of countless memories.
Fist fights, screams, blubbering tantrums, and a constant state of chaos littered her past. If her mother wasn’t losing her temper or getting drunk, her father expressed his anger or withdrew into work. Then the façade followed—the game her father taught them to prove to outsiders they weren’t a broken family. Certainly none of his friends at UVA knew the truth. But the painful evidence that both her parents lived lives of lies brought her own present to a sharp realization in her mind. She didn’t want a story like theirs. She wanted something good and real … like the taste of it she’d seen with the Mitchells.
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I almost didn’t.” Dee refused to flinch at her harsh tones.
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
Dee turned to Mrs. Mitchell, “Thank you for your kindness to my mother,” words as stiff as her spine.
“Ain’t been no trouble at all, Dee. I reckon this visit for the two of you is long overdue.” Mrs. Mitchell moved around the island and came to place a gentle hand on Dee’s shoulder, strength and compassion in the simple touch. “But your mama and me’s had a fine talk.”
“Two years overdue,” came her mother’s terse reply.
Dee stiffened, but Mrs. Mitchell patted away the tension and whispered. “Show her grace, Dee. She is your mama.” She leaned in closer, her face sober. “You’ll be the one to change, not her. Remember, honey, you ain’t alone no more.”
Mrs. Mitchell’s gray-blue eyes filled with compassion, and … promise. For the Mitchells, Dee might bear her mother’s behavior for a while longer and maybe …see how their God could help. Maybe.
“What do you need, Mother?”
“We’ll leave you to visit.” Mrs. Mitchell looked to Reese and started for the door.
Reese held Dee’s gaze, infusing strength into her weariness. His compassion fueled hers, and almost emphasized Mrs. Mitchell’s final words.You are not alone. How could he or Mrs. Mitchell still want to help her after all they’d learned today? After how she’d treated Reese?
“Thank you,” she whispered, hoping he heard the apology in her words.
He paused, hand on the door. “I won’t be far.”
The door snapped closed. Dee drew in a deep breath, and turned to face her mother. “It has been a long time.”
“Do you know how worried I’ve been? Last phone call was six months ago. Last visit almost two years?” Her mother slammed her hand down against the counter. “I’m your mama, Adelina. I need you.”
Anger found its familiar place in her chest. So much for changing. “Youneedme? Iknewit.”
“I ain’t got nothing left. Jay’s stopped helping me. Won’t offer one red cent. Say’s I need to clean myself up.” She spat the words. “How dare he talk to his mama that way?” She set her fiery gaze on Dee and stood. “I don’t have nobody left. You’re my flesh and blood. You have to help me. I can’t keep going on like this.”
Dee’s jaw tightened, stepping back from her mother’s closeness. “You came for money.”
Her mother’s entire countenance transformed into pure sweetness. “Just a little. Enough to tide me over until my next check.” Mother’s gaze darted away. “I have this new job, you see. All set up. Then I’ll be alright.”
Heat roiled from the pit of Dee’s stomach and exploded in her face with a passion. Fiery tears burned in her eyes, but she kept them on hold. Her mother didn’t deserve her tears.
“Do you realize … for one moment, I thought maybe you came to seeme, for me? Your daughter? For a second I actually hoped you’d realized what it was to be a mother.” She shook her head. “How could I have been such an idiot?”
“You don’t know what it’s like, Dee. You’ve never known. You only saw your father’s goodness, but I knew the truth. I bore the brunt of his meanness. I protected you and Jay. The least you can do is help me out now.”
“You protected me?” A humorless laugh filled the momentary silence. “You protected me? I think all the alcohol’s skewed your memory, Mother. All you ever did was lecture, scream, or try to hit me. I needed protection from you, not from Father.”
“I couldn’t take it no more. I’d lived with your daddy’s anger for years so you wouldn’t have to see it. His high opinion of himself. His haughty goodness. It was all a joke. He was nothing but a hypocrite. It got to a point I just didn’t have the strength to live it anymore.” She narrowed her eyes. “Blame me all you want, Dee, but if the truth be told, you’re pickin’ and choosin’ the memories you want to keep. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes and I don’t expect you or Jay to forgive me, but I wasn’t the source for all your hurt. You just don’t want to see the truth.”
“Oh, I see the truth. It’s painted in your bloodshot eyes.”
Her mother’s eyes rounded and then she dropped to a nearby chair and started silently weeping. Strength to fight seeped from Dee’s body. It was the same argument. The same set of lies. Stuck—again. “How much do you need?”
