Page 56 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

She sighs, sipping on her water. Wishing it was liquor, I’m sure. She’s always been a closet drinker. There were many nights growing up where Lee, Lily, and I would raid her secret stash.

“I made an oath in front of God to honor and cherish him all the days of my life, and I’ll hold true to my word.”

“Even when he doesn’t?”

Her gaze spears me with its sadness, and there’s a familiarity, beyond our genes, tugging me into its depth.

“He means well, you know. He loves you—”

I huff out a laugh.

“He does. Somewhere along the way, I think he just forgot he was supposed to show it.”

My throat thickens.

“I had many good years with that man.” She glances toward the bar, shaking her head, her eyes darkening.

Papa is laughing, his head thrown back, while he chats with the brunette who clearly doesn’t mind the ring on his finger. I’ve known Papa was a cheat, but I’ve never seen him flaunt it this way. I guess when he’s out of town, he can’t be bothered to keep on the religious cloak that hides the snake underneath.

“There was a time…” She clears her throat, swallowing back whatever emotion was trying to break through her poised stature. “There was a time I thought he would move mountains to be with me. Looked at me like I was all he could see.”

Momma’s head angles down as she meets my stare. “He looked at me the way Elliot Carson looks at you.”

My heart slams so hard against my ribs I’m surprised they don’t break. “I’m not sure what you mean, Momma.”

She chuckles, reaching out to pat my hand. “You do. But you won’t admit it, to me or to yourself, I reckon. You’re so like me, Rebecca Jean. In so many ways.”

I tamp down the bile rising up my esophagus. There are a lot of things I aspire to be. Kind. Loving. Free. Turning into Momma is not on that list.

“Men are skilled at weavin’ their words. Makin’ them pretty. Puttin’ dumb ideas in your head and promisin’ you the world.”

Bitterness coats her words, slicing into my ears like a blade.

My stomach twists. “But all men are liars, right?”

She nods. “If you remember anything I’ve ever taught you, Rebecca Jean, remember that.”

“What happens when the woman’s a liar too?” My elbows rest on the table.

Her fingernails tap against her glass. “I’m not quite sure what you’re insinuatin’.”

I should stop talking. Cut my losses and try to salvage what’s an already ruined dinner. But years of resentment billow in my chest, pumping from my heart, and pouring into my veins.

“Momma, come on. You prance around in public for Papa, actin’ like the perfect little preacher’s wife. But there’s a reason your liquor is clear, and your water glass is always full.”

Momma’s eyes narrow, her lips pursing. “When did you become so disrespectful?”

“When did you become so weak?”

Her wince pulls at the seams of my heart, but I don’t apologize. I’m so exhausted. Tired from a lifetime of watching a strong woman wither away into this doormat.

“Givin’ my life to Jesus does not make me weak, young lady.”

> “No, but givin’ your life to Papa sure does.”

Her hand slaps the table. “I’ve accepted the twists and turns that brought me to where I am in life. I’ve learned to be at peace with the way things turned out. With the decisions I’ve made. You hate how weak I seem? Well you better get ready, because twenty years ago I was you. Thinkin’ I had the world at my fingertips, and the love of a perfect man.”

I suck in a breath, my insides churning from the torrential downpour of her words.

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