Page 118 of Average Joe

He jerked away but kept his eyes on the road. “A friend of who?”

“Your mother.”

“Fuck.” He seemed to shrink.

Good.

“She’s worried sick,” I growled, tapping the knife on my leg.

“What does she know?” He’d lost his cocky facade.

“Harper’s threatening her. Using you to get her to bend.”

He pounded the steering wheel with his palm. “God! I hate that guy!”

Seemed my job would be easier than planned, thank fuck.

“I’m here to get you out. That’s what you want, right?”

Worried eyes shot my way, then fixed back on the street. “How do you know this?”

We hit the highway, and the kid worked the clutch and shift like a pro. Damn, I wouldn’t mind giving the sweet ride a spin myself.

“Doesn’t matter how I know. I can help.”

“How?” His voice cracked, maybe in relief, or perhaps fear. “How you gonna get me out?”

My shoulders relaxed. Smart kid. He’d play along.

“I’ll get you out of town. Have a buddy in Whisper Springs. Already spoke to him. He’s got a job for you.”

“My grams is in Whisper Springs,” he muttered, nearly cracking a smile.

“Spoke with your grandmother, too. She said you’ve got a place to stay if you decide to let us help.”

“Mom?”

If Marley didn’t kick me to the curb, I’d be shocked. “She doesn’t know I made arrangements. Didn’t wanna get her hopes up if things went south.”

Dylan stared ahead, silent, thewhoosh, whooshof the wipers a welcome break from the convo.

I waited until we were close to the drop-off location before telling the kid, “You’ll have to leave the car behind.”

Dylan nodded, but his hands tightened on the wheel. “I just want out.”

Marley

I’d chewed my fingernails to the quick, my left thumbnail to the point of bleeding. I’d stubbed my toe twice while pacing in the dark, and under my skin, fluttery, out of control vibrations wreaked havoc.

Six hours had passed since I’d watched Joe and Frank drive away. Six miserable, gut-churning hours since I’d waved from my front porch, then ran to the bathroom to barf.

Undefinable emotions battered my insides, the pain as raw and destructive as the day Dylan left. What if Joe found him? Would he come home? Would he be angry? Had I ruined any chance of hugging my son again by sending Joe? God, I needed to hug my son.

Grief is supposed to ease with time. Bullshit. Grief gets buried under all the junk life throws your way, but the agony is always there, simmering, thickening, growing more pungent.

Guilt was the one emotion that rivaled my heartbreak. I felt guilty for mourning a child who was alive and well, only dead tomeby his own choosing. Guilt for going on with my life when my baby was alone in the world, possibly hurting and scared, and I couldn’t protect him.

Fear was a slithering entity, hitching a ride on my journey of self-reproach. I feared never seeing my child again, never laughing with him or watching him mature through life’s ups and downs. I was terrified I’d never get to watch him fall in love, or God forbid, never meet my grandchildren. Shamefully, I feared judgment. What kind of horrible mother must I have been that my only child left with no word? Did he hate me? Did I love him too hard? Not hard enough?

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