Page 100 of A Little Twist

My brows pull together, and I study this woman with her straight, dark hair hanging in a long, thick braid down her back. A stripe of white is in the front, threaded through her braid, and her eyes are pale blue. She’s dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with a long-sleeved plaid shirt on top.

Martha has always been suspicious and careful. She has a cellar full of food and tools, gasoline and supplies for the end of the world, and I’ve never known how to take her.

I can’t imagine her being best friends with anyone—at least not the way Britt and Piper and I do it.

“I never really knew my mom. She dumped me here and never came back. Then she died, and that was the end of it.”

Martha’s lips tighten, and she nods. She almost appears sad. “Your mom had dreams, and she tried to manifest them. Her bravery inspired me… but the ones you love hurt you the deepest.”

It’s a haunting remark, spoken as if she is well acquainted with deep hurt.

“Piper and I have been friends for so long, I wish you’d told me.” My voice is quiet. “Aunt Carol acted like my mother was a shameful secret.”

Martha gives me a warm smile. “What would you like to know?”

“Can we step inside?” I motion to the glass door, and she opens the tarot studio.

I follow her to the gold velvet sofa in front of the empty fireplace. A small, cherry-wood coffee table is in front of us, and a stack of intricately decorated arcana cards is positioned in the center.

I used to do readings here, but I’m not interested in the future. Today, I’m ready to dig into the dirt, and I’m going straight to the heart of the matter.

“Why did she have me if she didn’t want me?”

Martha’s expression flinches. “Crystal would never call you a mistake. You were a ‘happy accident’… but that didn’t make her right for you. She wasn’t equipped to be a mother, but she hated to let you go.”

“After she left, I never heard from her again. Not once.”

Martha reaches out to pat my hand. “I think she thought a clean break would help you forget her, but she asked me about you all the time.”

“It wasn’t enough.” Pulling away, I remember my dreams, swimming in the ocean, pretending I was a mermaid. “She never said ‘I love you.’”

“Love takes different forms. Carol is a lot of things, but she was better for you than Crystal. You couldn’t live the way your mother lived.”

“Aunt Carol watched every move I made, like I was always on the brink of evil. She never showed affection… Try living that way.”

Martha nods her head. “Carol clings to a lot of fear.”

Disgust twists my lips. “Fear of what?”

“Fear that maybe what happened to your mother was somehow the family’s fault, like they made her be what she was.”

“What was she?” My stomach is tight, but I need to know the truth from someone who won’t hide it from me.

“She was a dreamer.” Martha hesitates, as if she’s turning this over in her mind. “She used drugs to expand her creativity, but that road often leads to the worst outcomes.”

My throat tightens, and my eyes squeeze shut. “So she was a junkie?”

“She was alone.”

“She chose to be alone.” Anger tightens my throat, and tears burn my eyes.

Martha grasps my hand firmly, holding me with her gaze. “You are the best parts of her. You’re brave and you have dreams, but you have strength and a foundation she never had.”

Quiet falls between us, and the anger and the sadness and the grief I’ve carried so long spill onto my cheeks. Martha scoots closer, putting her arm around me and pulling me into a hug.

Resting my head on her shoulder, I turn her words over in my mind. I’m tired of carrying this anger and pain, but the explanation doesn’t make things easier.

“It’s hard to see our loved ones clearly.” Martha’s voice has that tone again, like she’s speaking from experience. “When you’re strong enough, forgive her. Then you’ll be free.”

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