“Because any level of pain should be tolerable when you’re a woman, right?”
She spears me with a withering look. “Your father goes to work every day with a sore back and stiffness in his knee from the accident. If he can manage, so can I.”
Except that the reason for my father’s pain is obvious. When a car sideswipes you in a pursuit, it’s no great revelation why you have joint pain afterward.
But my mother… “You don’t even knowwhatyou’re managing.” Years of tests and years of her being told it’s in her head. And yet, my mother is a shell of her former self. What more proof do they need?
If my father walked into a doctor’s office with the same symptoms, all hell would break loose. Yet because Mom is female—one of ‘that age’ as well—she gets told it’s just how it is.
That it’s natural.
“I want to go with you next time you see him.”
She sighs, hesitating halfway out of the room with the stack of dishes. “So you can say what, exactly? What are you going to tell him that I haven’t already?”
I hate that she gives up. That she lets them tell her what’s acceptable and what’s not.
“Then we find another doctor, Mom. Someone who actually cares enough to figure it out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out, Kyra. It’s age. That’s all.”
Her words wobble, and Mom is quick to give me her back as she leaves the room. I never wanted to upset her, but I get angry because, since everyone else has given up on her, she has, too.
She’s worth more than modifying her day to suit her pain levels. More than quitting the sports club she felt so passionate about in favor of a more ‘gentle’ pastime.
My father reclines on the couch before the TV when I enter the living room, eyes already half-closed. His alarm goes off at four every morning, and the hours take their toll. But does that give him license to ignore the way his wife deteriorates? Topretend that everything will be fine if they face it with a stiff upper lip and make room for it under the rug with all the other shameful things that happened to this family?
He’s the protector of this town, the image of bravery and justice. And yet, when it comes to the woman he vowed to spend the rest of his life with, he won’t eventryto stand up for her. To be the voice she needs.
My fists clench at my sides, relaxing when he glances across at where I stand frozen midway into the room.
“Do you need to talk about something?”
I wet my lips and swallow down the budding rage. “Nope.”
“Take a seat then.” He nods toward the TV. “Help your old man win the show.” A re-run of Jeopardy flickers in low resolution.
The quiet clang of Mom doing the dishes filters through from the kitchen.
“I think I’ll go help her clean up.”
“Whatever you like, Princess.”
The man’s eyes are almost shut again by the time I turn for the door.
I left this house swearing I’d never be my parents—strict and controlling. And yet, I’ve returned with a whole different view on what happens within these walls. Why they’re the way they are.
And to be honest, it’s even more sad.
SEVEN
JINX
“Are you sure that’s her?”Chaos leans forward with an elbow to his knee, ass perched on the low stone wall of the public garden opposite the municipal building.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I flick the flower stem I’d been knotting into the gutter as Kyra steps down the stone steps and into the orange hues of the late afternoon sun. The light catches the highlights in her hair, turning the dark brown curls to a caramelized shade of amber.
“Didn’t think Marty was capable of producing something so…” Our president tilts his head. “Easy to look at.”
