“Isn’t your mother taking care of Diego right now?”
She sat up and gave me a half smile. “She got clean six years ago. Just before I gave birth to him. When I told her I was pregnant, she went to feel my belly and I moved back, shielding my unborn baby from her. Something changed in her right then. It’s weird to describe, but I saw it. As if she saw everything she’d put me through. The next day she called and told me she was finally checking herself into rehab. She didn’t make any promises beyond that, but even that willingness was different for her. I’d begged for years that she go to rehab but she refused, saying just a few NA meetings were all she needed. She barely did those, though. My expectations were low, however. By then, I’d had twenty-three years of being let down by her. I wasn’t about to get my hopes up. I had to protect myself and my son.” She paused, looking around and sighing.
“Anyway, she did ninety days at the rehab, then came home and did another ninety meetings in ninety days. It was the first six month period of time I’d ever known my mother to be drug-free. After I had Diego, she asked me to move in with her so she could help take care of him while I worked and went to school. I refused. I still didn’t trust her. I never left him alone with her. I was most surprised when she said she understood. She let me get comfortable at my own pace while she continued her meetings and her recovery. It took more than a year for me to leave Diego with her while I ran to the grocery store, let alone a full day at work. In her second year of sobriety, she got a job as a counselor at a shelter in the city. She provides services to other addicts and support to their families. Not until Diego was two did I leave him alone with her overnight. Slowly, I began trusting her more and more.” Her smile grew. “And Diego’s love for his grandma shows how much she has changed. She’s been clean going on seven years and she still works everyday to maintain it.”
I ran my thumb down the side of her cheek. “It’s incredible that you could forgive her after all of that.”
“It wasn’t easy.” She shook her head. “I was angry for a long time. How could she get clean and sober for my son, but not for me? You know?”
I nodded in agreement. That would’ve pissed me the hell off, too.
“It’s why I began reading about addiction. I thought it might help me learn to forgive her.”
“Did it?”
She gave a one shoulder shrug. “Somewhat. I learned that she honestly didn’t have a choice in the matter. I never understood when they say addiction is a disease, but I started to comprehend it a little more. It wasn’t until one day Diego was around four and he was begging me to let her come to the zoo with us. I watched how excited he became when I finally said yes. His eyes beamed and he jumped up and down, clapping. I thought, if my mom can make my son that excited, I could forgive her. After that, I began letting her into more of my life, not just my Diego’s.”
My hands went up to cup her face on their own accord. I pulled her in and right before our lips touched I said, “You’ve got the purest heart of anyone I know, sugar.”
Her gaze lowered. “I’m not perfect.”
“No one is, but youareperfect for me.” I sealed my comment with a kiss that could last forever. Unfortunately, I did have to cut it shorter than I wanted to get Michelle back home. That was the longest date I’d ever been on, excluding my bevy of one-night stands. And I hated for it to end. I vowed, that one day soon my home would becomeourhome.
~ Chapter Thirteen ~
Carter
“Negative.”
I turned from my locker to look over my shoulder at my captain.
“Drug test came back negative. Just thought you’d want to know.” He nodded and turned to go back into his office. Captain was often a man of few words, which I appreciated.
I’d taken that damn drug test more than two weeks ago and had forgotten all about it. I knew it’d be negative so I hadn’t been too worried about it. And since telling Michelle about my prior troubles I’d felt a little lighter, more at peace. Her telling me about her mother brought us even closer together. We talked daily and went out as frequently as she would allow, not wanting to spend too many week nights away from her son. I did my best to be understanding. We were moving in the right direction, albeit too slow for my liking.
I closed my locker and sealed it with the lock before heading down to the kitchen where everyone was. It was early morning and I was hungry for breakfast.
“You making your world-famous French toast?” Don’s loud voice pierced my ears when he came up behind me at the refrigerator.
“You wish. You bozos don’t even have cinnamon or nutmeg. The hell type of firehouse is this?” I stood, slamming the fridge shut. “Hey, rookie, why don’t you make a breakfast run?” I yelled at the rookie who was just sitting down to a plate full of eggs and pancakes. I couldn’t remember his name and didn’t give a shit to even try to. Rookies didn’t get called by their name until their probation was up.
“But I just sat down to eat.”
I frowned. “Is he back talking me?” My eyes were pinned on the dark-haired rookie but my question was directed at Don.
“Sure the hell sounds like it,” Don responded.
“Rookie,” I stated firmly, “there’s no fucking cinnamon. No nutmeg. And one lonely ass un-ripened banana in the bowl.” I gestured to the fruit bowl that sat on the counter. “Don, here, wants some fucking banana French toast. You know what I need to make it? Cinnamon, nutmeg, and more than one goddamn un-ripened banana. Get your lazy ass up from the table, take the money out of the food budget, and get your ass to the store!” I glowered at the rookie just waiting for him to say no. But, he must’ve sensed now was not the time to fuck around because within seconds his fork was hitting his plate and he rose, grumbling to himself. I’d let him grumble as long as he got what the fuck I told him to get. Don and I both watched as he grabbed a couple of bills from the jar we kept the money for food and headed out the door.
“And for that back talk earlier, you’re on shit duty for the rest of the week!” I called behind him, relishing when his shoulders slumped.
Just as the rookie left out, Eric walked in the kitchen, glancing at the rookie and then back to us. His eyes squinted in humor. “You’re giving out shit duty now?”
“Figured I’d take doling out that particular assignment off your hands this week.” Shit duty is what we referred to as cleaning up after the Dalmatian Rescue Four had recently acquired. We’d named the dog, Gary, after our fallen brother. Stations didn’t have a need for dogs during fires, but they were symbolic now and the guys enjoyed playing with him. And the students from neighborhood schools that visited the station got a kick out of it.
“Hey,” Don called, drawing both our attentions, along with Corey’s who’d just walked in.
“You all heard more about that apartment fire from a few weeks back?”
