“You can’t save her.”
The words taunted me. Even though we had a clearer picture of who this arsonist was, he was still on the loose.
Jocelyn
“Mama,” I called as I entered my mother’s house. I knew she was home because of her car sitting in the driveway, and I smelled the familiar scent of her red beans and rice.
“Hey, Jocey.” She smiled as she came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a dishtowel. The sight was familiar, yet everything about it broke my heart. I couldn’t hold the tears back as soon as I saw her smile.
“Mama,” I cried, going to her and falling in her arms.
True to her nature, my mother didn’t tell me to stop crying or try to demand answers about what was going on. She held me and rocked me like when I was seven years old and had scraped my knee to hell trying to ride a skateboard for the first time.
Once the tears stopped, I pulled back. “I hate crying,” I said, wiping away at the remaining tears.
“You always have.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I overheard Daddy telling Corey tears were for the weak.” That memory came flooding back like a tidal wave. I’d never associated my distaste for tears with it before, but there it was—the truth.
“You closed yourself off from a lot of things because of your father.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
“Come help me finish dinner.”
I hung my jacket on the rack and followed my mother into the kitchen. I paused in the hallway and cautiously asked, “Where’s Corey?’
My mother glanced back over her shoulder. “He went back to his place.”
“When? Are you sure that’s right for him?” I worried my bottom lip. It had been almost a full day since he stormed off from my front door. He hadn’t picked up any of my calls. While I hadn’t talked to Don, I doubted that Corey had returned any of his calls either.
“Your brother’s an adult. Isn’t that what you kept telling me?” She gave me a saucy smile.
“But he was upset the last time I saw him. I want to make sure he’s okay.”
My mother surprised me when she waved my comment off. “He’s angry about your relationship with Don.”
“Yes.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“How do you feel about your relationship with Don?”
My throat constricted to the point that it felt difficult to breathe. This was the entire reason I’d stopped over at my mother’s. I still felt like I’d been hit with a ton of bricks after the realization I’d slowly come to.
“Check on those beans for me,” my mother ordered when I didn’t answer. She nudged me toward the stove.
Without thinking, I lifted the pot cover and began stirring the beans with the wooden spoon she had next to the stove. Staring down into the bubbling pot, I recalled standing in my office staring at the pictures Don had taken of us at the gala. It had hit me pure as day, even without Hallease’s echoing voice in the background.
The emotion I couldn’t put my finger on in Marjorie’s pictures had been evident in my own right there, in my eyes, as I looked at Don.
Love.
Shining so damn bright, it almost hurt to look at, but it hurt as much to look away.
“I love him,” I admitted out loud.
