Chapter 23
I watched the storm from my bed. It was still early, but the dark clouds made it feel like night had returned. Rain traced slow rivers down the glass. Thunder grumbled somewhere deep, coming closer.
My mom and I sat in silence for a while. Neither of us spoke—just the hum of the storm and the low static on the line.
“How have you guys been?” I finally asked, cutting through the awkward quiet. My voice sounded fake, stiff. The words hung there, uncomfortable and out of place. There was no bond left between us. Maybe there never was.
“I get by,” she said.
“That’s good.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then her voice came sharp and flat: “Emily, what do you want?”
Straight to the point. No sugarcoating. Just Mom being Mom. I pressed my lips together, bracing myself. This wouldn’t turn warm and fuzzy.
“I need to talk to Dad,” I said.
The rain tapped harder against the glass.
“Guess you’re a bit late then,” she said. “Your father died two years ago.”
I blinked hard, trying to process what I’d just heard.
“What? Dad died?”
“Fell drunk into a ditch walking back from the bar. The water puddle was only twenty inches deep, but he landed face-first and was too drunk to wake up. Drowned in gutter water likesome homeless drunk, face down in a mix of his own piss and runoff.”
I gripped the phone tighter. Her raw description didn’t help. What a pathetic death for a pathetic man. I didn’t understand why it hurt. It sounded like justice, considering what he’d done to me. To her. But it still stung. A tear rolled hot down my cheek.
“Why didn’t you call me? Tell me?”
Her voice snapped back sassy. “Because you didn’t want me to, remember?”
My throat tightened. “That’s not fair—”
“Fair?” she cut in. “You cut us off. After all the chaos you stirred up with Uncle Ben and your father. All the accusations. After all we did for you. God, Emily. You brought problems wherever you went.”
“Are you blaming me?” I asked, my voice rising. “They were hurting us. They were hurting me. I was just a child. How can you blame me for the horror they did to us?”
She huffed, sarcastic and cold. “Good God. Even now, you’re starting with your drama again. I see you still can’t let anything go. You dig your nails into problems to get attention.”
I swallowed hard. This was exactly why I’d stopped calling. Her. Dad. The way they always twisted it. Why had I expected anything different?
I heard a rustle on her end. She was getting ready to hang up. This wasn’t a moment of reconnection. It wasn’t a mother-daughter reunion. There was no closure, just the same poison dripping from her lips.
I had to act.
“Can you answer one thing?” I asked. “Just one. Then I’ll never call you again. I promise.”
She sighed. “Fine. But make it quick. Bobby’s getting up soon.”
I didn’t bother asking who Bobby was. Probably another deadbeat loser. Another monster in a long line of them.
“Do you remember the night Dad beat us? The night he dragged me across the floor and that nail caught my neck?”
“Emily, this nonsense—”
