“Tell me about your mom,” he says as we head west along a sidewalk.
“That’s a weighty subject.” But I talk, mostly because Carter asks me pointed, insightful questions during our walk. By the time we make the turnaround to head back, I realize I’ve told Carter more about my dysfunctional family—including my father—than I’ve ever told anyone else.
Ever.
Never before have I ever had anyone I trusted as much as Carter, someone who is utterly beyond the reach of my mother’s influence.
I never felt any freedom growing up, even at school. I made the mistake once in ninth grade of confiding to a kid I thought was my friend. I’d talked about wishing I could at least go visit with my father.
Never did I suspect my mother even knew the kid’s mother, but within a week I was getting the cold shoulder from Mom. It made me practically frantic trying to figure out what I’d done wrong so I could atone for it.
She let me twist in the wind the better part of two weeks, my step-father no goddamned help whatsoever, before she icily informed me that if I’d rather live with that worthless sonofabitch—because god forbid we use his real fucking name—then I could call him up and have him come get me. Which he probably wouldn’t do, because if he wouldn’t pay child support, why would he evenwantme?
Which, of course, led to me tearfully begging to stay and apologizing for even saying anything about it to my friend.
Also led me to not trust anyone for years.
Not with stuff like that.
Damn sure not my mother.
Hell, two of the three girls I dated, I never told her about, including the girl last year.
To this day, I’m still not sure which pissed my mother off more, that I’d wanted to go visit my father, or that I dared talk about him to someone else without her permission. Not that it matters, I suppose.
“It sounds like your dad escaped,” Carter notes.
“Yeah, but he was no angel, and I say that as an adult looking back. But, no, I don’t think he’s not the monster my mother tried to make him out to be, either.”
“It’s good you’ve gained some perspective.”
“Especially at my age.”
“Do you have any contact with him?”
I shrug. “A little on Facebook. Not openly. Because even though my profile’s locked down I wouldn’t put it past someone to tell my mother if they saw me interacting with him just to score points with her and my step-father.”
“Sounds like a charming woman,” he drawls.
“Thing is, she can be. She can come off looking like the world’s greatest mother. To the point that it would sometimes make me feel like maybeIwas crazy. Maybe therewassomething wrong withme.Then I’d remember things she said or did and realize, no, it’s not me, it’s her.”
“I take it you don’t plan to return to Orlando after you get your law degree?”
“Hellno. I think I’ll probably stay in Tampa. I still have years to worry about that.”
He shrugs. “Never too early to start planning.”
I unlock the front door of our building and hold it open for him. “Still wanting to get me elected, huh?” I hope it comes out snarky and teasing.
Yet he pauses, meeting my gaze. “Why can’t you believe what we see in you?”
My face heats. Fortunately, I can blame it on the pace of our walk and the heat. “Ijusttold you about my mother.”
He pats my shoulder. “Let’s grab our showers and get some breakfast, buddy.”
I follow him inside and wonder not how long I can put up with Carter and his nighttime terrors, but how long he can put up with me and my daytime ones.
Chapter Eleven
