“That would be great.” My throat tightens thinking of how I may be the reason my husband almost died.
“Are you okay?” My mom is a mind reader.
“Yeah… Well, actually, I don’t know. I’m wondering about some of the choices I’ve been making and want to bounce some thoughts off you.”
“I’m always here for you, dear.” I see her face in my mind’s eye. She’s smiling, her green eyes soft and loving. It’s been like that since the first day we met. What would I be, without her?
“I love you so much.” My heart overflows.
“I love you, too. See you in a few. Bring coffee.”
“Will do.”
Feeling better, I lean back and sleep through most of the long, slow ride into Manhattan. In my empty apartment, I find one of Jack’s t-shirts and sniff, wishing like hell he was here. I grab two coffees on the way to Mom’s office and press the buzzer marked Dr. Sandra Smythe.
Inside, I give my beautiful foster mom a big hug. “I love your hair.”
She’s sporting the latest chic cut with bangs. As always, she’s the quintessential Manhattanite with a black turtleneck, black slacks, and a designer necklace to catch the eye.
After finishing our long embrace, she holds me by my shoulders and smiles. “You look positively glowing.”
“That’s what people say.” I smile but the mention of the baby makes me worry. What if Jack dies because of me and she never even gets to meet him?
“What’s wrong, honey?” She sits and motions for me to do the same in the chair facing hers.
“I miss him. I want him home. I don’t want him to be in danger anymore.” In the overstuffed chair, I bring my knees to my chest, and wrap my hands around my thighs.
She sips on her coffee thoughtfully, then sets the cup on a side table. “You knew he was a protector when you married him. What’s changed?”
“I don’t know. The baby coming, I guess. Waiting is a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.”
“When is he done?”
God, I hate decaf but drink it anyhow, more as a distraction than want.“When the Senate closes for Christmas.”
“It’s only a month away, dear. What else is it?” Insightful eyes watch me lower mine.
“His mom called me on the way home last night. She called me stupid.” I sound like the teenager who sat in this same chair all those years ago.
She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “And that bothered you why?”
The familiar dialog helps me sort out my feelings. “Because in Utah, I really was stupid. I walked headfirst into my old cult, even knowing how dangerous it was.”
“Hold on. Did you really know it was dangerous? I thought you said you couldn’t remember what happened as a child.” Leave it to my mom to point out the facts.
“I didn’t remember, not until I got there. Once I did, I should’ve gone to the police, not tried to get more information on my own. I did put Jack at risk.”
“And why do you think you did?”
“That’s just the thing. I don’t know. Upon reflection, it looks pretty darn dumb and I’m an intelligent woman. I have a doctorate, for God’s sake.”
She makes a triangle with thumbs and forefingers to her lips. “You also spent much of your childhood in a cult.”
“True, but-”
“We’ve talked about this and you’ve researched it on your own. Let’s go over it again. Children growing up in a family where reality is denied, sometime have a hard time discerning what is dangerous.”
“Knowing doesn’t make it easier to accept.” I pout most unprofessionally as my mom takes my hands in hers.
