Because pushing people away is what I do best.
It's safer than letting them stay and watching them leave on their own terms.
Chapter 33
Alice
Mymother’scarisalready in my driveway when I pull up. She’s sitting behind the wheel, engine off, waiting. The sight makes my stomach clench. My hands grip the steering wheel.
I sit in my car for a moment, gathering courage I’m not sure I have. Through my windshield, I can see her checking her reflection in the rearview mirror, touching up her lipstick. Even for an ambush, Mom has to look perfect.
I get out and walk to the front door, keys jingling in my shaking hands. Mom follows behind me, her heels clicking on the concrete.
“Alice, we need to discuss this situation before it gets any worse,” she says before I’ve even unlocked the door.
“Hi to you too, Mom.”
Inside, she doesn’t wait for an invitation. She sets her purse on my kitchen counter and turns to face me, arms crossed like I'm a teenager she just caught sneaking out.
“I’ve never liked this house,” Mom looks around in disgust. “I don’t know what you ever saw in it.”
“Grandma always made this house welcoming,” I shrug, adjusting my glasses. “You would know if you ever visited when she was alive.”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“What I’ve done?”
“That police officer of yours is going to lose his job because of you. His career, his reputation, everything. All because you couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.”I've always hated her metaphors.I could never tell if I was too dumb to understand them or if she just picked whatever sounded good.
I adjust my glasses, buying time to control my anger.
I drop my keys on the table harder than necessary. “That police officer has a name—Sawyer. And Lance hurt me, Mom. For all the years we were together. But I honestly don’t think you even care.”
“Lance made mistakes. But this investigation? This is destroying an innocent man’s life.”
“Innocent?” I stare at her. “Sawyer is the innocent one here. You’re trying to tear him down because he did his job and it didn’t benefit you in the slightest.”
Mom sits down at my kitchen table uninvited, pushing her dark brown hair—the exact same color as mine—out of her face. “Alice Marie, sit down. We need to have a serious conversation.”
I don’t want to sit, but something in her tone makes me. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a folded paper.
“What’s that?”
“I’m giving you another chance. Your statement dropping the charges. All you have to do is sign it, and this whole mess goes away.”
My hands go cold. I press them flat against my thighs to stop them from shaking. “You brought paperwork to make me drop the charges?”
“I brought a solution to a problem you created. If you sign it, we will forget this ever happened and you can ride into the sunset with your little cop.” She holds up a blue ink pen, pointing at me waiting for me to take it out of her grip.
“I didn’t create anything. Lance created this when he decided to stalk me.”
Mom’s face hardens. “Lance was concerned about you. You moved away without telling anyone, cut off contact. He was worried.”
“Maybe there was a reason for that. He put a tracker on my car, Mom. And let’s not forget the reason I left. He threw a glass plate at me. It didn’t hit me but what if it did?”
“Maybe if you stop being such a spoiled brat, he wouldn’t have lost his temper,” Mom’s voice deepens.
Something hot flashes through my chest. My jaw clenches.
