It’s still there.
Letting myself in, the house is quiet, and the only light is coming from the television in the living room. It spills out into the hall.
Mom is asleep on the couch. A half-empty bottle of wine and an empty wine glass sits on the coffee table next to an open photo album. A hot tear rolls down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away. Throughout my childhood I gave my mom such stress over bad behaviour at school and then the trouble I got into as an adult. I never gave any thought as to how I made her feel. She was a single parent, and I never went without because of how hard she worked to support us.
I lower myself to my knees at her side and swallow to clear my throat. Maybe I didn’t need a plan to do this because no plan exists.
“Mom,” I whisper.
There’s movement behind her eyes, but she doesn’t open them.
“Mom!” I whisper louder.
Her eyes spring open and she’s stuck staring at me. I’m not expecting her smile or to relax back into the cushions.
“I’ve been waiting for you, son.”
Her eyes flutter shut. Fuck, she thinks she’s dreaming.
“Mom. It’s me, I’m here. Wake up.”
Her eyes shoot open and this time, they remain open. But she’s not smiling anymore. Horror and confusion contort her soft features, and I get ready to slam my hand over her mouth for the scream I can already hear.
“No!” She shakes her head and doesn’t seem to know how to stop. “No. No. No!”
She sits up and the blanket I had as a kid slips off her and down onto the floor.
“I know this is fucked up, but I need you not to scream and just listen to me. I’ll explain everything.”
Her scream doesn’t come. She throws herself at me and wraps me in her arms. Her hands pat my back, and her fingertips dig in, no doubt making sure I’m really here and she’s not trapped in a nightmare.
“Oh, Ford,” she sobs.
Her cries grow and I find myself releasing the built-up tears I refused to shed while I was captured.
“How? I buried you!” she says sternly, pushing away from me and slapping my arm.
I let her go and she pours herself a generous helping of wine. She gulps it down until the glass is empty.
“Okay, explain. Right now!”
I sit beside her on the couch and keep hold of her hand tightly.
“You know I joined the club…”
“A criminal gang.”
“A Motorcycle Club, Mom,” I point out and continue, “We were caught out and the person we were trying to catch made it look like she had killed me. While everyone believed I was dead, she kept me locked up in a cabin out of the city.”
She pulls back her hand and cups my cheek. She goes to speak but not a word comes out.
“The club found out I was still alive, and they didn’t stop until they found me and brought me home.”
I give her a moment to process without having given her all the gruesome details.
“Now you’re home,” she whispers.
“Yeah. I don’t know what I’m going to do about getting my life back in order. My social security…”
