She’s come a long way, and I’m so ready to take her home.
“You got your stuff?” I ask as she steps back.
I spot the duffel bag a few feet behind her, having dropped it when she stepped out in the hallway. Brushing her fingers beneath her eyes, she wipes her tears, before bending down to pick up her bag.
I recognize Clint, the director, standing behind her with a smile on his face.
“You ready, Tamara?”
“Yes.” She smiles. Her confidence in just one word fills me with so much hope. While it won’t always be easy, she’s in a much better place mentally than she’s ever been.
“We’ll see you this Wednesday for group. Have a good weekend.”
He folds his hands in front of him as we pass by and out the door.
The moment the sun hits my mom’s face, she pauses and takes a deep breath.
“I forgot how much I love stopping to enjoy the fresh air.”
“Well, we’ll have to drive back to town with the windows down then.”
We used to go for drives with the windows down and the music turned up growing up. It’s how my love of music first began, sitting in the back of her old station wagon with Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash playing on the stereo.
Lifting her bag into the back of my truck, I hold the door open for her while she climbs into the passenger seat.
“I’ll even let you pick the radio station.” I grin, slipping the key in the ignition.
“Wow. I feel really special now.” She laughs. “Go ahead and play whatever you want, sweetie.”
I opt to start with a song from a playlist I know she’ll like. As soon as the song starts playing, she closes her eyes, tilting her head back against the headrest.
We don’t talk for most of the ride back to town, choosing to sit in the comfortable silence mixed with music playing. When we start approaching the outskirts of Carolina Beach, she reaches forward to turn the knob lowering the volume.
“How have you been, honey?”
“Good.” I hope the response doesn’t sound as forced as it felt.
“Your Uncle Travis told me about your record deal. I’m so proud of you, Brix. You know that?”
“I do,” I reply honestly.
“What’s on your mind?”
“What? Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me. I’m your mom, I know when you’re not yourself. You seem sad.”
I hate how she can tell, and I immediately feel guilty. I don’t want her to think this has anything to do with her.
“I’m fi—”
“Brix,” she cuts me off. “Please don’t hold back talking to me as some way of protecting me from your problems. You don’t need to shelter me or handle me with kid gloves. Let me be there for you for a change.”
“It’s really nothing, Mom. I promise.”
“What’s her name?”
My eyes dart over to hers, taken by surprise. She smiles, realizing she’s right as she looks back out the window.
