Hannah pats my sister’s cheek in passing as she and Dad head into the house. “Don’t be such a prude.”
Scar mocks her with a smile, then it’s just the three of us again. And just like that, my sister’s expression turns somber, like before.
“So, what’s up?” I cross both arms over my chest as Scar meets my gaze, already shaking her head.
“It’s mom.”
That one short statement says it all.
“Whatabouther?” I ask with a sigh.
“Well, she came up to Dusty’s during my shift to talk. Says she wants to try rehab again, wants to get clean once and for all.”
My stomach twists. I’ve heard this song and dance so many times I’ve lost count. “Of course, she does.”
“It seems like she goes through this cycle about every three to five years.”
“Tell me about it,” I scoff. “So, what does any of this have to do with us?”
Scar reaches into the back pocket of her jeans. “She gave me this. Apparently, she’s already picked out the facility she’d like to go to, and… it’s pretty expensive. Ten grand up front.”
For a second, I question whether I’ve heard correctly.
“Is she serious?”
Scar nods. “Unfortunately, yes, she is. It’s for an inpatient program. Thirty days.”
Scar hands me the pamphlet, and I can’t help but laugh seeing the pictures inside. “This place looks like a fucking resort! It has more amenities than The Hilton.”
“That’s almost verbatim what I said,” Scar replies. “And her response was that the important thing is that she gets clean and that… you’re rich and shouldn’t mind paying for it.”
My face feels warm and tense hearing my mother’s words leaving Scar’s mouth. A woman who never didshitfor me or any of her other children, thinks I owe her this? And not only is she crazy for thinking this money should come from West and me, but her track record proves that these rehab stints don’t work for her. She’s typically clean for six months, then she’s back at it again, deeper into the exact same mess than she was before.
“And she didn’t think to reach out to me herself?”
“My guess is she knew you’d say no if she did.”
“Of course, I’m saying no! That woman’s never lifted a damnfingerto help me my entire life. Now, I’m just supposed to dump ten grand into this place on ahopethat she sticks with the program? No thank you.”
I take a step back, breathing deep when I feel myself getting worked up.
“She’s more than welcome to go to a state-funded facility. Like the dozen other times she tried this and failed. She willnotrope me into paying for something she doesn’t deserve,” is my final word on the matter.
But, apparently, my husband has something to add.
“Is it really fair to just turn her down without a conversation?” he asks. “I mean, she wants the money so she can get help. Not so she can take a cruise or something.”
My eyes shoot toward West. Has he ever heard a single thing I’ve told him about my mother? Has he forgotten how she neglected us and chose whatever she could put in her veins over us time and time again?
“She doesn’t get to call the shots,” I snap. “If she wants help, it’s out there for her, and she knows how to find it. But she doesn’t get this. Not at our expense. She’s a user, and I won’t reward her shitty behavior.”
West takes a breath, and I pray he’s weighing his words. “I’m not saying it should be an immediate yes. I’m justsaying we should at least consider it. It took a lot for her to reach out, to ask for help. Maybe she’s really trying to change.”
A laugh slips out. One laced with frustration. I’m fighting my thoughts, fighting the feeling that West is outside his jurisdiction. Husband or not. The fact remains that he didn’t grow up with this woman, didn’t endure her manipulation, didn’t experience her abandonment.
He takes the brochure, looking it over like he’s actually considering this. Regardless of how I feel about it, at that.
Scar and I glance toward one another, and when her brows lift, I read the look. It’s herleave me out of itface. So, when I feel myself about to explode, I start toward the truck, leaving West standing beside the porch.
