She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “Thank you, that’s very helpful. I’ll see you then.”
He chuckled again. “I know just where I can take you. Little motel on route thirty-five,”
“A Motel?” Sally squeezed out the words through a too tight throat.
“They have a small restaurant attached,” he replied calmly. But Sally knew.
Silence passed with the noise of the busy diner in the background echoing down the line as she thought about it. Jackson even had the courtesy to wait silently without pressuring her. Almost as if he knew that she wouldn’t say no.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jackson.”
Sally hit the end button before he could reply. Dread sunk in her gut, but she had to do this, it was the only way. She realised that she wasn’t upset anymore, just angry. Angry that this was her only choice. Angry that she’d been cast such a shitty hand in life—that her beautiful son had been given such a terrible illness. Angry that she couldn’t provide what her son needed. Angry that he was sick…that her innocent little boy was sick!
“Mama?” Taylor called from the front room.
“I’m coming,” she replied, feeling numb.
Sally stood up and undressed, piling her clothes in to the laundry hamper before grabbing a quick, cold shower. She liked to save the warm water for Taylor. She climbed out feeling chilled and refreshed and she dressed in denim shorts and a tank top and headed into the living room, perspiration already building on her skin.
Taylor was standing with his hands covering the front of his pajamas, his cheeks flush with embarrassment at the puddle of pee around his feet and down his front. Blood was in his urine, giving a soft pink hue to the color. Sally crossed to him quickly and pulled him into her arms.
“It’s okay, baby. Everything is going to be okay.”
She was angry, but Taylor was worth it.
Chapter Three
Delores
The hours sped by in a blur.
Time was both unmoving and yet seemingly always in a constant state of fast-forwards. The relentless drone of the engine and the wind ruffling through Delores’s hair was ruthless, whipping the long brown locks across her moistened cheeks.
The landscape was always the same. Desert and road. Trees and houses. Desert and road. Trees and storefronts. Passing small town after small town. Passing car after car. Passing places thattheywould have begged to stop at.
The car should have been filled with laughter and love. The excitement of the trip bubbling out of them all like fizzy lemonade. But instead, the car was filled with silence and dread.
Delores drove past it all, and continued to stare blankly ahead. Her hands holding the wheel firmly, her tears freefalling and painting a picture of her misery upon her face in a silent cry of pity and sadness…and shame. Always so much shame. She wasn’t even aware of the tears anymore. They were just something that happened, like breathing. Like the beating of her own evil, guilty heart.
Her stomach ached, twisting in on itself. And her head pounded persistently, like coming down from a high she had been living, withdrawal symptoms burned through her making her confused and miserable. Lost in the screams trapped inside her own head.
She reached into her purse and found the bottle of aspirin, clicking off the lid and popping two into her mouth. They were bitter and powdery, just some cheap two-dollar brand she’d picked up along the way. She reached for a bottle of water on the floor, the car swerving to the left as she did. She fumbled but caught it, righting both her and the car in one move.
The water in the bottle was warm, almost hot. It had been rolling around restlessly in the foot of her car for who knows how long. Forever, it seemed.
Her skin and bones felt like they had a constant itch, pushing her onwards, keeping her moving. It was exhausting, and painful, but she couldn’t give up. She couldn’t quit moving forwards. Her destiny was calling to her, and she was finally listening.
Throbbing flashed behind her eyes, the tablets not having had time to kick in yet. It was time to stop again. Time to eat. Time to use the bathroom. Time to drink. Time to interact and pretend that this nightmare she was existing in wasn’t really happening.
Only it was.
And it would never end.
Not until the end.
Her hands clutched at the steering wheel, her knuckles white from the strain and she willed her vision to clear, to make sense of the long road in front of her.
The voices in her head were telling her to end it all now. That she didn’t deserve to live. And she knew they were right, she trusted the voices more than she trusted herself these days. More so than she even trusted Michael. But she couldn’t do it, not yet. She wanted to do it somewhere that mattered. It was selfish, but she had to.
