Page 77 of Echoes in the Storm
“I bet.”
“I thought about putting in a vegetable garden, but who am I going to feed when both my boys are gone?”
“Do one of those community patch things,” I suggest.
She lifts her brows and tips her head in acknowledgement. The project would be right up her alley—giving back to those in need. We hit hard times after Dad left, and if anything, it gave Mum a new respect for the ways in which people pull together when you’re on the bones of your arse like that. She tries where she can to repay the help she received, to assist women who are in the same situation as she was.
“Take care, Mum. Love you.”
She crosses the kitchen to place a kiss to my cheek. “And you, Son.”
She busies herself tidying some invisible speck on the counter top. I know she’s doing it to avoid watching me leave, distract herself, but she’ll be okay. I came back to tie things up, to set things straight, and these past few weeks I’ve done just that.
That’s why it’s time to move on. My work here is done. I literally did everything I came back for.
Except get a job.
A chill taints the air as I step out of the house and head to the car to throw my bag in the back. The indicators on the HQ flash—yeah, I bought it off Cody—as I unlock it. I’ve made a few upgrades to it, mostly the central locking I installed, and a new, better stereo system, but overall, it’s still the same grey beast I broke down outside Cam’s with.
Seemed only fitting it’d be the car I returned in, then.
Eight sessions with the shrink was all it took for her to uncouple me from my fear of failing, and to push me gently in the direction I belong in. Every excuse I put up, she countered with a reasonable alternative.
My mum needs me: she was fine on her own before she had kids.
I’m supposed to find a job: they employ people in Burbank.
I have scheduled appointments with her: she could transfer my counselling to another shrink at another practice.
Cam and I are too different from each other: variety is the spice of life.
Apparently, hating the way somebody stores their belongings isn’t a valid excuse not to be with them. Who would have thought? But then again, I did always know. Just like I know I did the right thing by leaving how I did. Giving Cam the space to breathe. Giving her a sign that no matter how long it takes for her to be ready to move on, I would be waiting.
If she’s even found it.
I start the car with a healthy rumble, and idle out of Mum’s driveway as I begin the trek back to the place I should have returned to weeks ago. I set myself a limit, made sure Cam would be the one to let me know she was completely ready to leave her past behind, but who was I kidding? How long did I really think I could wait?
Hopefully, it’s not too late. Hopefully, she feels I’m worth a second chance.
Hopefully, she’s still there.
Cammie
“I don’t want it, Mum.” I thrust the piece of notepaper back at her, frustrated that she just won’t listen.
“Would you stop being so stubborn?” She pauses, glancing at the removal men who carry my solid oak sideboard toward the truck, and lowers her voice. “I’ve had enough of seeing you mope around the place when all it would take is one damn phone call to sort this out.”
She snatches my wrist, wrestling me as I try to break free of her hold. I grit my teeth, forcing my hand into a fist so she can’t try to give me the number again.
“You’re behaving like a child,” she says vehemently.
“Because you’re treating me like one,” I whisper-yell in return, eyeballing the men as they jostle the furniture around behind her.
My mother stares at me, her lips pursed. It’s a look I haven’t seen since I accidently spilled nail polish on her carpet as a kid.
Before I can predict her next move, she reaches out and shoves the paper down the cleavage of my top, into my bra.
“Mum!”