Page 25 of Everything We Give

HELPING YOU FIND THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK.

I had immediately made the connection between the Laney who found me and the Lacy who led Aimee to Mexico in search of James when I saw the photo Kristen Garner had taken at the soft opening of Aimee’s Café. You couldn’t mistake those lavender-blue eyes.

On a whim, I thought Lacy could help me find my mom. I cajoled Lacy’s information in Casa del sol’s reservation database from Imelda Rodriguez. But the number Imelda gave me had been disconnected. No shocker there. What did surprise me, though, was my relief. Because if I found my mom, what would I say to her?

What could I say?

Her fractured identity and the ensuing fallout of her life? I’m partially to blame. The words “I’m sorry” will never be enough.

Lacy’s card in my hand feels heavy as I wonder why she reached out to me in the oddest of ways: through my wife’s ex-fiancé.

Smooth one, Saunders.Please don’t tell me this is her way of saying she just wants us all to get along.

So not happening. As for Laney-Lacy ...

The last time I saw her was on a desolate roadside in BFE, Idaho. She waved good-bye, her ankle-length skirt rippling in the afternoon breeze, as my dad settled me into the front seat of his truck. He drove me to the hospital where I spent the next few days with an IV stuck in my arm, replenishing my fluids.

On my second day there, I woke to my mom whispering my name. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over me. She gently brushed aside my bangs and I started to cry. I couldn’t help myself. During those hours I drifted through the night, lost and alone, I honestly wondered if I would ever see her again.

“Shush,” my mom soothed through cracked lips, the corner of her mouth swollen and bruised. A tear sluiced down her cheek, and when she wiped it away, I noticed the scabs on her knuckles. Rage burned like embers inside me, turning off the tear faucet. That woman living inside my mother had done that to her. Jackie had hurt Sarah. Again.

“I’m sorry, Ian. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

“It’s not your fault.” Like my mom’s fractured mind, my adolescent one disassociated Jackie from Sarah. Through my eyes, Jackie was not my mother but an entirely separate person. They didn’t dress alike and they wore their hair differently. Their mannerisms weren’t the same.

My mom sobbed. She apologized repeatedly, making me uneasy. I didn’t know how to act around this downtrodden and defeated version of her.

“I’m all right,” I said, wanting her to feel better, more like herself. I roughly wiped my face and tried smiling.

“No, you’re not. Your dad tells me you were missing for days. I ...” She looked down at the bed. She ran her hand over my chest, flattening the wrinkles in the sheet. Moisture pooled along the bottom rims of her eyes. I watched it collect until tears spilled over and dropped on the sheet. “He told me what happened. I can’t believe I did that to you. I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get back to you.”

“When did you get home?”

“This morning.”

“You’ve been gone this whole time?” That surprised me. Where had she gone?

My mom danced her fingernails across my forehead. She couldn’t stop touching me, as though reassuring herself I was safe and alive. She combed my bangs again. “I need your word you won’t follow Jackie anymore.”

I hadn’t followed her. She’d shifted while driving. “But the pictures ...”

My mom gripped my shoulders. “No more pictures.”

My gaze dipped to the tubes stuck in my arm. I would never be a photojournalist if I couldn’t get past my fears, no matter how threatening Jackie could be. “I only want to help.”

“My goodness, Ian.” My mom pulled me in for a hug. “If Laney hadn’t helped your dad find you ...” She sobbed, holding my head to her chest.

But shehadfound me. I never learned how she’d done so other than the explanation she’d given me: magic. My dad wouldn’t talk about it.

I flip over the card. The back side is blank, but the front is the same as the card she’d given Aimee more than seven years ago. Same layout, same font, but different phone number.

James has had this card on him for several weeks. That’s a long time in Lacy’s world.

I tap the card against my hand. She’s most likely moved on by now, her phone number ineffective. No point getting my hopes up.

I toss the card into the bowl on the console where I keep my change and tell myself it’s not another excuse. I’m not putting off again what I should have done fifteen years ago.

I can’t help it. I walk into Aimee’s Café with a swagger because I feel like a rock star. I handled myself well around James. So what if I wanted to increase the angle of his bent and obviously once-broken nose? It didn’t happen and I won’t have to explain to Aimee the bruises on my knuckles because there aren’t any. And there never will be, since James is going back to Hawaii.

---