Page 6 of Before You Can Blink
I still couldn’t believe it. In my mind, when I got home, he’d be there, sitting in his recliner, nursing a cold beer like he did at the end of every day.
But the lead ball of grief growing heavier in my stomach by the minute warned me not to get my hopes up.
“I’m going home.” The words were issued over my shoulder as my feet were already moving from Principal Taggart’s office.
“Hold up, Jett! I’ll drive you.” I could hear Sheriff McKinley huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up with my quick strides.
He grabbed my elbow to steer me toward the front entrance, and I jerked out of his hold. “Don’t touch me.” My voice took on a low, lethal edge.
The sheriff let out a heavy sigh. “I know you’re hurtin’, son—”
Humorless laughter fell from my lips. “Son.” I shook my head. “Is this what it’s going to be like now? Every man in town taking me under their wing because my pop’s gone?”
“Jett, listen—”
“No, you listen!” I roared, pointing a finger in his face. “Do me a favor and make sure to spread the word that no one can fill the shoes my father left behind, and I don’t need or want anyone trying.”
Sheriff McKinley’s lips pulled down, but he had the good sense to keep his mouth shut as he nodded his acceptance of my request.
He could pity me on his own time; I needed to get home.
Before he could stop me, I bolted for the door, digging in my pocket to retrieve the keys to my rust bucket of a pickup. Jumping into the driver’s seat, I turned the ignition and peeled out of the parking lot. A quick peek in the rearview mirror caught the police cruiser trailing me. Guess Sheriff McKinley couldn’t take a hint.
The ranch-style house I’d called home my entire life came into view, and in my haste to get to my mother, my truck tires clipped the curb, and I grimaced when I heard the scrape of metal against concrete. But bottoming out and fucking up my undercarriage was the least of my worries right now.
I barely managed to put my pickup in park before my boots hit the pavement, and I was running to the front door. Clearing the three porch steps in a single leap, I came to an abrupt halt when the sound of animalistic cries with an undertone of shattering glass reached my ears.
Hearing the news of my pop’s death was one thing, but I knew the minute I crossed the threshold and saw the impact it had on my mama, my world would never be the same.
Closing my eyes, I dragged in a deep breath, holding it inside my lungs before slowly exhaling.
You’re the man of the house now. You have to make sure she’s taken care of. That’s what Pop would expect from you.
With a shaky hand, I turned the knob and pushed inside, but nothing could have prepared me for the scene I walked in on.
Chest heaving as tears streamed down her flushed-red face, my mother lifted a kitchen chair over her head and brought it down with a crash. There was a sharp crack as wood splintered in every direction.
“Goddammit, Milton!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Bending down, she grabbed one of the broken chair legs and used it to smash the TV.
“‘I’ll take care of everything, Betsy, don’t you worry,’” she used a mocking tone as she imitated my father. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Huh? You promised me forever! This whole thing doesn’t work without you!”
I stood there frozen, watching the destruction play out, knowing I needed to step in, while at the same time terrified of putting myself in the line of fire.
Betsy Sullivan was thirty-eight. She didn’t have a single gray hair, and yet she was a widow. How fucked up was that?
Next came the picture frames, which were ripped off the wall and hurled across the room. The raw cries torn from her chest echoed in my ears, and there wasn’t a world in which they wouldn’t haunt my dreams for years to come.
The woman I witnessed self-destructing might as well have been a stranger because my mother was a take-no-prisoners, doesn’t-give-a-fuck-what-anyone-thinks kinda woman. She didn’t break; she didn’t fall apart.
“Ma . . .” I said her name slowly as I took a cautious step forward.
Head lifting, she turned in my direction, but with her blue eyes glazed over, it was almost as if she was staring straight through me.
Glass crunched under my boots as I ventured closer, approaching slowly with the hope that I wouldn’t set her off again with sudden movements.
When only a few inches of space remained between us, I banded both arms around her. Immediately, she began thrashing in my hold, crying out for my father, then crying out for God, until eventually, her words became incoherent, and she sagged against my chest, the fight seeping out of her as great gasping sobs wracked her body.
