Page 51 of The Heiress
Turning around, Mom was standing shell shocked, eyes and mouth gaping.
“What’s wrong?” I was already envisioning some tragic news, like my grandparents dying, when she gasped, “That was Luke.”
A surge of panic ran through my veins sending a chill to the deepest part of my bone.
Mom’s voice was shaky. “He wants to sue me on your behalf. Take out a personal injury claim against me.”
I shuddered at Mom’s reaction, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her chin quivering in devastation. “I told him I didn’t want him to,” I said, now regretting that I hadn’t forewarned her. This was exactly why I didn’t want the lawsuit to happen; Mom didn’t deserve it.
Mom shook her head, now mopping up the tears rolling down her cheeks with a crumpled tissue.
“I don’t want him to,” I said again, my voice on the verge of cracking. Seeing your mother cry is the worst thing in the whole world. I knew that because I’d seen her tears more times than I wanted to remember these past months. But this whole weekend had been going so well, Mom was eating, she was happy. I loved seeing her with a spring in her step, joyful, a spark in her eye that had been missing for so long. Missing because of me. There was the urge to console her with a hug—heck, she and Elisha had hugged more times this weekend than Mom and I had in the past six months. “You don’t deserve it,” I rasped out, though unable to move forward or look her in the eye.
But I didn’t need to, because Mom came to me. She clutched my hands, pulling me in.
“I told him not to,” I said, desperate for her to believe that I’d been unable to persuade Dad not to go through with it. “I’m...I’m sorry, I tried to tell him,” I spluttered amidst a torrent of tears.
Mom’s touch was gentle on my forearm, rubbing, patting, then gently pulling on the back of my neck. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” she soothed, our foreheads touching, my tears spilling down onto her cheeks. “Phoenix,” she said, squeezing my face between her hands, “I knew to expect this. It’s okay, it is.” Her thumbs swiped across my cheeks like windshield wipers.
“You shouldn’t have to go through this,” I said, “it was an accident.”
“Really, sweetheart, it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” I choked, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been, how I’ve treated you. I didn’t mean to.” My eyes flicked away from hers, shamed, remorseful.
“Oh, baby.” And Mom held me like I was her baby boy, in charge, hand brushing through the back of my hair. “Don’t be sorry, no. No, Phoenix. And this needs to be done. Your father’s only thinking about you.”
My brain filled with all those things Dad had told me—pain and emotional suffering, distress, the possibility of more medical issues. A personal injury suit would ensure that I’d be taken care of in the future. But what of Mom’s pain and mental wellbeing? She had suffered too.
“But what about you?” I whispered. “I don’t want this for you.”
“It is what it is,” Mom said pragmatically, her tear ducts under control. “It’s how the system works, Phoe. And it’s not for you to worry about. A lawyer will deal with it and it’ll be fine.”
Her matter-of-fact response tore at my heart, sure, lawyers and insurance companies could come to a settlement, but how would Mom cope with that? My brain had shielded me from the memory of the accident and my physical recovery was on track, but Mom? Her scars were all inside.
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing that there would be no magical fairy tale ending for either of us.It is what it is.What had happened, had happened. “I love you,” I mumbled into the top of her hair, soft and smooth and smelling nice.
“Oh Phoe, I love you so much,” she sobbed, the floodgate of tears opening again. “All I hope is that you’ll forgive me one day, son. That’s all I pray for.”
I stiffened, my chin resting on the top of her head. Mom prayed for my forgiveness, while I prayed for the courage to forgive her.
The accident had happened, my pelvis had been broken, the sun would rise tomorrow morning just before seven o’clock and avocados tasted disgusting. These things were absolutes and nothing could change them. Life had to go on, it had to move forward.
“I do forgive you Mom,” I murmured, and right then, more than any physical therapy or resistance band exercise or hydrotherapy pool could do, is where my healing truly began. Peace with Mom.
Because Mom was everything to me, my world.
“Oh baby,” Mom sighed deeply, her face buried in my chest, her body relaxing against me.
But I pushed her away, gripping her shoulders so that our tear-stained faces were eye to eye.
“But you have to forgive yourself first,” I said, my chest swelling as Elisha’s words came to mind. I thought I’d been named after the place where Mom’s mother had been born, but the mythological creature which shared my name represented renewal and rebirth. I had been shattered and broken, and I, too, could rise from the ashes like a phoenix. “You can’t do this to yourself anymore. Promise me. Promise me Mom that you won’t do this anymore.” My fingers ran down her skeletal frame, picking up her tiny, frail wrists, literally skin and bone, and thrusting them into her line of sight. “You can’t do this to yourself anymore.”
Mom’s lips twitched, her eyes pitiful, her head nodding in wretched agreement. She flung her weak arms around me. “I love you, Phoenix,” she cried, her head resting on my heart.
It was a sniffle at the doorway that made us both draw back.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Elisha said, her voice small, her bloodshot eyes blinking rapidly, “but is there room for one more?”
