Page 89 of Redemption
I don’t know what to say.
What is there to say?
We can’t go back, and moving forward will always look different than it did before, so I keep quiet.
Movement on the front porch catches my attention, and I look over in time to see Hayes’s mom and dad walking out his front door.
Another punch to the gut. These people used to be the closest thing I’ve ever had to a family that cared, and I walked away, not looking back.
Shame burns through my veins.
“Did you know they were going to be here?” I’m not angry, just shocked.
“No, MJ. I wouldn’t have done that to you.” When I swallow, it feels like glass in my throat. “We can leave if you want to. I’ll take you home.”
But I’m not listening to him. Tears slide down my cheek, silent and painful and therapeutic. I’m not sure how I manage to open the truck door because I can’t see a thing through the tears, but somehow, I’m walking up the sidewalk leading to the porch’s front steps.
Hayes’s mom meets me there, her arms spread open, and I fall into them. The tears turn to sobs. “I’m sorry for never calling. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, baby. You’re okay. It’s okay.” Her hands are soft against my hair, caressing me as she holds me. My head is buried between her shoulder and neck. She smells like laundry soap and home.
Every other person in the town may judge me and gossip about my return to town, but not Madeline Miller. She’s like a warm ray of sun on a winter day.
It’s why I never called her after I left. I knew if I did, I would be tempted to come back—to let her be the mother I never had growing up—but if I did that, then I would have had to face what Hayes and I did. So I stayed away, but I always hoped I’d get the chance to hug her again.
We stay like that for a long time, her brushing my hair in soothing strokes and me clinging to her like if I let go, she’ll disappear. The rest of the world disappears as she holds me. I don’t know if Hayes is still in his truck or where Hayes’s dad disappeared to—all that exists in this space is the comfort of Madeline’s arms.
And when the sobs subside, I pull back, offering a small smile.
Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry all over you.”
Her hands are still on the edges of my hair, and she gives it a gentle tug. “Don’t you ever apologize for letting me comfort one of my kids. It’s what I live for.”
“But, Madeline, I’m not your kid.”
Letting go of my hair, she sways my shoulder. “It’s Mom to you, and don’t you ever let me hear you say that again. You are my kid, and so is your brother, no matter what has happened in the past.”
Hayes’s voice breaks through the tears that threaten to spill over again. “I’m glad I’m not the only one you whack around, Mom. I was starting to think you didn’t like me.”
“Oh, hush,” Madeline says, whacking Hayes in the back of the head. I don’t know when he slipped beside us, but he gives me a wink as if he had been there all along. “Now come on. I brought supper. There’s enough for everyone.”
She spins on her heel, sashaying her way inside without looking back to see if we will follow. For her cooking, she knows we will.
I take a step to follow, but Hayes’s hand falls on my shoulder, the presence of it warm and comforting. There’s concern written on his face.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
And for the first time in a very long time, I don’t have to lie.
“Yeah, Hayes. I am.”
When he smiles back at me, I see the boy he used to be—the one who was always up for getting into mischief with me, or at least being there so I didn’t get myself into too much trouble.
He sticks his hand out and says, “Come on. I want to show you something.”
“Your momma will skin our hides if we don’t follow her.”
Cocking one eyebrow, his grin grows broader. “Are you scared?”
