Page 101 of Mine Forever
“Guess who gave it to her?” I ask, ignoring his platitudes, and point to myself. “This punk, right here.”
I raise my voice and stand in a theatrical way. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Chase ‘Hollywood Golden Boy’ Hanover, selfish bastard extraordinaire, decided to go to a party I wasn’t supposed to go to. And guess what parting gift I left with that night?”
I point at Nate. “Would you like to guess, my friend?”
Cupping my ear like I’m waiting to hear his response, I give him a go-ahead motion, but he just stares at me with a bland look.
I take that as permission to move on and plow ahead. “Ding, ding! That’s right. The flu! And she did what mothers are supposed to do and took care of me. And then want to know what we did a couple of weeks later? We buried her.”
I sway on my feet until I sit with a thump on the stool.
Bitterness stings my tongue and I stop talking, unable to swallow around the knot in my throat. I can still hear my father yelling at me, accusing me of being a selfish little bastard who only thought of himself.
I clear my throat, trying to continue, but I have no more theatrics for this part of the story. “My father accused me of getting her sick and killing her. He never looked at me the same after that.”
Rolling my lips in to hold back any sort of emotion, I pause. “Could be because he stayed drunk after that until he died. He lived just long enough for my little brother to graduate from high school. Then when little bro went off to the military, Dad drank himself to the grave.”
“That’s a shitty deal, man. And I understand shitty deals.”
I wave a hand, not wanting the pity. It’s why I never tell anyone my story. “What’s done is done.”
Nate sips his soda. “That’s true.” He shifts on the stool. “But do you really believe you killed your mom? If she had this rare condition, she could have died from it some other way. And who says it was you who gave her the flu?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she not ever leave the house?”
My brows furrow. “Of course she did. She volunteered all over town, with the kids, in the hospital.”
“And you think you’re the only way she could have gotten sick?” Nate asks.
“I—” My mouth snaps shut. “My father always said it was me who made her sick. Me who killed her. That’s the way it happened.”
Right?
It had to be.
My father hadn’t been father of the year being an alcoholicand all, but he still did things with us at times, and he never physically abused any of us.
“But what if it wasn’t?” he asks.
“Why would he tell me I was the cause of killing my mother?”
I rub my hands over my head and down my face.
Nate sighs. “I don’t know. And since he’s dead, his reasoning went with him. But if I had to guess? I’d guess it was because he was helpless and needed someone to blame.”
“Yeah, well, fuck him.”
Nate’s quiet for a moment. “Why do I feel like that’s not the only thing?”
“Because you’re also smart. There was Eden. I chose my baseball career over her. She needed me when her mother was sick. And I left.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Just left. Got mad at her for staying behind. I mean, what kind of prick does that?”
“A young one with his head up his ass?”
Nodding, I drink my beer, sloshing some of it around in my mouth. “Exactly. Guys like me. I do that.” I rub at my chin with the back of my hand. “And then there’s Heather.”
I look around surreptitiously, half waiting for some paps to jump out at me like they used to when the topic of Heather arose.
