Page 74 of A Surefire Love
She flashed him a grateful smile, then refocused on her paper. “Then, one day, I woke up, and Mom was different. She made me breakfast. She touched my hair and called me sweetie. I was in high school by then, and I remember her affection and interest so clearly. I didn’t trust it, but day after day, she stayed sober and interactive. She actually showed up for one of my choir concerts. Afterward, she hugged me and said, ‘I know I haven’t been there for you, but things are going to be different because there are going to be two of you, and I want to give you both the world.’ And that’s how I found out I was going to have a sister.”
She licked her lips and swallowed, lifting her attention to Anson. “I’m not sure how much I should get into this part, since it involves Mercy.”
“We can talk about that.” He rested his arm along the back of her chair and trailed his fingers up and down her shoulder—right there, in public. “For now, if you don’t mind telling me, I haven’t heard this before.”
She leaned into his side as she went back to the page. “Turns out, Mom had gotten sober when she found out she was pregnant with Mercy, and after a few months, I stopped worrying about her relapsing. My sister was born. At first, I thought Mom was kind of crazy for naming her what she did, but she said she liked the sound of mercy.” Blaze could still hear her low, rough voice saying as much. “Mom wasn’t a believer, but it did seem like mercy had been extended to us. I finally had a good mom and a sister, and between the two of them, I wasn’t lonely anymore.”
The memories of those days shimmered like a mirage, thin and unreliable. “One morning, as I was rushing out the door to school—late again—I heard Mercy wailing. She’d had a diaper blowout, and Mom wasn’t anywhere to be found. I cleaned Mercy up, but I couldn’t leave her alone when Mom wasn’t in the house. A couple of hours later, Mom showed up with bits of grass stuck to her and dirt on her face. She reeked of alcohol.” Grief pulsed in Blaze’s chest. “Seeing her walk in that way was the biggest heartbreak of my life. She gave up her sobriety, and she never reclaimed it. After that, it was up to me to look after myself and Mercy.”
“How did you care for an infant with school?”
“Mom had a job at that point, so she paid a neighbor to watch Mercy during the day. From then on, I was the one todrop her off in the morning and pick her up in the evening. Since Mom spent so much on her habit, I got a part-time job after school until Mercy needed to be collected, then I’d take her with me to buy groceries and stuff.”
“How did you afford all that with a part-time job?”
“I used Mom’s cards whenever I could. When those ran out, I used my money, so I could never save more than a few hundred dollars. Because Mercy’s care was almost entirely up to me, leaving for college was out of the question. Besides, there was no money for it, and I’d never been a good student anyway. At eighteen, I got a full-time job selling cell phones and plans. I was good at it, so I made decent money, but I also watched my friends launch into adulthood with a lot less baggage than me.
“I resented having to take care of Mom and Mercy, and I started seeing a guy who said it was time someone took care ofme. Man, I fell for him. He was a few years older. He had his own house, and he seemed like my knight in shining armor. He drank, but he never lost control the way my mom did. We got pretty serious. Or, I did, anyway. I lived at his house more than at home.” The confession burned her face because Anson would know what that meant. She didn’t dare look up.
“But over time, I saw his dark side. Hediddrink too much and missed work. He expected me to tend the house, throw parties for him and his friends, and contribute to the household finances. Meanwhile, I was still funding Mom and Mercy, even though I otherwise kind of left them to their own devices.” She shook her head and sighed. But for Jesus, she was no better than either of her parents.
Clinging to grace and her last shred of dignity, she continued. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’m ashamed to sayI’m not the one who broke it off. He got a fine from the town for not mowing the lawn, and he blamed me for not taking care of it. He got really ugly.”
“Violent?” Anson’s voice was low, and his hand curved around her shoulder.
She toed the ground, and her chair scraped against the floor. “Shouting. Nothing physical. He called me ungrateful and told me to leave. I moved back home with Mom and Mercy. I was paying the mortgage by then anyway. I was angry though. Resentful. I felt like I’d been dealt a bad hand. I got involved with another guy and started drinking. Did all kinds of things I regret.” She peeked at him, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth.
Anson’s mouth tightened, but he resumed rubbing her shoulder.
Bolstered, she continued. “I spiraled. I’ve always had trouble being on time for things, and with partying in the mix, I became the one who lost control. I missed work so much, they fired me. I went home and Mercy met me at the door and asked me for money so she could go to the grocery store because there was nothing to eat in the house.” Tears collected in Blaze’s eyes, and she read through the sheen. “That just about did me in. She was only six. She never should’ve had to ask that question. Realizing I was putting her in the same position Mom always put me in, I hated myself right into a church service.”
There. The worst was behind her. Her neck relaxed. “I’d listened to the Christian radio station a few times over the years, accidentally at first, then trying to figure out what it was all about. They talked a lot about hope and change, so when I needed help changing, I knew I needed a church.”
One of her few happy childhood memories surfaced, andthe tension released from her shoulders too. “I chose Many Oaks Bible Church because, once, years before that, during Mom’s sober period, she took me to a mother-daughter tea there. That day, I felt like all the other girls. Everyone was so nice and so happy to see us.”
She chuckled, thinking back. “Of course, since the tea party was my only experience with church, before I attended a service as an adult, I went to a thrift store and got a kind of ridiculous dress because that was what all the ladies at the tea wore. When I showed up at church and saw most people in jeans, I almost turned right back around. But I needed help too much, so I swallowed my pride and went in.
“Pastor Greg preached about grace and hope and mercy, and I craved it all. I prayed that morning to accept Christ, and I felt changed. Like I had some hope that God could turn it all around. I quit drinking. Quit going out with my friends and stayed home to read my Bible. Within a week, I landed a job at the dealership. I got some counseling. Caring for Mercy became more of a privilege than a burden, though I’m not sure I ever struck the right balance of boundaries with Mom.”
Not for lack of effort, though. Blaze spent hours hashing through options and situations with her counselor. The woman helped significantly in some ways, not so much in others. “Whatever the case, there were some decisions I couldn’t make for her. She was visibly unwell a long time before she finally saw a doctor. When she did see one, she refused to tell me what he’d said, but she got worse and worse. It was liver disease. She might’ve had a chance if she’d given up drinking, but she refused. In the end, her kidneys gave out first.
“I shared my faith with her again while she was in thehospital that last time, but the only serious topic she’d discuss was Mercy’s future. She signed the paperwork to name me as her guardian.” Mom’s hand had shaken as she pressed pen to paper. The wish of a dying woman who liked the sound of mercy but hadn’t wanted to talk about it.
Blaze fiddled with the edge of her own papers as she braced herself to admit the next part. “It was both hard losing her, because it meant Mercy really was my responsibility, but it also felt like a fresh start. I know that sounds selfish.”
“It sounds honest.”
“Honest good or honest bad?”
“Good, Blaze. You went through a lot, but you tried to give her the best gift you had. I hope, in the end, she took it.”
“Me too.” Blaze sat with that for a moment. “I won’t say this to the kids, but does it sound crazy to say I wonder about generational curses? I feel like I’m living under the shadow of something—despite Jesus, despite Mom being gone for years already.”
“Childhood trauma affects a person.” His hand covered hers even as she held her pages. “But through Jesus, you’re not doomed to repeat anyone’s mistakes.”
“Maybe not. Maybe this whole journey into learning about ADHD and anxiety is about freeing us up a little more.” She skimmed the rest of her notes. “That’s basically what I wrote. That God is the reason Mercy and I have hope. He’s the only reason we’ve made it this far.”
She pushed the pages a few inches away, and Anson pulled her into a hug.
