Glancing at my watch as I exit Target, I calculate that I’ve got some time to journal before I need to open the bar. One of my bartenders is sick, so I’m working a double today.
I woke up early this morning with the insatiable need to purge my feelings about Hendrix and my mother, and I couldn’t do it because I don’t have my journal. That douchebag Carmine Betta does.
I ran to Target, the closest store that would have something sufficient, and it took me only a few minutes of browsing the stationery aisle before I settled on a vinyl-covered notebook laden with flowers, which is so not my style. I chose it because it has a strap and locking mechanism that, although could easily be broken open, is symbolic of the private nature of the things I write.
I splurged on a set of new gel-ink pens, and I intend to write over another cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal.
Just before I reach my car, my phone rings.
The name Olivia Parnell flashes, and my heart skips a beat.
“Hello?”
“Stevie?”
“Yes, hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. Your mom is back. I saw her this morning grabbing the newspaper.”
I suck in a deep breath and then release it slowly. “Thank you so much for letting me know. I appreciate it.”
The little old lady walking her dog last week when I went to confront my mom came through. I went to my mom’s day before yesterday, hoping perhaps she’d returned, but there was no answer. Not sure if it was just coincidence the same woman was walking her dog or if she’s a nosy neighbor who came out to talk to me, but I left her my contact information and asked her to call if my mom reappeared.
My new journal forgotten, I toss the bag in my back seat and buckle up. As I drive to her house, anger bubbles as I think of all the things I need to get off my chest. I’m so angry, I might just start at the beginning when she abandoned me, but on the off chance she doesn’t want to hear any of it, I might need to start at the end.
Stealing my diary and giving my private words away.
I understand that my mom is too self-absorbed to even care about how this has affected me. Not only was my privacy violated, but her actions set into motion the destruction of my relationship with Hendrix.
The only man I’ve ever loved.
Granted, I’m not thinking too kindly of him these days after he was so very callous to me. Hendrix is complicated—not only am I suffering deep anger over the way he tossed me aside, I’m grieving the loss of love.
It was a new love, the words spoken but a few times between us. However, it was the start of something I had faith in. I truly thought he was my forever, and my heart is crushed in a way that doesn’t feel like it can be healed.
I push those thoughts away, bringing my mom to the forefront. If I’m lucky enough, she’ll have a sliver of conscience and will listen to me, because I need to walk away with three things accomplished.
I need her to understand that she hurt me in a way that no true mother would ever do to a child. From that, she should know she’s not my mother anymore. She’s nothing to me.
Next, I want the truth. Was this all a setup or was she really in trouble?
Lastly, I want to know where my journal is and how to get it back.
After that, I’m walking away for good, and she’ll be effectively cut from my life.
My phone rings, and it’s my dad. I answer, tapping the speaker phone as my car is too old for Bluetooth.
“You’re never going to guess where I’m going?” I ask as soon as we’re connected.
“Your mother’s? Because I know damn well you aren’t going to see Hendrix.”
I ignore that. “Her neighbor called. She’s back.”
“Swing by and pick me up,” he says.
“Nope. It’s out of my way.”
“Stevie,” he warns.
“I’m doing this right now. Plus… this is my fight, not yours.”
“Maybe so, but I’m starting to understand your mother has a little bat-shit crazy in her, and I don’t know that asshole she’s with. I’d feel better if I was with you.”
“And I love you for it, but no. I’m five minutes away from her.”
He curses under his breath but then sighs. “Fine. Call me as soon as you leave and given that I know what you’re going to say won’t take long, that means I expect a call in about fifteen minutes. No longer, do you hear?”
I hear him and promise to call. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight, by the time I pull into her driveway, they’re cramped. They ache as I shake them out.
With resolve, I exit my car and lock it as she doesn’t live in the best neighborhood. There’s not an ounce of uncertainty or fear within me. I am supremely confident in my quest, and I have zero mommy issues anymore stemming from her initial abandonment. In fact, that shit is so far in the past it’s irrelevant.
My legs are strong as I climb the porch steps, my spine a rod of steel. I don’t bother with the doorbell but bang on the door with my fist.
It swings open, and my mom stands there sporting a very nice tan. She doesn’t seem surprised to see me, and I can tell by her expression she knew this was inevitable. She almost seems to brace.
“How could you?” I demand.
Three little words. I’d planned on saying so much more, and yet that’s the only thing that comes out.
Instantly, my mom’s eyes fill with tears, and they spill down her cheeks. “Oh, Stevie… I’m so sorry.” She steps across the threshold, opens her arms as if to beckon me into a hug. I scramble backward to avoid the contact and glare at her. Her arms drop, but the tears continue. “It was Randy. He made me do it.”
“Made you do what?” I ask because I want the truth.
“Made me ask you for the money.”
“Were you ever in any trouble?” I demand.
“Yes. That part was real.” She ducks her head and looks chagrined as she wrings her hands. “It’s just… it wasn’t ten thousand dollars. We only owed about three, but they were very serious about getting it.”
“So you were beat up? That was real?”
Her gaze can’t hold mine, and she looks away. “Sort of. They did give Randy a message and roughed him up.”
“And your injuries?” I press, because that’s specifically what induced me to meet with the reporter.
She doesn’t respond but nibbles on her fingernail nervously.
“Mom,” I snap to get her attention.
“Randy did it,” she blurts out.
“To make me think you were in danger,” I say in disgust. I had considered that.
“Not quite,” she says softly, her fingers grazing over her cheekbone, although it’s no longer bruised. “He was mad I couldn’t get the money from you. We got into an argument. He gets angry really easy… I think it’s the steroids he takes, but he slapped me around. Then he told me to use it to coerce you into helping.”
“Jesus, you two are unbelievable,” I say, throwing up my hands. “So… you stole my diary, got the money, paid your debt, and went on a dream vacation to St. Lucia with the remainder, ruining my relationship with Hendrix in the aftermath?”
My mom wails, sobs wracking her body, but I quickly learn it’s not from regret for what she did to me.
“It was awful,” she cries, rubbing her hands over her face. “I caught Randy cheating on me there with some floozy, so I left and came back. My heart is broken—”
There’s no controlling it. My hand launches out, and I slap her face.
I immediately gasp and step backward, curling the offending hand to my chest where I cover it with my other. I’ve never hit another person in my life.
It stops my mom’s tirade, and she covers her red cheek with her palm. Her expression is wary.
I was going to ask her if she knew how much she hurt me, but I won’t. It’s clear she doesn’t care.
“I want my diary back,” I say coldly.
“I don’t have it.” Her tone is standoffish, her tears gone.
“Did you give it to Carmine?” I ask. I have no clue if she read the information to him or just turned it over, but I need to make sure she didn’t throw it away.
“Yes. He has it.”
I nod, knowing I have my work cut out for me. I’ll be paying him a visit tomorrow, but for now, I need to get to work. I don’t feel the need to berate her further. It would be a waste of breath.
“Do you forgive me?” my mother asks.
“No,” I reply and turn on my heel. I move down the porch steps and when I reach the bottom, I look back at her. “Don’t ever contact me again. As of this moment, we are finished. I won’t think about you from this day forward.”
Probably not quite accurate as I can’t control what thoughts pop into my head, but I won’t obsess over her anymore. I sure as hell will never wonder what could’ve been between us.
“Stevie,” she exclaims as I walk to my car. “Please don’t cut me out like this.”
I ignore her and make a hasty getaway. As soon as I’m a few blocks down, I call my dad.
After I recount everything that transpired, he asks, “You okay?”
“In some ways,” I admit. “I’m glad to know the truth. I’m glad she’s out of my life.”
“But she still hurt you,” he says knowingly. “And I guarantee she didn’t apologize.”
A laugh bubbles up and spills out. “No, she didn’t apologize. And weirdly, I’m not sure she really did hurt me all that much. I don’t know that I had high enough expectations of her that she could fail them. I’m more angry than anything, especially since she gave away my journal.”
“You’re more hurt by Hendrix,” he says.
I ignore it. It’s true, but I don’t want to discuss it. “The good news is she confirmed that Carmine Betta has my journal, and I’m going to get it tomorrow.”
“Hmm,” is all my dad says, and I wait for him to offer to get it for me or at the very least want to come with me to provide some muscle.
He does neither. I guess he’s really going to let me handle all this, which is fine. I’m nothing if not self-sufficient.
“Want me to bring lunch over today?” he asks.
“Sure. I’ll see you later.”
He hangs up, and I drive straight to my bar. I glance back longingly at the Target bag that holds my new journal and pens. I won’t be able to crack it open until tomorrow, given I’ll be working the late shift too. My feet already hurt just thinking about being on them that long, but that’s the price of being self-employed. You have to do whatever it takes to get the job done.
