on him. Something is stressing him out if he's had a smoke.
He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. He cups my cheek in his big hand, and he looks like he's trying to form words but he doesn't know how.
I lightly hold on to his wrist and lean my face into his hand. "What is it? Is everything okay?"
Clearing his throat, he finally speaks. "Baby, we found your mom."
There is a sudden thudding in my ears and a twist of anxiety in my gut, and my mouth goes dry. This was not what I was expecting to hear, and by the look on his face, I may not like the rest of what he has to say.
"What's wrong? Does she not want to see me?" I gasp at my next thought. "Is she alive?"
"Sweetheart, she's alive but she's very sick. She's been in hospice care for quite some time, and there may not be much time left. If you want to see her, we need to go soon. Very soon."
I can feel the tears welling in my eyes, and I inhale through my nose to try to keep myself in check. I stand from my chair, and as I walk around the office, I can feel myself shaking from the inside out. I stop in the middle of the room, and the first tear falls. He wraps his arms around me just in time. Without him there to catch me, I most certainly would have fallen.
I brace my hands on his chest, and I take in his scent. Even with the smell of cigarettes, his smell still grounds me. Calms me.
"Where is she?"
"She's in a hospice facility in Southern Oregon."
"What's wrong with her? Is there anything they can do for her? Does she not have insurance?"
"It's cancer, baby."
"What kind?"
Sheepishly, he says, "Lung cancer and money doesn't seem to be a problem. There is a man by the name of Richard Brown paying all of her medical bills."
I still and my body turns to ice.
It can't be.
After all of these years, she's still with him?
"Dickey," I whisper.
"Who?"
Not ready to go there, I brush past the news that my mother is still under the thumb of the wretched man who put my father in the ground and later abused her day in and day out.
"When can we go?"
"Olivia, who's Dickey?"
"He played a role in my father's death, but I really don't think I can go into more than that right now. Maybe later?" At the mention of his name, I find myself reaching up to touch the small scar above my eyebrow. Courtesy of Dickey Brown.
"Sure, baby. I figured we could fly out in the morning? I've already let the office know I won't be back until Monday, and I've got the plane scheduled to leave bright and early, if that's what you want."
"Yes, thank you."
Inside, I'm screaming to leave this instant. To save her from her disease and from the horrible man still holding her hostage. The man who broke her and took both of my parents away from me. I can't believe she is still with him.
For the next several hours, I busy myself with work, telling Ronan I have a lot to do before we leave. I can tell he's stressed. He is doubting his decision to tell me my mother had been found since she's on her deathbed. He wants to ask more questions about Dickey, and he wants to fix things. Things that he didn't break and he's not responsible for, but I know it's in his nature. It's who he is.
I've been pretending to work, but I'm really just staring blindly at the computer screen. My mind reeling with the knowledge that I'll be seeing my mom in a matter of hours. What if she doesn't want to see me? What if she's so sick she doesn't remember me? What if he's there?
Ronan breaks the barrage of questions racing through my mind when he makes me stop working and eat dinner. It's just the two of us in the house, and the silence between us is deafening. He doesn't want to push too hard, and I don't want to break.
We go through the motions the rest of the night, packing overnight bags, just in case. The tension in the air is thick. I'm exhausted from the emotions of the day and the anxiety of what tomorrow may bring, and all I want to do is sleep.
Escape.
I crawl into bed and Ronan, who always sleeps naked,