Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,10
play Rummy. They want us to see a musical performance on Friday.” Translation: an oldies cover band taking over the stage at some dive bar.
“That sounds like fun. You should go.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There will be so many people. All the noise and germs. I don’t want to deal with any of that. It’s too dangerous.” The strain in her voice makes me frown.
This is a common excuse I’ve heard from her over the years. Since my father passed away, my mother has become somewhat of a hermit. Her paranoia has gotten increasingly worse, to the point she rarely leaves the house. The fear she carries threatens to break my heart.
I clear my throat, being sure to keep my tone level. “Where is the concert, mom?”
“Over at Buckie’s.” Her loud sigh fizzles in my ear. “You know how I feel about that place.”
The exact same way as everywhere else that’s beyond her doorstep. “There’s nothing to worry about, mom. Your friends will be with you the entire time. Get out and enjoy yourself.”
“Not this time, dear. I’m sure there will be another show soon.”
“But you could do both.” Fingers crossed that my suggestion doesn’t sound too pushy.
Her scoff says plenty. End of discussion. “Are you coming home soon?”
She means to the house I grew up in, which hasn’t been my residence since high school graduation. I don’t bother correcting her. “Maybe? It’s been really busy at work lately. I could probably stop by after my next trip to Streebston.”
“The penitentiary? That was only meant to be temporary, Blakely. Why are you still meeting with those criminals? You need to quit. They’re constantly putting you in harm’s way. Can’t you see that? Living in the big city is a bad influence. I honestly wish you’d reconsider moving home.”
Glossing over specific details of my position are strictly for her benefit. Imagining her constant fretting over my wellbeing made the decision easy. Could I have been more forthcoming? Perhaps. But getting smothered as an adult by protective motherly instincts is rather exhausting.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of my pulse. Defending myself is beginning to feel like a chore. “Mom, I love my job. And I love my apartment, which is centrally located to anything I need. Wrylea can hardly be considered a big city. An expanding suburb is more appropriate, not that it matters. This is my life, remember? I get to make the choices.”
She sniffs, and I brace for further argument. “But you’re not making them correctly. Listen to your mother, sweetie. I know what I’m talking about.”
This woman is the reason my compassion is too generous. An abundance of forgiveness and patience is a requirement, bless her beautiful soul. I inhale until the pressure behind my eyelids recedes. “Okay, mom.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
Because it’s not meant to be, not that she will listen either way. I tip my face toward the sun to indulge in a hit of natural bliss. My mother continues prattling on about her extensive amount of worry in regard to my occupation. Letting her talk is the best solution for both of us. She’ll eventually reach a level of saturation and taper off.
The bistro entrance is a very welcome sight. I pull open the door with newfound zest tingling my fingertips. An unfiltered dose of rich coffee teases me as I cross the threshold. The small space is brimming with static energy while everyone eagerly waits for their orders. I’m jonesing right along with them.
“What are you doing, Blakely? There’s a lot of noise in the background.” My mom’s voice interrupts the perusal of freshly baked pastries I’m currently indulging in.
“I’m ordering an extra-large latte with heaps of whipped cream and caramel. A chocolate croissant, too.”
“You’re at a cafe? Why is it so loud?”
“It’s a busy place, mom.”
“And you’re alone? Walking around while talking on the phone? You’re just asking to get mugged.”
I smile at the cashier as if my stomach isn’t in knots. She gives me a grin in return while inserting my card into the chip reader. I step away from the register to wait for my breakfast. An impatient tsk reminds me that I’m still on the phone. “Sorry about that, mom. But this town is very safe. There are plenty of single women out and about on a constant basis.”
“Please don’t be a statistic, dear.”
The urge to wrap her in a tight hug rushes through me. “I won’t. Please don’t worry so much. But I