Moment of Truth - Kasie West Page 0,79
forward. I hadn’t.”
I stood. “Can I show you something?”
She let me get the keys and lead her out to the truck. She climbed inside with me and reverently touched the dash like she hadn’t been inside since he was alive. I turned on the engine and played the recording of Eric.
Sobs shook her shoulders as she listened.
Yes, it was decided. I was definitely a sympathetic crier.
When it got to the part about laughing, my mom smiled through her tears. “I don’t believe this has been in here this whole time.”
“He sounds fun.”
“He was fun.”
The sound of the tape turning in the deck made me reach forward and turn it off.
“And moody and angry and belligerent sometimes,” she said.
I looked at my mom in surprise.
“It’s easier to remember the good times.” She tapped the lid of the cardboard box that sat between us filled with the memories of Eric.
“What would you put in a box like that for me?” I asked, and wished I hadn’t because that seemed morbid, that seemed unfair, and I had put her on the spot.
But she didn’t seem to mind. She smiled. “Lots of swim stuff for sure, caps and goggles and swimsuits.”
That was the easy answer but I was glad she’d been able to think of something so fast.
“And music,” she went on. “You’ve always loved music. From the time you were little. It seems to take you to another place.”
“I like music.”
“I know. And we can’t forget your lime Slurpees. Those would go in there. Plus, your phone. And probably a best friend charm to represent what a wonderful friendship you have with Amelia. You truly are an amazing friend. Loyal and giving.”
I wasn’t sure if she was going on and on because she felt so guilty or if she just couldn’t stop herself but I didn’t care either way. I was happy.
“I’d have to bottle some sand from the lake because you’re always there in the summer. And maybe one of your many ribbons to show how competitive you are.”
“Okay, Mom,” I said, thinking that maybe she’d go on all night if I let her.
“I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I didn’t know all that.” So she did realize why I needed to hear it. “Sometimes, Hadley, I think that you don’t need me. You’re so independent. So hardworking and motivated and dedicated. And I feel like you have your life all figured out and that you don’t need me for a thing. I should’ve never let that feeling be my excuse.”
The words Jackson said earlier about how I shut people out came flying back into my mind. “I need you,” I told my mom. “I’ll always need you.”
“Good.” She kissed my forehead and gave me a hug. “Because I’ll always need you too.”
When she let me go, I pulled the squirt gun out of the cardboard box and pointed it at her. “What do you say? You want to go dance on a grave?” I squirted her.
She held up her hands with a squeal. “Yes. Let’s.”
I started to get out.
She touched my shoulder, stopping me. “Let’s take this truck.”
This truck. Had she ever referred to it as “this” anything in her life? It had always been Eric’s truck. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be mine. I kind of wanted something that didn’t make me a little bit sad every time I looked at it. But it was nice that it was possibly an option now.
I nodded and took a deep breath. Just as we were about to back out of the driveway, my dad pulled up.
“Is he going to kill me?” I asked, nearly forgetting I had another parent to talk through this.
She threw the door open, slid the box to the floor, and shifted to the seat next to me. “Daniel, we’re going for a dance.”
My dad approached the truck, wary. He took in the collapsed platform and the bumper I’d thrown into the back. His normal smile was far from present. “What’s going on?” he asked in a heavy voice. One which showed that when he offered to sell this truck, he might not have been quite emotionally ready.
Mom patted the seat next to her. “Hop in. I’ll explain on the way.”
She would explain on the way. I didn’t have to. This brought me a lot of relief. He sat down next to her, still in his work suit, his tie loosened. She started with, “Your daughter won a swim award a couple weeks ago that