SECRETS & LIES 7 (Secrets & Lies #7) - H.M. Ward Page 0,30
could work it out. I thought I’d lose you for a little while, but when they called and said what happened—oh, Kerry! And the message written on that painting,” she pulls back and looks me in the eyes, “I don’t want that to be what you think of me, not ever. I broke it off with Matt. I choose you, and always will.”
Considering they’re the words I’ve wanted to hear, I'm surprised when they suddenly ring hollow. “Mom, please don’t date any of my boyfriends from here on out. But, if you love Matt, and he loves you, I’m not going to behave like an ass anymore. It’s awkward, but one day it won’t be. If it’s a forever thing, I love you, and I’ll deal with it.” I shrug and sniffle.
Mom is either in shock, or petrified. Her lips twitch, shifting between a smile and a frown. Then she starts bawling and holds me. After promising no more Matt again, she says, “I couldn’t have dreamed of a daughter like you. You’re everything I wish I could be, times ten. I’m proud of you, Kerry.”
I’m not an idiot. I know my parents won’t be the same after that, but the fact that Mom put me first doesn’t go unnoticed. Daddy watches her like she was someone he knew from long ago, someone who slipped between his fingers. They pass each other without a word, regret in their eyes. Daddy smiles at me, and we talk until I’m too tired to stay awake.
The next few days pass by like that—with visits from everyone, even Josh—but Nate doesn’t come by again. It's like he vanished, and it kills me. I thought we fixed things, but I guess not.
After I’m discharged, my parents want to take me home. I don’t protest. It’s nearly the end of the semester, and there’s no real reason to stay. With Chelsey and Kevin's help, they pack my room for me and load my new belongings into the family van.
Nate doesn’t call or text. If I leave now, I’ll never see him again. I pluck my phone from my pocket and text him:
THANK YOU. FOR EVERYTHING.
CHAPTER 16
I’m back in New Jersey amongst my people in the land of the highly opinionated, where chivalry is long dead. I admit it—I miss Texas. I miss the way the men hold doors open for ladies. I miss the slower pace of life, where not everything is dictated by a clock.
Healing sucks. I’ve spent weeks on the couch, watching TV, waiting to heal. I’m not good at sitting still. It gives me too much to think about. Just when I’m about to go totally nuts with boredom, my mother drives me to an office complex. It’s gray brick, one story, and in the uglyass quadrant of town.
Mom pushes through a glass door and flicks on the lights as I hobble in behind her. We’re in the middle of an unfinished office space with concrete floors and no ceiling. Fluorescent light fixtures flicker from the bare beams overhead. The walls are bare, and the room is filled with blank canvases of all sizes displayed on easels. In the center of the room, an artist's stool stands side by side with a padded chair on casters and a big, comfy cushion. On a small table next to the chair rests a box of paints overflowing with too many tubes of color to count. A new pallet is balanced precariously to the right, and, to the left, brush bristles peek over the top of a glass.
Mom holds out her hands in a tah-dah pose. “You still have a few more weeks of minimal movement. Your father and I thought you’d go stir crazy soon, though, so we came up with this. I hope it's all right?” She’s worried I don’t like it.
I admit, I’m stunned. It’s beyond thoughtful, and it’s fully stocked. “Mom, this is amazing. It’s beyond all right. It’s awesome! And fully stocked.” I walk over to the paints and lift a tube. “This is the good brand. My god, do you know how much this cost?”
She nods slightly and smiles softly. “I do. But you haven’t painted since that night.”
I admit, “Yeah, well, it was kind of traumatic.”
“I wanted you to find the joy it once held for you. Maybe it won’t be the same. Maybe it’ll be better. The one thing I know for sure is that you need to pick up a paintbrush. You need a creative release, Kerry.