Where, even though Cain had wronged me, somehow, I was the villain.
I gnawed on my bottom lip, my hand tight around my cell phone, but as I stepped into my bedroom, I didn’t bother calling him or even texting him.
He’d have to talk to me about this. I couldn’t bring it up, not when I’d eavesdropped into a private conversation.
I glanced at the notice board above my desk, which was pinned down with schedules and meets and ribbons and cutouts of me on podiums. There, I’d also tacked on the acceptance letter from Stanford.
And suddenly, it felt farther than just across the country, but across the universe.
Like I was going to be moving, within the next couple of months, to another planet.
While I hadn’t truly spoken to Adam in the years since his marriage, he’d been there. I could have talked to him if I’d wanted to. I’d had the choice.
But when I left, I was going to be removing myself from his sphere, and by the sounds of it, he was removing himself from every sphere.
Unlike for Robert, it wasn’t hard for me to imagine Adam fixing up a house then flipping it. Whatever he put his mind to, he achieved. Like father, like son.
I knew swimming was a chore for him. I knew it, but you’d never tell when he was in the water. He trained harder than anyone on the team except for me, and until now, he’d dedicated hours to his sport, pushing himself because he’d thought that was the only way he’d get into college, had believed that was the only way he’d be able to make a future for himself. Now, he had other options, and he was going to take them.
A little shaken, I plucked off the letter from Stanford and another from Southwall Correctional Facility.
Two invitations, two completely different paths I was going to be taken down.
There was no doubt in my mind that I’d be visiting both, but after, I’d reach a crossroads, one that might take me away from Adam, even more than I already was.
With a sigh, I sunk onto my bed and stared at both letters.
Today had been a reckoning, and tomorrow?
It felt like it was going to be one too.
THEA
The creaking of the bars, the clanging of the gates, the heavy clicks of the locks, the buzzers, and the footsteps of the guards...all of it was a cacophony of sound that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope with if I was my mom.
I remembered enough about her to recall that she loved wide, open spaces. She’d loved horses and being out in the fields. She’d loved being with animals, and felt cramped and crowded in our small caravan.
Weird things to remember from when I was so young, especially when I couldn’t recall being hit by my father, but I remembered Momma vividly.
She’d been everything I wasn’t.
Vinnie had called my grandmother Leggy, and that was my mom too. All curves and long chestnut curls that cascaded down her back. I’d seen pictures of her, only a few because Nanny hadn’t set that many out. But I knew enough to know I had her features—delicate lips, a fragile-looking nose, high cheekbones, and the same matching eyes. But otherwise, I was skin and bone, and she’d been voluptuous curves and sensuality.
Sure, it was unusual to think that about your mom, but hell, I had eyes.
I was bony and muscular. All harsh lines and strength. I’d never look like my mom. My body was trained to be this way now. Muscle memory would keep me slim long after I stopped the punishing workouts, and only dwindled it down until I was working out at a healthy, normal level.
I thought about how I expected her to look, but ever since I’d received the letter from the prison, inviting me to visit her, I’d never been able to picture her.
I’d been surprised. Had never anticipated that Mom would ask me to come along. I’d have been happy with being pen pals, but I’d never heard back from her, even though I’d sent a few letters since I’d gone to Fort Worth, and the invitation to visit was the only clue I had that she’d received my mail.
When I and a bunch of others followed a guard through a doorway that overlooked a small room, filled with concrete tables that were screwed down, and occupied by a single woman on each, I didn’t know which was my mother.