Unleashing Sin - A. M. Wilson Page 0,79
the man who saved me.”
Her eyes go wide.
“So it is true? It was a kidnapping? I always knew you didn’t run away.” Tears line her eyes.
My back straightens defensively. “Run away? Why on earth would you think that?”
Bea brushes a lock of hair off my face and twirls it around her finger before resting it on my shoulder.
“I never believed it. The police did. Your mother …” She trails off, her expression sad. After a headshake and a sniffle, she continues.
“Anyway, with your mother raising you alone but working two jobs, she was away most of the time. The police weren’t convinced you didn’t decide to take off, and she didn’t have evidence to prove otherwise. Nobody saw you go missing,” she chokes the words. “You were with your friend, who gave a statement that you left when you were called, and you just never made it home. Your mother was on her way to her job at the group home when she called you and didn’t wait to see if you made it. You were sixteen,” she emphasizes, and I have to agree. My mother didn’t usually wait around for me. At that age, I just listened.
“She didn’t report you missing until she got home from work after midnight. She never forgave herself for it.”
Tension rises in my back with every world, but at the last mention of my mother, my whole world stops.
“Why’d you say it like that?” I whisper
“Oh, honey.” The dam finally breaks, and Bea starts to cry, silent tears tracking down her cheeks between stifled sniffles. “We lost your mom about a year ago.”
“How?” My own eyes feel wet with unshed tears.
“Pancreatic cancer. It hit her hard after you were gone and took her within six months. She looked for you every single day that she could.”
My eyes flick to the house I grew up in, to the window where my old bedroom used to be, and to that stupid swing on the front porch that didn’t belong to us. Why is the universe so fucking cruel?
“Where is she?” Alex’s deep voice startles me. I release Bea and move into his open arms. The tears I’m fighting to keep at bay recede a little with his comfort.
“The church cemetery in town.”
He looks at me, and I tilt my chin up, feeling the warm sun on my face. Something I want to believe is my mom looking down at this moment.
“I want to visit her,” I mumble quietly.
“Would you like to stay? Have a cup of coffee and catch up?” Bea asks with a hopeful note to her voice.
“Not this time. One day soon, okay?” I let her down as gently as I can, but right now, my thoughts are on Mom. I don’t think I can make pleasant conversation without seeing her.
She clutches my shoulder. “I understand. Don’t be a stranger now.” She pulls me into a long embrace before letting go, a serene smile present.
***
The drive to the cemetery only takes a couple of minutes. A few blocks and two roads over from where I grew up sits a plot of land owned by the town’s Lutheran church. Even though we were nondenominational, Mom tried to take me to church here every Christmas. It doesn’t surprise me that she’s laid to rest here. Bea gave me instructions on how to find my mother’s plot in the large space, so Alex approaches the section and parks along the grass. The engine idols as our silence stretches, my mind lost to this unanticipated turn of events.
“Would you mind waiting in the car? I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“I’ll be here when you get back.” He lifts my limp hand from my lap and brushes my knuckles against his lips.
Without a word, I slip from the car, tucking my hands into my pockets, and meander through, careful not to step on someone’s final resting place. The sun beats down against my neck as chirpy birds serenade me. The cheery day a juxtaposition to my weary heart.
The simple tombstone marking her final place of rest comes into view. Gray stone, words and numbers carved roughly. No photograph or flowers or ornaments.
Cheap.
Surreal.
I never imagined a day when I’d come back, and she wouldn’t be here to take me into her arms and tell me everything would be okay.
The damp grass from timed sprinklers soaks my jeans as I plop down cross-legged in front of her headstone. The rock cools my fingertips as I trace each letter.
“Hi, Mom.”
I sigh and