suffocating. I busy myself rubbing my sore shoulder and barely watch her from my periphery in the foggy mirror as she slips down the rest of her dress and climbs into the tub.
The clothes will have gunshot residue on them too.
The hot water splashes and with it is the sound of my luggage unzipping as I pull out the toiletries I packed.
The goal is simple enough: get rid of the residue, calm my mother down, and come up with a plausible defense.
A nagging voice in the back of my mind whispers to ask her why. Swallowing thickly, I ignore it. But when I close my eyes, every little moment I ignored before flashes before me.
I pray this hot water can cleanse away these sins.
“You ran to find the killer.” I speak as I set a bottle on the edge of the tub. With the curtain pulled back, I can’t see her and she can’t see me.
“You were distraught at your husband’s death and how it happened so fast, there was nothing you could do.”
My body sways, my breath stolen for a moment as I envision a different reality. “But you saw the man.” With a heavy exhale I place a second bottle next to the first and tell her to wash her hair. My mother hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken.
“I went into the foyer but no one was there and then I saw you running out the back. I saw something or someone else first but I didn’t get a good look, but I saw you and ran out, wondering what the hell you were doing. I chased after you and when I finally got to you, you were trying to hurt yourself, sobbing uncontrollably.”
“Trying to hurt myself?”
“It lays a claim that you weren’t in your right mind.”
“Though in your version,” she starts and my mother’s words are spoken both slowly and lowly, “I was after the real killer?” I glance up at her as tears streak down her face.
“You were, you were running after him after you found Daddy dead, but he got away and you couldn’t take it.”
“As if they’d believe I could run faster than you.” My mom offers her doubt. “I could just tell them the truth.”
Ignoring her comments, I continue. “You were too scared to go back inside. I thought you were having an episode. I was going to take you to the hospital, not having seen anything inside, until you begged me not to. You just wanted to leave, to get away so I did that. I made that happen, not understanding what had happened.”
“That’s what you’ve got, baby girl?” My mother’s question is nothing but melancholy.
“You fell asleep, then in the morning you told me everything.”
“I don’t want you to lie for me,” my mother says and it’s then I see she still hasn’t touched the shampoo.
When I don’t respond and instead grab the shampoo and force it into her hands, she speaks. “I thought he cheated on me,” my mother says, her voice tight with the confession. “I swear, back then I thought he was cheating and I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what, Mom?” I’m too scared to ask and when I do, she looks down at me, the steam flowing around her.
With a wobbly smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, she shakes her head and says, “Nothing, baby.”
“Mom, what happened?” I ask and tears stream from my eyes just as they do from hers.
“He did it for the last time. I had to.”
“He hit you?” I say my guess in a whisper and my mother’s weak smile broadens with sympathy. “Yeah, baby, he hit me.”
“I’m sorry.” I barely get out the words, bracing myself against the cheap cabinet of the sink.
“When you and your sister were little,” my mother interjects, “you two were as thick as thieves and I remember praying you’d stay close like I wish me and my sisters were.”
I can’t even think of Cadence right now and what she’s about to walk in on. My heart breaks today for so many reasons; I don’t know how it still beats.
“You remember that time you ate all the candy from the canister? I found it empty and called you two in.”
“You knew it was me the whole time?” I ask her, knowing just how this story plays out.
My mother nods her head. “Cadence was so quick to take the fall for you. And that time she stained the back seat of your auntie’s Buick, you took the blame for that one.”
The past