Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
She shrugs. “It was worth a try.”
I answer a couple of questions about job security, and whether or not members will use the shuttle bus. After that the meeting breaks up. Jim and Sue are the last to leave.
“You know, it’s not like I’m going to be lining up every first Saturday of the month to cross into Colorado Club land and walk Jenkins,” Jim says. “But it sure is nice to know that I can.” He slaps me on the back. “You did good, son. Keep it up.”
I try to swallow past the lump in my throat. The people of Star Falls don’t care that my father was a drunk who gambled away my family’s farm. They just care about me—because I’m one of their own.
THIRTY-THREE
Rosey
As the Uber pulls into the trailer park, the urge to run is far greater than it ever was when I was stuck here. I know for certain there’s nothing my mom can do to make me stay, but that doesn’t stop the panic rising in my chest. I can’t catch a breath and my palms are slick with sweat—sensations I only realize were familiar now that I’ve been away from this place. I lived my whole life here in a state of anxiety. Now that I know what it feels like to live in Star Falls without those feelings, I can’t fathom how I coped all these years.
The car pulls to a stop and I want to ask the driver to keep the engine running. A conversation with my mom is inevitable, but I’d do anything to avoid it. I just want to dash into the trailer, grab my stuff, and come right back out again.
“You getting out?” the driver asks, pulling me from my panic.
I grab the door handle.
I’ll be back in Colorado in just over twenty-four hours. I checked into my motel on the outskirts of town straight from the airport. Tomorrow morning, I’m meeting Frank to sign paperwork. After that, I can leave and not look back.
There’s a small deck on the front of the trailer, but the single chair Mom likes to sit in to see what’s going on in the park is unoccupied. I glance up at the darkening sky. It’s about to pour with rain. She’ll be inside. Part of me hopes she’s out, though it’s unlikely. She rarely leaves the trailer. I have a niggling feeling that although I don’t want to see her, I need to face her. Maybe because I need her to see that I’ve broken free of her lies and manipulation.
I’d like to see Lydia and Kitty, but I don’t know if they want to see me. The burden of Mom’s demands will be heavier for them since I’ve left. They’ll probably resent me, and I don’t blame them. Still, I want to show them life can be different to how they imagine it’s always going to be. They can break free, just like I have.
I walk up to the deck, knock three times, and open the door. The familiar orange scent of Mom’s favorite air freshener sends me right back to my childhood. I scan the living room and there she is, watching the TV as always.
She knows I’m there—there’s no missing me—but she doesn’t greet me. She doesn’t even turn to look at me.
“It’s you,” she says, emotionless, not taking her eyes from the screen.
“I came to collect some things.” I manage to keep my voice steady.
“And where the hell have you been? Embarrassing the family like you did by running off on your wedding day.”
Embarrassing the family? She means embarrassing her. She doesn’t care about what happened to Frank or what drove me to run out on my wedding. She cares about herself and only herself.
“You don’t need to know where I’ve been,” I say. I know it will rile her that I’m being so rude, but I can’t help myself. In Star Falls, I’ve tried to forget about her, block her out of my thoughts. But there’s no escaping her now. She’s here, and she’s a monster.
The door to the bedroom I used to share with my three sisters opens and Lydia comes out, followed by Kitty and, finally, Marion. My heart lifts in my chest but sinks lower than it was before when I see the fear on their faces. They look so young. So vulnerable. They glance at Mom, unsure whether they’re allowed to speak to me. If they do, there’s no doubt they’ll suffer the consequences.
“It’s so good to see you,” I say, looking at my sisters. I try to keep it together, but I want to bundle them out of here and take them back to Colorado with me. I don’t want them to waste any more years doing what Mom demands of them. It’s more obvious than ever that despite the lack of bars, we lived in a prison. They’re still living in it.