My brain’s telling me to turn her away, to tell her to come back when she’s been clean for more than a day, a month at least, but every instinct in my body is saying different. And after everything—Wes and Jolie and Skye and the king—I can’t, I can’t be the firm hand on her now, because I need her, maybe every bit as much as she needs me.
I step forward and curl my arms around her, feeling my heart beating firmly against her head, which rests on my chest. I hold her and hold her and hold her, and I feel her body shaking as she sobs into me, but then I realize I’m shaking too, just letting go, letting everything out of me, because she’s my mother again, and she can make all the bad stuff go away.
I don’t know how long we stand there, just hugging, just being mother and son again, but by the time we pull apart there’s snow on our eyebrows and in our hair from the big, fluffy flakes that have begun to fall, coating everything, including us, in white.
“Want to come inside?” I ask.
She bites her lip and nods, frozen tears on her pale cheeks.
Her tears melt from the warmth of the fire while we sit next to each other, watching Jolie sleep. We don’t say anything, except when, from time to time, Mother strokes Jolie’s hair and murmurs, “My baby, oh, my sweet baby.”
I just watch her, wonder how things could’ve been different had my father not died, or if mother was able to cope with it better. Would we be different, Jolie and I? How much was lost by my mother’s actions, by her weakness? Although I don’t want it to, my red, red temper starts to rise.
I clench my fists in my lap to try to squeeze it back down.
Mother’s eyes flick to my hands. “I know, Dazz,” she says. “You’re angry. You have every right to be.” She won’t look at me, keeps her eyes on Jolie, and I don’t blame her. I’d be scared of me too if I were in her position.
“You as good as abandoned us,” I say through my teeth.
“I know.”
“Father didn’t have a choice—it was the disease that took him—but you—”
“I know.”
“You could’ve been stronger, could’ve taken care of us, helped us through the loss that hurt us every bit as much as it hurt you.”
“I know, Dazz.”
“Jolie was just a little girl…is just a little girl. And Wes…Wes had to become a man, take care of all of us, well before any kid should have to. And now he’s…” And I can’t say it, can’t say it, not one more time.
“I know, Dazz.”
“You know nothing!” I rage, burning a hole in the side of her head with my eyes. Still she won’t look at me, because she’s too weak, like she’s always been. “Look at me!” I demand, and she flinches a little, her cheek raised, turning red, like she’s been slapped.
Slowly, so slowly, she turns to face me, her eyes filled with moisture and failure. “I’m sorry, I—”
She reaches for me, but I’m not ready to touch her, still hot and quivering with anger.
“—I hate myself for it,” she says, the tears dripping out of her eyes and falling all the way to my feet, splashing on my boots.
The hurt, the anger, the accusations, all of it, falls away from me, leaving me as bare as if I was naked, stripped to my very soul. Before me sits a broken woman, my mother, who’s punishing herself for what she’s done far more than I ever could. And she won’t…nay, can’t get through this without me supporting her, especially with Father and Wes gone. All we’ve got is each other and Jolie, and that has to be enough, will be enough. I’m sure of it.
I push into her arms for the second time, clutch her tighter than before.
When I pull back, I say, “Let me make you a cup of tea,” and her teary smile warms me more than the fire, or a cup of tea, ever could.
~~~
“Thank you,” I say, having spoken those words many times before, but never meaning them as much as now. Mother told me how Wilde helped her over the past few days, how without her she’d never have defeated the drugs.
“I’m just glad I could help,” Wilde says, and I can tell she means her words too.
It’s just us, walking through the woods on the edge of the village, while my mother, Skye, and Buff look after my sister. It’s the first time I’ve left the house in days, and the cool chill of the air makes me feel alive again. And going with Wilde…that was my request.
“Wes and I,” I say, my voice cracking slightly, as it always does when I say my brother’s name, “we tried so many times…”
“It’s okay,” Wilde says, taking my hand, squeezing it, making me feel better with only those two words and her simple touch.
I can’t help but think about how different someone’s touch can feel from another’s. When Skye holds my hand, it’s like my whole body’s on fire, reaching for hers, pushing for her, needing to be closer to every part of her. And when I held my mother’s hand earlier today, it felt warm and safe. But now, holding Wilde’s hand, it’s different still. A whole world of different, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. So full of caring and mystery and strength, like she’s giving me her strength through my glove, through my skin, charging it into me. And although she only feels sisterly to me, I can see why Buff is so taken by her.
“How did you do it?” I ask. I have to know, in case my mother ever falls again—so I can save her myself.
Wilde releases my hand, extends her palm, and catches a snowflake on it. We both stop walking as she studies it, as if committing every last detail to her memory. I watch her, somewhat awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say.
When the snowflake finally melts from the body heat coming through her glove, she looks at me and says, “Everything beautiful must die eventually. And to her, your father was the most beautiful thing in the world. All she needed was to understand that.”
And, of course, that explains everything and nothing, but I’m thankful for it either way.
~~~
I still feel sort of awkward being alone with him, but I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I pulled him aside.
Feve stares at me with dark eyes, waiting expectantly. “Are we just going to look at each other all day, Icy?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “Look, I know things have been…rocky for us from the start, but I want to thank you. I don’t know if my sister will wake up, but she’d be dead without you; and you never backed down from a fight that wasn’t really yours in the first place. So thank you.”
Feve raises his chin, cocks his head to the side, looks at me thoughtfully. “I still don’t like you much,” he says, “but I accept your thanks. And you did save my life once. Who knows, maybe we’ll become friends one day.”
Not today, I think. “Maybe,” I say, nodding.
Chapter Thirty-Five
They’re leaving later today, Siena and Circ and Wilde and Feve and Skye.
Going to find the Stormers. To find Jade, if she’s still alive. It may be the last time I see any of them again. Buff’s going too, even though I’m not. He said he’ll get my revenge for me, as long as I take care of his family.
I’m scared of losing all of them, but I won’t abandon my family, not when we’re so broken to pieces, and yet feeling like we have the potential to be whole again.
Skye said she’ll come around later to say goodbye, but I think she’s delaying it as much as I am.
Mother’s out. I know, it sounds weird even to me. She hasn’t been out in a long time, doing normal things. The bakery, which was burned to the ground during the Stormer attack, has been temporarily relocated and is back up and running, so she took some of Abe’s silver and went with Wilde to buy some fresh bread. I’m thankful we don’t have to eat Buff’s hard rolls anymore.
I’m holding Jolie’s hand, just holding it, telling her a story. A story about her brother’s bravery, about how Wes was her hero, trying to break down walls to get to her, to save her. How he gave his life to save hers. My tears are flowing before I’m even halfway finished.