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‘That’s good. It’d be a long weekend for you if they did.’ Mrs Jones extended her hand. ‘Janey.’
‘Skye.’
Janey looked to her husband. ‘Ryan, if you could put Skye’s bag in the guest room by TJ’s? I’ll show her the rest of the house.’
Ryan nodded and left, taking Skye’s things with him.
‘TJ, I believe our guest might like a drink.’
Two pairs of eyes focused on Skye, flustering her. ‘Um, whatever y’all are having is great.’
‘I’m riding this weekend, so I’m sticking to water. But Mom hoards red wine by the gallon?’
‘You’re supposed to store it,’ Janey said, defending herself. ‘It ages better.’
‘I don’t think that includes the bottles you get from the Quik Mart, Ma.’
Janey flicked at TJ’s legs with her dishtowel while Skye looked on, unsure of what to do or say but, ‘Wine is perfect. Thanks.’
The moment TJ walked off, Janey took Skye’s hand in her own. ‘You must be so tired, honey.’
Before she could think to give a polite reply, the words ‘I really am’ slipped from Skye’s lips.
Travelling alone as a woman was an endless lesson in vigilance, and while Skye prided herself on the fact that she had adapted well and quickly, she felt fatigue fighting to take over, now that she was finally somewhere completely safe. It settled deep in her muscles, dragging her down.
‘Well, if you want to have a shower now, I’ll wrap up dinner and then you can pass out as early as you need to.’ Janey led her into the kitchen. ‘The fridge is stocked with snacks, so please help yourself.’ She pointed to clearly marked jars on the counter that were labelled Coffee, Tea, and Sugar. ‘Coffee mugs are in the cupboard above the espresso machine. I’m an early riser, so I can show you how to load the portafilter in the morning.’
On the other side of the kitchen was a family lounge. The furniture was walnut-coloured leather but well loved and patinaed with age, the rug beneath it worn and faded.
The dining room had an eight-seater table, perfect for company.
Skye’s room upstairs was white with blue accents: blue bedding, blue abstract art on the wall, and blue towels on the foot of the bed. Fresh flowers were in a little vase on her nightstand. Skye raised her fingers to the petals of a tiny pink wildflower. What type of woman collected wildflowers for guests she didn’t even know?
Her own mom had never taken her side against her father’s abuse, so it was the strangest thing to feel that this tiny stranger would have stood up for her in the same situation.
But maybe it was easier to stand up for someone else when your own world wasn’t in constant turmoil. Maybe people who had the time and energy and courage to help did so because their own lives weren’t a constant struggle for survival.
Skye’s eyes burned as her fatigue and emotions warred. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d done her research. She’d spoken to Margo, the therapist at the women’s shelter. She knew that there was deep trauma guiding her mother’s actions – or, rather, lack thereof. But knowing the psychiatry didn’t make it any easier to always be the little girl who suffered because of her mother’s inability to break free. And it didn’t make the shame she carried for leaving Caroline lighter to bear.
‘Unfortunately, you’ll have to share a bathroom with TJ. But I swear he’s housebroken—’ Janey’s laugh died as she saw Skye’s glassy eyes for the first time. ‘Oh, baby.’
Mortified, Skye swiped at her eyes, managed, ‘I’m sorry. I think I’m just more tired than I thought.’
‘Of course you are, honey. Rodeo life’s rough.’
The endearment, the completely natural way this woman said things like honey and baby, filled Skye with so much warmth that all she could do was try to deflect. ‘I’m not competing. I’m just travelling with them.’
‘Smart girl.’ Janey sat on the bed beside her, but she didn’t ask for details, only said, ‘I admire you all so much. Travelling alone for most of the year. Looking after yourselves. I’m too scared to even stay overnight at a hotel without Ryan.’ She laughed self-deprecatingly.
Warning bells rang in Skye’s head. How many times had she heard her mother say something similar, typically something regurgitated from her father: You’re not competent enough to travel alone, Caroline, or I think it’d be best if you told your friends you aren’t available or, when people started to wonder why Caroline was never available, Do you think it’s wise to continue your friendship with someone clearly so ill-suited?
Skye searched Janey’s face for that glazed look of the marionette. It was always there in the persecuted; sometimes, it only hid behind a well-rehearsed smile. Instead, all she saw in Mrs Jones’s eyes was understanding and compassion.
Still, Skye was compelled to ask. ‘Do you like travelling with him then?’
Janey must have seen through her question, because she took Skye’s hand in her own. ‘Oh, baby, more than anything in the world.’ She laughed lightly. ‘I can’t sleep when he’s not snoring next to me – which is saying something, because when he is snoring next to me, I’m typically plotting ways to kill him.’
Skye heard the almost girlish love in Janey’s tone and relaxed. Abused women didn’t talk about their men with that reverence, only with an odd type of obedience that they mistook for love. Embarrassed that she’d let her defences slip so quickly, Skye redirected. ‘How did you know he was the one?’
