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“She should marry me.”
Jackie’s eyebrows raise and she goes still. “I thought you broke her heart.”
“I did.” I don’t look away even if the shame is almost overwhelming. “I fucked up. Things between us started out one way, but they turned into something else. They turned into something real. She left when she learned how it started, but she hasn’t figured out where I am yet. I want to show her that.”
Her mother sits still, studying me. I’ve met people like Jackie Stockton before, men and women that have lived hard, that have given in to their addictions and found ways to continue on without letting those addictions consume them completely. They’re survivors, hardened and tough and resilient, but essentially zombies, slaves to their desires. It’s a disease, an ugly disease, and Jackie Stockton turned it into something low-level and chronic, something that’ll eat at her for a long time and destroy everything around her.
Unless she finds a way to stop.
And she damn well knows it too.
“If you want me to put in a good word for you, I charge by the millisecond.”
I shake my head. “No, Jackie. I’m here to take you home.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Here’s what I’m thinking. I’ll pay off all your debts, every single dime you owe to whatever dangerous scumbag you got tangled up with, and you’ll come back with me to that very nice rehab clinic you left a few weeks back.”
“Why in the world would I do that?” She tilts her head, scowling at me.
“Because right now, you’re at a crossroads.” I sit forward, elbows on my knees, staring into her eyes. “You’ve been doing this a long time, haven’t you? You’re tired. I can see it.”
“You don’t know a thing about me, boy. Don’t get cute.”
“You’re not a bad person, Jackie. You’re only stuck in a loop, but we’re going to break it. Me and you.”
“What makes you think you do a damn thing for me? I’m fine where I am. I’m taking care of myself, which is more than I can say for all the idiots back in my family.”
“No, your daughter is taking care of you.”
“That’s not true,” she says, her voice low and angry. “That’s not true at all.”
“Katherine’s done nothing but sacrifice her own freedom and comfort and self-esteem to keep you alive, and now you have a choice. You can come with me, take my money, try to do right for yourself, or you can damn your daughter to a hellish, miserable life all for your own selfish failures. That’s the choice you’re facing and you don’t have long to make it.”
Jackie looks at me for a long moment. Her anger wanes and she seems to deflate. I think she’s going to agree, but instead she grabs a pack of cigarettes and lights one. She takes a long drag and sighs.
“Daddy used to hit me with a beautiful old walking stick. He said it was from Ireland in the eighteenth century, but I have no clue if that was true or not. He’d hit me with it and hit me with it, and he’d tell me that if I moved and I broke the stick, he’d use the sharp end to kill me. I never told anyone that. Daddy and I were close for a long time, and I loved him so much, but there was always a path, a very narrow path, the correct path, and if I strayed from that path even a few inches he’d bring out the stick. That beautiful stick. Long and dark brown with all these Celtic-looking carvings along the handle, the end tapered. It was hard as hell and strong as anything but I was terrified of breaking that thing.” She takes a long breath and slowly lets it out.
“We were all trapped there,” she says. “But I’m the only one that got out. I’d be dead today if I had stayed, and there are nights where I lie awake and think about my daughter still in that house with that man. I stare at the ceiling and I imagine her crying and I picture Daddy hitting her with that beautiful stick, hitting her over and over while she begs him to stop. But it’s not really her in my dreams, and those aren’t really dreams. They’re memories of what he did to me. I can shut them up for a while, but they never stay quiet for long. I got away from that place, Ford, and I don’t want to go back.”
She lapses into silence. I stare at her and feel a deep, ugly sadness inside of me. These families, they ruin their children by trying to jam them into a perfect mold, and shoving harder when their bodies don’t fit.
“I have scars from the switch my grandpop used,” I tell her softly.
“Me too. Want to compare?”
“No. I want you to come back with me.”
“I’m sorry, Ford. I’m old now and this is what I am. I doubt I’ll ever change.”
“This is your last chance. If you don’t come now, you’re right, you never will. You’ll die in a room like this knowing you left your daughter to suffer for no good reason. I think you know it.”
“Maybe you’re right, but my life isn’t my own and hasn’t been for a long time.” She throws back her beer and sighs. “Speaking of which. I’m going to take a dose. You can stick around if you like, but I’m fine without you too.”
I slowly stand. I’m not in the mood to watch this woman takes intravenous drugs. I head to the door and pause only to look back.
“Don’t do this for me or for your family. Do it for Katherine. I’ll pay for everything and you won’t owe a damn thing to your father. That’s my offer. Real freedom, not whatever this is.”
