“You’re lying to me now.”
She didn’t say another word the rest of the way home.
*
Mom turned on the light in the kitchen and made a pot of tea, her movements jerky, agitated. She stopped, staring at the cutlery drawer like she couldn’t remember what she was looking for, then finally pulled out a spoon. She dropped it with a clatter, cursed as she picked it up. I went to sit on the couch, waiting for her to order me to bed, but I wasn’t going without a fight. The living room was shadowed, the streets outside our apartment quiet at this time of night except for the odd horn or siren or vehicle roaring past. Someone walked down the hall, coming home late.
Mom sat beside me on the couch, handed me a cup of tea, pulled a blanket over both of us. She glanced around our apartment like she was trying to remind herself where she was. Her gaze focused on the photo of her mom we kept on the side table in a silver frame. It was the only picture she had of her family.
“There was a reason I didn’t want you to go out with Crystal,” she said.
“I was okay.”
“You could’ve gotten into a lot of trouble.”
“Crystal was looking out for me.”
“When Crystal gets drunk she doesn’t know what she’s doing. What happened to her tonight? That could’ve been you, and—” Mom’s voice broke.
“I wasn’t drinking.”
“You don’t have to be drunk. It’s just being in the wrong place at the wrong time—and the bar was definitely the wrong place.”
“I’m sorry I lied,” I said. “It just feels like you never trust me.” Mom was a pretty cool mother in a lot of ways, but she hated it when I wore anything too tight or too short, lectured me all the time about drinking and drugs, and how guys can get the wrong idea—stuff like that.
“It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s the rest of the world.”
“You can’t keep me in a box, Mom.”
“I can try.” She smiled, but it looked strained.
“Is Crystal going to be okay?”
“Yeah, she’s just having a rough night.”
It was a lot more than a rough night and we both knew it.
“Who did she think was going to hurt her?” I said.
“She thought Larry might come back.”
“I’m not an idiot, Mom. She was talking like she was scared of a couple people. I know she was freaking out about something that happened in the past.”
Mom was quiet for a minute, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“We met some very bad men when we were teenagers.”
“From Cash Creek? Did you go there when you ran away?” Mom had told me years ago how their mom had died in a car accident when they were growing up in Golden, and their dad had been an alcoholic. He’d gone missing when she was pregnant with me. They ran away to avoid foster care and met Patrick, who gave them jobs, then they changed their names so their dad could never find them.
“Our truck had broken down, and they stopped to help.…” She took another breath, swallowed hard. “One of them worked at the garage. We got jobs on their ranch to make some money, but they…” She paused again, took a quick sip of her tea like her mouth had gone dry. “They wanted more than that.”
“Did they hurt you?” I whispered, my blood whooshing in my ears. Mom was staring at the teacup in her hand.
“They got rough with us one night when we were all drinking down by a river. We managed to get away but we were terrified.” Her eyes were shiny like she was close to tears.
“What did they do?”
“It doesn’t matter. We got out of town as soon as we could and we’ve never seen them again.” She turned to look at me, reached out to grab my hand. “I know you think I’m too protective, and maybe I am sometimes, it’s just that I see you going down the same path as Crystal, and I’m scared for you.”
“I’m not Crystal, Mom.”
“I know, baby, but bad things happen even when people are careful.”
“Why didn’t you go to the cops?”
“Same reason we ran away. We didn’t want to go to foster care.”
“Are they still there? Like, in that town?”
“I don’t know.”
“Crystal thinks they’re still looking for you.”
“That was just the drugs talking.”
“But what if she’s right and—”
“They’d never be able to find us.”
“Do they, like, know your real names or anything?” I didn’t even know my mom’s real name. She wouldn’t tell me because she was scared I might accidentally reveal it to someone.
“No, they don’t.” She put down her cup. “I’m tired, baby, and talking about this—it’s really hard.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I just need to go to bed.”
“Can I sleep with you?”
“Of course.” She said it with a smile, but she still looked sad.