But she cared for him, too. Raised them both the same, the best way she could manage.
And maybe . . . maybe, addled or not, she was entitled to her secrets, too. There was no dignity left to her anymore, no autonomy, no independence. Maybe she deserved to at least hold on to this—the myth that she’d raised a son good enough and loyal enough to stand by her, through every ugly turn her mental health had taken.
Why take that from her? Why taint Vince’s own choices and sacrifices by telling him the truth? The truth would only hurt him. Keeping it buried only hurt Casey.
And don’t I owe my brother just a little suffering, for how he stepped up when I wouldn’t?
“There’s a lot to be said for the family you choose,” Nita said softly. “You and Vince, you’re like my nephews. You’re the closest I’ll ever have to sons, and I know you know that.”
He nodded.
“And the fact that I chose to make you two hooligans a part of my life, and to see your mom as my sister, hard as things have been . . . In a way, that means more than the family you’re born to, obligated through your blood.”
Casey nodded again, lost in thought. Lost in a singular thought—in the knowledge that there was a part of him that very much wanted to be able to point to Mercy, a year or two from now, and tell somebody, That’s my daughter. Not by blood. By choice.
He took a deep breath, feeling too much. And nowhere near drunk enough, frankly. There was only one question nagging at him, before he could commit to his choice.
“Did she ever try to get in touch?” he asked Nita. “Vince’s real mom?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t got a clue what became of her. All I really know from your mother is that she was young. Young and unfit. How, I couldn’t say, or even whether that was just your mother’s opinion. But no, she’s never made contact, far as I know.”
He sighed, feeling a hundred. “Guess Vince and Raina have even more in common than I’d thought. Wait a second—Vince’s real mother wasn’t Mexican, was she?”
Nita smiled. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Just making sure Vince and Raina aren’t, like, brother and sister or something. Though, thank God they never fucked.”
Nita rolled her eyes. “How’s Abilene doing, anyhow?”
Casey decided to spare her the finer details of the drama, saying simply, “Things are quieting down.” No sense mentioning the other mystery now plaguing the ranch; Nita was probably on track to go to bed happy, knowing Casey wasn’t crazy. Let her stay in that space.
“She and the baby are doing good,” he added.
“Lucky girl that she’s got you at her beck and call.”
He blushed, and bright pink to judge by the fever creeping up his neck.
“Oh, Casey—you’ve not taken up with her, have you?”
“Why would you even think that?”
“Because you’re red as a beet.”
“We’re not . . . anything.” Now, there was one heck of a lie—they were about sixty things to each other. “I mean, we’re not dating.”
Nita blinked dryly. “Oh well, that doesn’t leave anything out, now, does it?”
“We’re not. And I wouldn’t wish me on her, anyhow.” If he’d been too selfish to step up for his own mother, what happened if he got serious with Abilene and the going got inevitably hard with insta-fatherhood? Well, then they’d all find out exactly how closely he took after his old man, wouldn’t they? And that question scared him about as bad as those unknown test results had.
“What do you mean?” Nita demanded.
“You know me—my love life’s always been a fucking sideshow. Plus all the girls I date wind up being crazy, and Abilene’s perfectly normal. So maybe it’s just not in the cards.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Are all these ex-girlfriends of yours in junior high?”
He frowned. “No, of course not.”
“Then you’ve been dating women, Casey.”
“Okay, fine—all the women I date wind up being crazy.”