She was shocked herself. She doubted she’d cussed since labor. And before that, only during flashes of hormonal insanity. And before that, heroin withdrawal.
“I was never a victim,” she repeated. She thought back on what Casey had said about luck, about choices. “Every shitty situation I’ve wound up in, I got there myself. Because I made lousy decisions and trusted people I shouldn’t have. For a dozen stupid reasons. To defy my parents, to escape from my hometown, for a place to stay. For attention. I may have woken up in some real nasty places, but I walked myself there on my own two feet. I chose all of that stuff, though I’m not proud to admit it.” At first, for a taste of freedom, of what she’d mistaken for adulthood. Later, out of necessity.
“You only think I’m a victim because I’m the woman. But you take a long, hard look at our breakup, and tell me who felt used when it all turned to shit.”
He blinked at her, eyes wide.
“I haven’t been a good person,” she went on, cooling her head. “Not for a long time. Not until I found out I was pregnant. But I’ve done better since then. I quit smoking; I worked hard. I asked for help when I truly needed it. And I’m a good mother. Mercy is healthy and she’s loved, and has a whole house full of people who want her safe.”
“A whole house full of people who think I’m the dangerous one,” he countered. “And maybe I am. Maybe I’m a criminal, and maybe I’ve hurt people, but never my family. Never any woman, and never any kid. I’m not perfect, but I provide. But you . . . You always fall apart or you run, the second something goes wrong.”
He sighed, rubbed his thighs, and seemed to calm himself. When he looked up, he met her eyes squarely. “Can’t you understand how I’d worry—given the way we even met? And when you refused to see me, you have any idea what flashed through my mind? How am I not supposed to jump to the worst conclusions?”
“You never had any faith in me.”
His stare was steady. “You never gave me any reason to.”
She felt tears welling.
“Don’t,” he said. “That shit won’t work on me anymore.”
Now she was just livid. “I can cry without it being some kind of game, you know. You hurt my feelings. What the heck do you expect me to do?” She wiped at her cheeks, so pissed she could slap him. He was the only man she’d ever struck in her life—pointless little shoves and punches and scratches in the midst of withdrawal, when he’d basically held her captive. She’d been an animal then, though.
“Look,” he said, hunkering down, clasping his hands between his knees. “That baby is my daughter. I have obligations to her—to make sure she’s safe and being taken care of. So let’s get down to fucking business, okay? You’ll need money.”
She sat up straighter, taken aback. “Money?”
“I know you, Abilene. Well enough to guess you probably never signed yourself up for health insurance. So how deep are you in the hole, exactly? Births ain’t cheap. How much do you need? I’ve got eight hundred on me, and more coming, once I chase down some customers.”
“Well, you can keep it. I got insurance. Eventually.”
“How much?”
“Nothing. Vince gave me a few hundred dollars to cover my first doctor’s appointment—give him your dirty money. I got on insurance. And I worked and paid my bills and my rent. And I got some of the medical expenses and some of the baby’s things for cheap, because of my income.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have fucking had to. You should have come to me. Let me take care of it.”
“You were in prison,” she cut back.
“I’ve got ways.”
“I don’t want your shady money, James. I don’t want to pay for Mercy’s diapers with the proceeds from you selling stolen guns. Ever since I knew she was coming, I’ve done everything the right way. I’ve worked and I’ve lived cheap, and when I’ve needed help, people have helped me because they care.”