Ashley’s were under the surface, but still deep. And at the core, both mine and my sister’s scars were inflicted by our mother.
My heart races, and I force myself to breathe steadily. To calm down. We’re almost there, and if I’m going to see my mother, I need to be in control. Show even the slightest weakness, and she’ll pounce on it.
And, yes, I’ve grabbed the upper hand before—I sent her back to Texas after she tried to take over planning my wedding, ignoring what I wanted in favor of her own skewed vision—but in Dallas she definitely has the home court advantage.
“Nine-three-seven?” Damien asks, referring to the address, and I nod.
“The first house on the left after the bend,” I say, and I’m proud of how normal my voice sounds. I can do this. More than that, I want to do it. Clear the air. Wash away all the cobwebs.
Basically, I’m doing the parental equivalent of burning sage in a house tainted with bad memories.
The thought amuses me, and I’m about to tell Damien when the car rounds the bend and my humor fades.
Moments later, my childhood home comes into view. But it’s not my mother’s Cadillac parked in the drive. Instead, I’m staring at two unfamiliar Land Rovers, a Mercedes convertible, and a moving van.
So where the hell is my mother?
Want more? Be sure to pre-order your copy of Anchor Me or learn more at www.jkenner.com