Her arms squeeze me tight. She kisses the top of my hand as she murmurs, “No one has ever told me that.”
I’m filled with a sudden fierce desire to protect her and with anger at Daddy for so many things. He’s her husband. He’s supposed to care about her and protect her. Instead, he blamed her and shut her out.
When I sit back, Mama looks over. “That’s why I didn’t leave him or divorce him when he cheated, Riley. Because what I di—what I did cost us so much more.”
Her face is puffy and tear-streaked, her eyes full of nightmares I’ve never even known existed. I relive the awful words I said in anger and regret all of them. She isn’t the one who hurt us. Daddy is. She didn’t betray our family. She needs my help as much as he does—and deserves it more. Mama isn’t the guilty party here; she’s been a victim in every way.
I won’t let that happen anymore.
After a few more tearful hugs, I convince Mama to drink more water. Then she goes to the bathroom while I grab a blanket and an extra water bottle to put by her bed. She wants to rest for a bit, and I think that’s the best plan for her right now.
The moment the bathroom door closes behind her, Jordan is beside me. He reaches his arms around me and cradles my head against his chest. I tighten up instinctively, but my heart aches like it’s been ripped apart. Though Jordan’s arms make it feel like it might someday heal.
So I stop fighting against myself, I stop fighting against what I want. Instead, one at a time, I carefully wind my arms around his back. I hold on to him, close my eyes, and stop caring about when he is going to change his mind about me. Instead, I cling to him, and Jordan clutches me even tighter, whispering against the top of my head words that ease the pain in my soul bit by bit. He says things like “You’re not alone” and “I’m not going anywhere.”
These would be simple words of comfort to anyone else, but they’re also words that no one has ever said to me. I wrap myself up in their sound and am only brought out of it when I hear the bathroom door open again. I withdraw slowly from his arms, and Jordan’s eyes meet mine—full of worry, full of comfort.
I remind myself to thank him for this later, but then realize that the Things to Thank Jordan For list is getting a little long. Maybe it’s time to stop adding things to the list and just start saying thank you.
“Thank you,” I whisper softly. He smiles and bends forward to kiss my cheek. My hand touches the spot his lips just were. Then I walk away and head down the hall to help Mama get settled in her room.
28
MAMA LOOKS WOBBLY WHEN SHE COMES OUT into the hallway, so Jordan joins me immediately to help steady her.
My head is still reeling from hearing everything she’s been through. She’s lived a life where she had to choose between the man she loves and literally everyone else. In a similar situation, would I be that strong? Have I inherited my stubborn loyalty from her?
Apparently I didn’t get any sort of loyalty or fidelity from my father.
She’s been backed up against a wall time and time again. No wonder she’s falling apart. How long can anyone be expected to live under that kind of strain without being able to show so much as a crack in their otherwise unwavering faith?
I run to the bathroom for a cool rag as Jordan has taken on most of the job of supporting her. On my way back, I stop to listen when I hear her speaking to him.
“I know exactly who you are.” Her words slur, but they’re simple, and there is no question what she means. I stand with my feet frozen in place, torn between waiting to see how Jordan handles this situation and hurrying in to help him get out of it.
“I know who you are, too.” His voice is light, but I can tell that he’s uncomfortable.
“Why are you hanging around my daughter?” Mama’s bluntness makes me suck in a quiet breath of surprise. She isn’t messing around. Southern hospitality is her motto, and she never talks to people this way.
Jordan doesn’t answer her for so long that I wonder if he felt offended and has left. I take two steps toward the doorway and then freeze up again when I hear him say words that make me feel light-headed.
“Because she’s both amazing and stubborn in all the best ways.” He doesn’t sound nervous anymore, more like he’s searching really carefully for the right answer. “Because I want to help.”
Silently, I lean my back against the wall. My heart burns and flutters and I can’t help but smile.
When Mama responds, her voice is significantly kinder, but her words still make me cold. “You just make sure you’re prepared to deal with the fallout before you drag her down with you.”
He repeats, “Fallout?” like a question, but I get the distinct impression that he knows exactly what she means.