“I’m okay. Just still working through some things.”
“How about you? How is everyone?”
Everyone. Her brother and three foster kids. I catch the vacancy still in her eyes. She’s still struggling for sure.
“Good, actually,” I say, holding back on specifics. If she wants to know what’s happening in their lives, she can ask them. I’m not filling that gap. “Oh, big news. Leelee and Tom are getting married.”
Her gray eyes widen and the first genuine smile crosses her face. “Wow, seriously? That’s amazing!”
“I’m up here with my mom getting some things. Apparently, burlap is required.”
She gives me a confused laugh. “When’s the wedding?”
“Right after graduation.”
That information registers as well and I get the feeling she’s like a lost ship being slowly pulled to shore. “I bet they’re excited—I’m sure all of you are.”
“It’s quite the production,” I say. “Mom has gone into full planning mode and Dexter is making the cake, which means he’s working on it in his spare time.”
“How is he?”
I hold her eye—the ones that match her brother’s. “He’s doing good. Different now that the probation and stuff is finally behind him. He misses you.”
“I miss him too.”
I throw out a lifeline. “You know you can come back whenever you want—they’re not mad.”
“I know.” Her fingers run down her forearm, over the words of her tattoo. One that I now
share but is hidden beneath the sleeve of my hoodie. “I’m not ready.”
I nod and I feel her slipping away. “Sierra, just remember that sometimes help comes from being with people that care about you—people with the strength to get though the things you can’t. It was a lesson I learned when I got here. Something I learned from them and you.”
Her eyes gleam and I feel for her. I feel for how lost she seems and that she won’t let anyone help her. I reach out again and pull her into a hug, even though I’m not sure she wants it.
“We’ll keep it all running until you’re ready, okay?”
“Thank you.”
I can tell she’s ready to leave and she gives me a tight smile and walks away. I feel like I failed the boys—Dexter the most—by not bringing her back home, but I know she’s allowed to make her own choices. I walk into the store, between the packed shelves of tools and housewares and everything in between, I hope she can find her way like I have—that she can find her own wayward sons to guide her home.
To her credit, my mom waits until we’re in the driveway unloading our purchases to make her move.
“What’s the status on your applications?”
The clock is ticking—literally—I’m days away from them being due. The familiar flare of annoyance burns under my skin but I know some of this is a defensiveness over my own lack of action.
“They’re ready,” I say. Which is true. I filled them out. They’re on the computer—all I have to do is press submit. I just can’t bring myself to do it.
“What’s the hold up?”
Good question, Mom. Good question.
“I don’t know,” I say, carrying a box of supplies into the lodge.
“Then send them in. It’s all online, right?”
I grunt, dropping the box on the couch.