Play On (Play On 1)

Jim’s arm squeezed around me in reaction. “And yer mum?”

“She’s not a bad person. She … she doesn’t know how to be close to me, I guess. And she works all the time. Always has.”

“And ye’er left tae look after yer dad?”

I nodded.

I felt his breath on my ear as he whispered, “That’s too much for someone who’s just starting out. Yer parents should be sending ye out into the world, not keeping ye here, looking after them. Ye deserve more than that, Nora.”

I smiled sadly. “What else are family for?”

He grunted like he didn’t agree with me.

“Are you looking forward to the rest of your trip?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Roddy is.” He sounded so disheartened. “I’m going tae miss you too much. I … really, really care about ye, Nora.”

Emotion immediately clogged my throat as I realized our time together was ending. Panic waited in the wings of my mind. “I’ll miss you too.”

Hearing my voice crack, Jim pulled me into a hard hug, bowing his head in the crook of my neck. I felt him shudder.

My arms tightened around him, and as we held each other as close as two people could, I tried not to give into the fear that by letting Jim go in the morning, I was letting go of the future I was meant to have.

Jim dropped me off at the house. I’d decided there was no point in hiding him from my mom anymore, considering he’d be gone in the morning.

I studied Jim curiously as we pulled to a stop outside, watching to see what his reaction was to our small house, surrounded by those so much bigger. But he barely even acknowledged it. He said, “This is you?”

“This is me.”

He nodded and rubbed a hand over his head, looking anywhere but at me.

“Jim?”

He shook his head, and his hand curled so tight around the steering wheel his knuckles turned white. “I think ye should just go, Nora,” he choked out.

Hearing the emotion in his voice, realizing he couldn’t meet my eyes because he had tears in his, I felt a deluge of tenderness. It was hard not to be affected by how much this boy had grown to care for me in so little time. I didn’t exactly have people lining up to care about me, and I wasn’t going to take his affection for granted.

That rush of fondness, of gratitude, made me reach for him. I touched his cheek, the one he had turned from me, feeling the prickle of new stubble against my skin. Gently, I forced him to look at me, my eyes stinging when I saw that he did, in fact, have tears in his.

And something more.

Something that somehow managed to frighten me and call out to my longing at the same time.

“Jim,” I whispered, wondering how it was possible that he could feel so much for me when he didn’t know me at all.

He jerked me to him, his lips crashing down on mine, and at first, I couldn’t react because it was a punishing kiss that scared me a little. All I could do was stroke his cheek, trying to soothe him. It seemed to work, and his kiss grew slower, sweeter, and I enjoyed it more.

He cut off, breathing hard, and pressed one last kiss to my lips.

One last kiss to my nose.

And one last kiss to my forehead.

Tears pricked my eyes at the sweetness of it.

“Please, just go,” he begged suddenly.

Feeling guilty and I didn’t even really know why, I did as he asked, grabbing my purse and fumbling for the door handle. I was about to shut the door and let him drive off when I decided he deserved more. “Jim.” I bent down to look at him, but he was staring stubbornly ahead. “These last two weeks … I’ll never forget them. I’ve felt alone lately, but you showed me it didn’t have to be that way. Thank you.” I closed the door before he could say anything because as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I felt incredibly vulnerable.

Cursing myself for saying too much, I hurried up the pathway and let myself inside.

I could hear Dad’s football game before I even opened the door.

Mom’s jacket was hanging on the new hook I’d put up, her shoes underneath it.

Pushing Jim out of my mind, I braced myself. It was time to fall back into my life and be at peace with how things were for now. That began right then because I was sure my mom was going to kill me.

I kicked off my shoes, my eyes narrowing on the open doorway of my bedroom. Light spilled out into the hallway. “Mom?” I said, walking toward it.

The sight of her sitting on my bed made me falter in the doorway.

She looked up from her lap and glared at me. “I had to call in sick.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mom scoffed, “No, you’re not.”

Not knowing what to say, I stood there, waiting for the explosion.

It didn’t come.

She stood up and made her way over to me. I got my height from my mom, our eyes at the same level.

Our eyes were the same color and shape.

Except hers were cooler, harder, and weary. One of the things I feared most was waking up one morning, looking in the mirror, and seeing my mother’s eyes looking back at me.

“You think I don’t know about the guy in the Mustang?” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Nora, I thought you were smarter than that. Instead, you’re running around town with some Irish boy, lying to me about doing overtime.”

“He’s Scottish,” I muttered.

“Who gives a fuck? He’s a man and all he’s going to do is use you, get you pregnant, leave, and saddle us with more responsibility we don’t need.”

“One, I didn’t sleep with him, and two …” I felt panic clawing its way back inside of me, and suddenly, it wasn’t my mom exploding. It was me. “He’s gone! Okay? Gone!”

My mom didn’t even flinch at my uncharacteristic burst of emotion. She studied me carefully, and then quietly replied, “I think that’s probably for the best. Don’t you?”

I laughed, an ugly, hard sound. “This family stopped knowing what was ‘for the best’ a long time ago.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Exhausted, I shrugged. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

Eyes narrowing, my mom closed what little space was between us and whispered, “You listen to me and you listen hard … the sooner you stop living in your head and those fucking books of yours, the better. This is life. And it ain’t a bad life. It’s small, it’s simple, and you got to work hard, but there are people out there who have absolutely nothing. We got something. And you walking around acting like you’re better than this, ain’t right.”

Her words were so similar to what Cory had said, I flinched like she’d slapped me.

Remorse cut through the hard in her eyes, and she sighed. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I just don’t want you to be miserable waiting on something to happen that ain’t ever going to happen.

“If we had more money, things would be different.” She patted my shoulder, which was as close to affection as my mom ever got. “We don’t. And we’ve got to live with the blessings we have and be grateful we have any at all.”

Guilt suffused me, and I wondered if I really was a spoiled, ungrateful little brat. I released a breath and nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t come home tonight. It won’t happen again.”

She eyed me like she didn’t believe me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled. “I’m going to bed.”

But before she slid by me, her eyes darted back to my bed. To under my bed.

My heart jumped in my chest, but I waited until she’d gone before I closed the door and pulled the shoebox out from under the bed. Opening it, I sucked in a breath.

As soon as I turned eighteen, I used what little savings I had to apply for a passport. I didn’t know what made me do it or how I thought I’d ever get the chance to use it. I just knew I had to have it. It was like a little blue book of hope and dreams in my hand, and knowing it was in this shoebox, hidden under my bed, made it easier to get through each day in a life I didn’t want to lead.

Because it symbolized possibility.