Wolf Bargain (Wolfish 3)

And also, the same person I’ve felt ashamed of myself for wanting. After all she’s done to me—I shouldn’t want her. Not after she left me. Abandoned me.

She stands like a ghost beneath the trees. A flicker of a memory past. A whole past life now forgotten.

I’m beyond stunned and surprised to see her here—a look that’s mirrored on her own face. Her own surprise is maybe more warranted than mine, given the state of me. Something that she doesn’t miss, of course, as her eyes slide down from my own shocked expression to my swollen belly.

Even if I wanted to hide it from her, to keep myself and my babies safe from her, it would be impossible for me to hide. So instead, I brandish my stomach like a sword out in front of me, sticking my hips out to accentuate the blossoming life squirming—and I mean squirming—within. As if sensing my own emotions, the three tiny lives quicken within me.

My mother stares at me, mouth agape, for a long moment—long after my own surprise has waned into wariness. She says nothing. No words will come.

So, once again, I’m the one left taking charge.

I walk slowly up to her and as much as part of me wants to wrap my arms around her and feel my mother hug me back; I don’t. The look on her face is one of disappointment and … of all things … disgust.

At the swollen form of my body. At me.

That look, as much as she tries to hide it, it hurts me more than any cramp or pain I’ve ever felt.

That look makes it impossible for me to stem the tears that gather at the corner of my eyes.

“Mom?” I say, my voice staring to shake. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” she says. Her voice is cold, and it doesn’t sound like her, it sounds more like my father. Certainly a side effect of being with him again, and for so long. I remember how long it took me to shake it when we first left. It’s part of the reason I’d never dream of going back. Sometimes, sure, I’m overwhelmed by emotion.

But that’s preferable to the cold numbness of being around him.

My mother looks me over again, her mouth still agape. I imagine how I must look. More than my pregnancy, I’ve been fighting poison for the last two months. A poison that very nearly took my life, and still sometimes I worry may still claim me.

She finally finds words again.

“What in the hell has happened to you?”

I swallow, hard, then look down at my protruding belly. “Well, this certainly isn’t a burrito baby.”

My humor does nothing to quell the growing tension between us.

She lifts one hand up to half cover her mouth, her eyes narrowing. “Did this happen …”

She trails off, her eyes glazing over as she mentally counts the months, trying to guess how long ago this happened. When she does meet my eyes again, I know what she’s thinking.

From the look of me, this happened before she left. Before the boys even came back.

From the look of me, it means she left her pregnant daughter here to fend for herself. She should look ashamed, but she doesn’t.

I swallow again. “There’s so much that’s happened,” I say, carefully. I don’t know where to start, so I cross my arms across my chest and take my turn looking her over. I’m not the only one looking worse for wear.

“What are you doing here?”

I don’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, but the sound of it is unmistakable in my voice.

She purses her lips. “I never should have left you here alone.”

“Agreed,” I say, taking a half step forward. My arms don’t move from their protective posture across my chest. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

She shakes her head over and over, her eyes sliding away from me to the forest, the gravel drive, the cabin. Anywhere but me.

“I … I had to see you,” she says, her voice now shaking as mine did at first. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The grip of my own arms around my body tightens.