Hold on to Hope

I gestured around the room like it could embody the pressure I’d felt on my shoulders. Too bad my hand was shaky as shit. Nothing but a tell.

Dad’s face twisted, like it was hard for him to hear the sound of my voice. Maybe he’d thought he would never hear it again.

AWAY FROM US, EVAN? FROM THE PEOPLE WHO CARE AND WORRY AND LOVE YOU? FROM YOUR FAMILY? AFTER WHAT HAD HAPPENED?

Didn’t he fucking get it? That was exactly it. I was so over being their albatross.

But looking at them now, through the dust and the ash and the debris? I knew what I’d become was an affliction.

IT WAS TIME YOU TWO COULD TAKE A BREATH WITHOUT HAVING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT ME. LIVE WITHOUT FEAR.

Could feel the weight of his incredulous laugh riding on the atmosphere. “Are you kidding me, Evan? You think that was easier? That you could walk and we’d forget about you? Your mom . . .”

He planted his hands on the island and dropped his head, like he couldn’t bring himself to even say it. To even delve into what I’d put her through.

Grief and guilt constricted, and my attention flew to Mom who was still hugging and bouncing Everett and kissing his little knuckles like he could be her relief.

Both my hands went to the ache in my chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry. But I had to go. You have to understand that.”

Could they?

Could they get it?

That I had to go for them.

That I had to go for Frankie Leigh.

Didn’t want to live my life an obstacle.

Still didn’t.

But there I was.

Laying myself at their feet.

Asking them for mercy.

For forgiveness.

Something I had to do for my son.

Dad turned the weight of his gaze back on me. “Have you even seen your specialists? Continued on your medication? Jesus, Evan, if it weren’t for the few letters you’ve sent, I would have thought you were dead.”

His hurt cut through me like a dull, rusted blade.

Slow and excruciating.

I heaved a sigh. “I’m healthy.”

REALLY HEALTHY, I signed in emphasis.

Was probably healthier than I’d ever been. Pushing myself to the limits. Over the last year, I’d been working out. Eating right. Doing everything my cardiac specialist had told me to do and doing it to the T. Finally crawling out of that hole I’d dug myself into.

Doing my best to discover myself.

That was until three days ago when my entire world had been flipped upside down. Rug ripped free, leaving me face down and on my knees.

That seemed to give him some sense of relief, and then his attention was drifting to where Mom had Everett against her, my son with her necklace in his fist, babbling up at her like he wanted to tell her his life’s story.

I wished to God I knew it.

Dad’s eyes swung back to me, his worry fierce. “You have a child.”

Second he did, I signed. YES, AND I THINK WE’RE IN TROUBLE. DAD, I NEED YOUR HELP.

Three

Frankie Leigh

I burst through the door of my parents’ house. I was gasping for the breath that I hadn’t been able to find for the last thirty minutes, trembling and nearly bent in two.

I’d come straight here.

Home had always been my first solution, but I wasn’t sure that was going to remain true today.

“Frankie? Is that you?” My mother’s voice echoed across the great room from the kitchen.

“Hey, Mama,” I called from the doorway.

Her diner, Pepper’s Pies, would already be closed up tight for the night.

Of course, because she was Rynna, she would still be doing what she loved to do most.

Cooking.

I followed her voice and the scent that wafted from the kitchen, stumbling a bit on my wobbly legs as I angled around the couch as I made my way over to the wide threshold that separated the two rooms.

White pillars rose on both sides.

Both ornate and welcoming.

I peered through to see Mama had a big pot of stew on the stove. The aroma of it wrapped me in a blanket of comfort.

A shiver rolled my spine as I was struck with the enormity of it.

The safety and sanctuary of this place. I was staggered by the sudden urge to run to her and throw myself in her arms and beg her to chase away the demons the way she used to when I was little.

This was a woman who hadn’t birthed me but had become my mother in every way. Stood by me. Never left me.

Had never deserted me.

Hurt crested in waves.

So maybe I had some abandonment issues.

Scars that had been written in the deepest, darkest recesses.

I guessed that’s why my first thought had been to seek reprieve here.

Her goodness filled the space, her devotion so fierce I could feel it weaving through my spirit. “Frankie?” she asked with almost a laugh in her voice. “What are you doing, lurkin’ back there?”