Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 91862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Braden’s face contorts as he squeezes his eyes shut. In a way, he’s that little boy again, tortured by the visual of his mother.
I give him a few minutes. Then, “How did Ben react?”
He opens his eyes, seeming calmer. “He didn’t scream. That’s all on me.”
“But he was younger.”
“Younger, yes. But he didn’t react the way I did. I can’t explain it.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t talk to anyone about it. Except my therapist on occasion. And now you.”
I’m honored that he’s sharing this part of himself with me. I put my hand over his. “Braden, you aren’t responsible for what your mother went through.”
“I know that. But she was never the same person after that, and if I hadn’t screamed when I saw her—”
“Stop,” I say. “Just stop. You were a child, first of all. Second, she’d already been traumatized by the fire and the burns and the pain. Her time in the hospital. The small part you played had little bearing.”
“I know. I’ve been through enough therapy to know that.”
“Good.”
“The problem is, I’ll never forget. I’ll never forget how seeing her made me feel.”
“How did it make you feel?”
“It made me feel… God I can’t even say this.”
“You can.” I squeeze his hand.
“I was repulsed, Skye. The sight of my mother repulsed me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
He squeezes his eyes closed once more.
You have no idea what I’ve had to take back in my life.
Braden is a six-year-old boy again, seeing his beautiful mother with ugly burn scars.
And I understand him more than he knows.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay. What kind of child thinks his mother is repulsive?”
“A six-year-old who’s expecting to see his beautiful mother after being without her for weeks.”
“I’ve heard it all, Skye. I’ve heard all the reasons why this feeling was valid at the time.”
“Did you still love your mother?”
His eyes glow with blue fire. “Of course I did!”
“And did you grow used to her scarring?”
“Yes, within days. She was still Mom.”
“Then what are you blaming yourself for?”
He rubs his chin. “She was never the same.”
“Wasn’t she? You were six, Braden. Are you sure you’re remembering right?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not sure. I’ve been around and around on this with my therapist.”
“Have you considered that you weren’t the problem? Maybe your father was. The fire was his fault, after all.”
He nods slightly.
He knows. He and his therapist have been through this. He knows. But it still haunts him, how he feels he rejected his mother when she came home.
“She and my dad were never the same after that, either,” he continues. “She had to stay with him. She had nowhere else to go, plus she had Ben and me.”
“Did she love your dad?”
“In her way, yeah, I think she did. But…things were never the same.”
“How so?”
He chuckles. “In some ways, things were better. Dad stopped drinking, but he had trouble finding work for a while. We lived in a mobile home rental, and we could barely afford that. So we went on government assistance, which my mom and dad both hated.”
I listen intently. No surprise where Braden got his need for control over his own life and others’.
He had it worse than I ever did. So much worse. Yet look where he ended up.
“What eventually happened to your mom?” I ask hesitantly.
“She died.”
“I know that much.”
“I don’t like to think about it,” he says. “I still feel somewhat responsible.”
“You’re not.”
“There are things you don’t know. Things no one knows. You can say the words. I can even believe them. But none of it changes anything.”
I snuggle against his chest and give him a hug. I’m here. I’m here for you.
I want to take away this pain, and the only way I can do that is by letting him off the hook.
“Stop, Braden. Don’t go any further. I don’t want you to hurt.”
He kisses the top of my head. “You’re sweet. So sweet and amazing. You’re giving me an out that I never gave you.”
“You did. You said you’d give me the time I needed. I just didn’t need as much time.”
“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he says. “But if I figure it out, I’ll do it again a million different times.”
“You don’t have to.” I kiss the top of his hand. “You already have me.”
“And you have me,” he says, “though sometimes I wonder why anyone would want me.”
I pull back slightly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“You know I never kid, Skye.”
“You’re the catch of the century!”
“Only on paper.”
“Green paper,” I add.
He wrinkles his brow. Again, I’ve succumbed to something that sounded funnier in my head.
“Wait,” I say. “That didn’t come out right.”
“Sure it did. I’m loaded. You’re not the only one attracted to my money.”
“The money’s a nice fringe benefit. I won’t lie. But that’s not what I meant, and you know it. It was a joke, Braden.”