Tin Men (The Clay Lion Series Book 2) Page 13

  She pulled her hand away and straightened herself in her seat. A defiant demeanor washed over her as she continued. “He was easy to find. After he won the city council seat, he set his sights on county commissioner and his campaign posters were everywhere. When I confronted him on the sidewalk in front of his office about child support payments, he brushed me aside, threatening me with claims of harassment. Halfway home, having gone over his hateful words a dozen times in my head, I turned the car around and went back. I knew there was no excuse for the way he was treating me, and the only way I was going to get through to him was to fight viciousness with viciousness. I marched into his office and demanded that he see me. I told him I would prove his paternity and go public with the scandal if he didn’t pay me off. Without any further baiting, he agreed to directly deposit money into an account as long as I signed a contract swearing I’d never tell anyone about our relationship.” She stopped speaking and held her head in her hands. She pulled at her hair nervously, as if she wanted to continue, but couldn’t bring herself to go on.

  “It’s okay,” I said, reaching across the table.

  She looked up at me with an expression like that of a wounded animal. “He wanted more than just my silence,” she whispered. “You were part of the arrangement. He wanted to be sure I could never use you against him.”

  She buried her face in her arms as she laid her head on the table. Although haggard beyond her years, she appeared more like a child than an addict, and at that moment, I was compelled to slide onto the bench beside her. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders as she began beating her head against the table.

  “Mom,” I said calmly, “please stop. Don’t hurt yourself.”

  She picked her head up, and her eyes pierced through me. “Did you just call me Mom?”

  I hadn’t realized my slip. “I guess I did.”

  She continued to scrutinize me, tears streaking the layer of dirt on her face. “With everything I’ve just told you, all of the horrible things I did, I don’t deserve to be called anyone’s mom.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you did. You’re still my mother.”

  “No!” she cried. “I gave you away! I let him have you because I needed the drugs more than I needed to be saddled with a child. I’m nobody’s mother. I’m a waste.”

  She succumbed to a fit of hysterics while I cradled her in my arms. I was struck by the irony of the situation. How I was now consoling the one who should have been caring for me my entire life. I became increasingly agitated as I sat there, smoothing my mother’s hair the same way I consoled Melody over the years. By the time Victoria calmed down, I was furious, and she immediately sensed my anger.

  “Please don’t be mad at me, Charlie. I hoped I was giving you a better life. My world was no place for a little boy.”

  I held her at arm’s length to be sure she could see me fully. “I’m not angry with you. How could I be angry with you? He’s the one I’m angry at. I’m angry at my father.” I stopped as the extent of my realization washed over me. Phil Johnson was in fact my biological father. There was no one else out there waiting to meet me. No one looking to welcome me into their open arms. There was only a heartless excuse for a father who ended up dead in the bottom of a ravine.

  And within a few months, my mother would be dead as well.

  A lump rose in my throat, and I knew it was time to leave. I needed to be with Brooke. I needed to sort through the maelstrom of feelings swirling around inside of me. I had no intention of returning to the present without seeing my mother again to say goodbye, but for the moment, I could no longer stand to be so close.

  I walked her to the corner. She refused to let me see her safely home. I doubted there was actually a house where she was headed. We agreed to meet again, several days later, at the same restaurant for lunch.

  I already knew it would be the last time I’d ever see her.

  C HAPTER TWENTY

  As I came around the side of the bank, I saw Brooke, still sitting in the passenger’s seat of my car in the parking lot where I left her. The window was down and she was reading, the sun illuminating the side of her face. I could almost imagine the warmth of her skin on my hand. The crunch of gravel under my sneakers alerted her to my presence. She looked up from her tablet and relief spread across her face.

  “Well?” she asked anxiously as I slid into the car.

  I inhaled and held my breath for several seconds before slowly letting it out. I shook my head in disbelief over what had just transpired.

  “You want the long version or the short version?” I asked as I started the car.

  “The long version. Definitely the long version,” she replied.

  After sitting in the claustrophobic fast food restaurant for the better part of the afternoon, I couldn’t stand the thought of being cooped up. I remembered seeing a sign for a park on the edge of town. Within several minutes, I found my way to the entrance. At the end of the road was a beautiful lake complete with a public pier. There were clouds rolling in, shading the brutal afternoon sun and making the end of the pier a pleasant place to talk. As we sat together, our bare feet dangling over the edge, I told her my mother’s story.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said when I finished. “I would have never guessed your father could have done something like this.”

  “That’s funny,” I jeered. “I was thinking just the opposite. This is exactly the kind of thing I can imagine him doing. He never hesitated to use people for his own political gain. I’ve watched him sidle up to dozens of people just long enough to use them before leaving them high and dry. If you didn’t serve a purpose in his political life, he’d drop you in a second. He needed my mother’s connection to Weddington to ensure he would win the election. When he didn’t need her anymore, he left.”

  “He broke her heart.”

  “Of course he did. Can you imagine being left alone and pregnant by your boyfriend without any support from your family?”

  “No,” Brooke said, shaking her head. “Your poor mother. It’s no wonder she became an addict. I’m sure she was self-medicating severe depression. It’s so common.”

  “Well, for being an addict, she was surprisingly lucid today. She did have a couple wild swings of hysteria and it got hard to have a conversation with her.” I paused, remembering how despondent she seemed. “I guess you were right all along. I really am lucky she gave me away. As awful as my father was, my mom was always amazing. Can you imagine what my life would have been like if I would have stayed here with my mother instead?”

  “You’d be just like her. Or worse.”

  I watched a family of mallards paddling across the lake and allowed the truth of her observation to set in.

  “I’m glad I came,” I said finally. “It feels better, just to know the other side of the story. Her side. I just wish I could do something to help her.”

  “You can’t help her, Charlie. The damage has already been done.”

  Her voice was cold. Hard. I strained to see the compassion in her face. “She’s gonna die, Brooke.”

  “I know.”

  “There’s gotta be something I can do to help.”

  She threw a rock from the pier into the water. “Ugh! Charlie! You can’t help her! What don’t you understand? You’ll change the whole future if you do!” She stood up and started toward the car, throwing her arms in the air. “I knew this was going to happen!”

  “You knew what was going to happen?” I called after her.

  “I knew after you met her that you were going to want to save her. But you can’t, Charlie. You just can’t. You have to let her die.”

  “Says the woman who went back in time three times to try to save her brother’s life!”

  She froze mid-stride. “Don’t you dare bring my brother into this, Charlie,” she snapped without turning to face me.

  I caught up and grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her in my direction. “It’s not so easy, is it? Letting someone die. Y
ou act like it should be no big deal, but you couldn’t do it either.”

  “But I did!”

  “Only because you weren’t smart enough to figure out how to stop it from happening.”

  She glared at me and I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. She pulled out of my grasp and began running toward the car.

  In a moment of emotional weakness, I hurt her. The one person I needed to be on my side more than anyone else. I shuddered to think how the pain I caused would trickle forward to change the present timeline. I couldn’t risk any more damage. I made it to the car just as the first roll of thunder echoed across the lake. She leaned against the hood, refusing to look at me, her arms crossed defiantly atop her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I approached her. “I’m a jerk. It’s been a hard day.”

  Another clap of thunder, accompanied by lightning, boomed over our heads. She didn’t respond.

  “Brooke, I didn’t mean it. I know I can’t help her. I know she has to die. But knowing it and accepting it are two different things.” I felt a raindrop. “Please. Don’t be angry.”

  She lifted her face. I couldn’t tell where the tears ended and the rain began. “You’re right,” she said. “I tried and tried and tried. And I would have been happy to save him that last time. But I learned my lesson. And I know there’s a reason he’s not with me anymore. And there’s a reason your mother isn’t going to be around for you either. I don’t know what that reason is, but I do know you can’t save her now because we have a future together. A future I hope you’re not willing to sacrifice.”

  The rain began to fall in earnest. She still hadn’t budged from the hood of the car or conceded forgiveness. “I’ll leave it be, Brooke, I promise. I’ll let her go.”

  “And what about your father? What happens tomorrow when you come face to face with him, knowing what you know now?”

  I hadn’t considered that I was going to have to confront my father with the newfound information about how he treated my mother. It was going to be hard to keep my mouth shut.

  Or keep from punching him in the face.

  “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not going to say anything to him,” she cried over the din of the storm.

  I turned away, running my hands through my hair that was now soaked with rain and dripping down my face. What had I gotten myself into? I didn’t know if I was strong enough to do what needed to be done to assure my future would remain unchanged. I stood in the pouring rain, the storm within more volatile than the storm above.

  Suddenly, Brooke’s arms were around my waist. I wasted no time turning to face her. She was drenched. Soaked through to her skin. Long trails of mascara washed down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I hated that she was the one apologizing when I was the one messing everything up.

  “No,” I replied, “I’m sorry. I can do this. I found the answers I was looking for and now all that’s left is to go home and be a better man than my father was.”

  She grabbed the back of my head with both hands and pulled me close, kissing me desperately. I felt the heat rising from her lips as the cool rain continued to fall.

  “You already are a better man,” she said when she released me at last.

  On the drive back home that night, I decided not to tell her about my plan to see my mother again before returning to the present timeline. I didn’t want her to worry about me endangering our future by making a reckless mistake. I was counting on the fact that I could sneak safely away while she was at work, and she would never know the difference. I knew, despite the risks, I couldn’t leave without seeing my mother one last time.

  C HAPTER TWENTY ONE

  I underestimated how difficult it was going to be to live under the same roof with my father once I knew the physical and psychological torment he caused my mother for so many years. Finally knowing the truth, I found it was nearly impossible to conceal my anger when I was around him. Thankfully, there were only a few days left before my scheduled return to the present. In the meantime, I avoided him at all cost, working around the clock and spending as much time with Brooke as she would allow. On the few occasions I was forced to interact with him, I bit my tongue and smiled dutifully. There was some concern that I wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade for the remainder of the timeline until his death, but Brooke assured me she would help to keep the version of myself that stayed behind in check after my transfer to the present timeline was complete.

  Her traveling expertise was invaluable, given the fact that very little was discussed in class about the time between extraction from the past and return to the present. It was assumed that you wouldn’t be changing anything during your trip, and therefore your past-self would have nothing to adjust for in the days, months, or even years until you reconnected with yourself in the future. You would just relive the timeline as you did originally and your memories of that time would mirror the actual events of the augmented timeline.

  Brooke explained that in addition to being fully aware of the changes she made on her trip, she also retained the memories of the original timeline during each of her trips, but could not account for the time between her extraction and return to the present because there were so many differences. However, it seemed as though the consciousness that remained to live out the remainder of the augmented timeline was fully aware of the changes and relived the timeline accordingly. She explained that I would have no memory of those months when I eventually caught up to myself. I would have to rely on her to fill me in on everything.

  The five hour drive south to see my mother again was a lot less fun without Brooke’s playful banter. I spent the time ruminating upon why my father had been so motivated to protect the secrets surrounding my birth and adoption. It dawned on me, as I crossed the North Carolina border, that if word had gotten out regarding his treatment of my mother, it would have been a death sentence for his fledgling political career. Everything always came back to his career.

  I was irritable and exhausted by the time I pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Without any way to communicate with her, I half expected my mother to have forgotten about our plans, but as I pushed through the double doors, I spotted her immediately, sitting in the same booth we shared earlier in the week.

  Unlike our first encounter when I had a specific agenda, as I approached her this time, I knew all I wanted was to get to know more about her before she passed away. I assumed her death would be somehow related to her drug abuse, caused by an overdose, homelessness, or associated violence. It made me sad to think of how different her life would have been if she had never met my father. And yet, I realized if they had never met, I would have never been born.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, as I slid into the booth across from where she was sitting.

  “Charlie,” she said with a crooked smile, “you’re here.”

  “Of course I’m here. How are you?” I asked.

  She fidgeted in her seat, wrapping a length of her hair around her dirty finger. The corner of her eye twitched violently.

  “I’m fine, Charlie. Just fine.” She looked away.

  Although she seemed just as coherent as she’d been earlier in the week, I could tell she was nervous. Perhaps the stress of our meeting was too much for her to handle without getting high. I didn’t want to agitate her further, so I racked my brain for a topic we could discuss that would be benign enough to settle her frazzled nerves.

  “Did you ever have a pet growing up?” I asked.

  She stared at me as if I was growing a second head right before her eyes. She blinked twice. Three times. Finally she began.

  “I had a bird. His name was Jonathan. Named him after the author of some book I liked as a kid. I don’t even remember what it was now.”

  “Jonathan Swift? He wrote Gulliver’s Travels.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I think that was it. Anyway, I wanted a dog. Asked for one every birthday. Christmas too. You nam
e it. But my mother swore she was allergic. Finally, on my ninth birthday, Daddy bought me a grey parakeet.” She pulled at another length of hair and looked nervously around the room. “I taught that stupid bird to talk, just to have somebody to talk to. He was pretty cool to have around, but he wasn’t the same as a dog.” Her chin dropped and she bowed her head. “I haven’t thought about Jonathan in a long time. And I never did get my dog.”

  “I had a dog once,” I offered hesitantly.

  “You did?” She smiled. “Tell me all about him.”

  “I was pretty lonely when I was a kid too. I have a sister, Melody, but she wasn’t born until I was eight. So for a long time, I was alone. One afternoon, when I was in first grade, my mom…” I choked on the word, hoping I didn’t upset her by using it to refer to someone else.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “She’s more of a mother to you than I ever was. Go on. Don’t stop. Tell me about the dog.”

  I began again. “One day, my mom picked me up after school and took me to a farm on the other side of town. There were three puppies hiding under a wooden bench. I picked the smallest one, a rambunctious golden retriever. I named her Greta.”

  “Greta,” she repeated. “I like that.”

  “I spent a lot of time with her. I went to a private school and didn’t really know any of the kids who lived around me, so Greta was my playmate. She was a good dog. Loyal. Gentle.”

  “She sounds a lot like you,” my mother said.

  I didn’t know how to interpret her compliment. It made me uncomfortable to think that I was never really going to know my mother. And she was never really going to know me either. I only wished we had more time.

  “I’m hungry. I bet you are too,” I said. “Let me go get us some lunch.”