Page 46 of Open Water
"How is it different?"
"Because it's — because people are going to —" I pressed my palm against my eyes. "I didn't want you to have to deal with that. The questions. The looks. Linda asking about your son and —"
"Linda can mind her own damn business."
Something between a laugh and a sob came out of my mouth.
"Liam. Listen to me." Her voice had changed. "I have spent twenty years watching you carry things that are too heavy for you. You carried your father leaving. You carry the scholarship pressure. You carried every summer at that marina watching rich kids live the life you deserved and you never once complained. And now you're telling me you've been carrying this too? By yourself?"
"I had Alex."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
I did know.
"Are you happy?" she asked. "With him. Is he good to you?"
"Yeah, Mom." My voice cracked. First time. "He's good to me."
"Does he know how lucky he is?"
"I think so."
"He better." She was crying now. I could hear it — not the heaving kind, the quiet kind. Tears running while the voice stays steady because my mom didn't fall apart. She held on. She always held on. "Baby, I don't care who you love. You hear me? I don't care if it's a boy or a girl… I don't care. All I have ever wanted is for you to be happy. That's it. And I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could tell me."
I couldn't talk. My face was wet and I didn't remember starting to cry.
"And if anyone gives you trouble for this, you tell them to call your mother. I'll drive the four hours and deal with it myself."
I laughed. Wet and broken. "Mom."
"I'm serious. I still have my softball bat in the garage."
"Please don't assault anyone."
"I'm not making promises."
The tension cracked.
"The person who sent the photo," she said. "Who was it?"
"A guy named Marcus. Alex's old friend."
"The asshole from the marina? The one who called you —"
"Yeah. Him."
"And Alex?"
"Alex beat the shit out of him."
A pause. Then: "Good."
"Mom."
"I said what I said."
I lay there. Holding the phone. Crying in a way that I hadn't since I was thirteen and my father's car pulled out of the driveway for the last time. Not because anything was wrong. But because I didn't have to hold it alone.
