Page 18 of The Other Side of Green

The Audi still had all its wheels, but it did have a parking ticket flapping under the wiper. I grabbed it and scrunched it into a ball, tossing it into the footwell of the passenger side.

What next?

I picked out the piece of paper Officer Deveraux had given me from the back of my jeans. I’d folded it over four times, delicate with the information it contained. Deveraux had handed it over with a smile after she’d searched for what I needed while Detective Lufette had gone through my story, again and again.

Lyra had been right, staying away had added to the air of guilt surrounding my reasons for leaving… but they really had only ever been wanting me to act as a witness. My mother had made it perfectly clear I hadn’t been involved in the attack on her husband. Whether she lied or not, I don’t think they’d actually cared. That was the impression I got anyway. My father was a piece of shit, and finally he was behind bars where he belonged.

Closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, I took a moment. A moment to breathe. I was back, to the place I never thought I’d come.

Dropping my fingers, I stared down the drag. The buildings all seemed the same, although the shop fronts weren’t the ones I remembered.

Everything seemed tired, not like the bustling vibrancy of the tourist areas I’d just driven through.

Tired: it summarized everything about my home neighborhood.

I jumped at a knock against the window. Office Deveraux leaned down looking through the glass and I pressed the button to lower the window. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded to the paper in my hand. “I think you should go there.”

I bit on the inside of my mouth. “You’re right. Thanks, by the way.”

She smiled, a little too wide. “Glad to help. You know, if you want a distraction, I’m on a break. We could go for a coffee?”

I glanced her over, not ungrateful for a fine female form in a tight uniform. She had a rack that could keep a line up fully entranced, but I shook my head and motioned the bit of paper at her. “I think I should get on.”

“Sure.” She straightened up. “Stay out of trouble.”

I laughed. It sounded funny. “I’m not the kid who ran away.”

Officer Deveraux gave her ass some swing as she walked away. “All little boys come home eventually.”

Her words kicked me into action, and I started the engine. She was right. It was time to go home, even if that home had changed.

Roses lined a short pathway, splashing red and yellow. The porch had more potted plants, aloes, cacti. Funny I had no memory of any plants or color in my childhood home.

A porch swing stood to the right of the door, the fly screen firmly shut, everything a duck-egg blue.

My throat tightened and I turned to walked away.

Nothing was familiar here.

I wasn’t familiar here.

A rattle of the screen stalled my feet and I stopped. “Can I help you?” My chest tightened at the voice, my heart bashing against my ribs, unsteady and shaky. “No hawkers, I don’t buy from the door.”

I turned, half unwilling, forcing myself the whole way around as I faced the woman I’d left all by herself.

“Jack?” Mom gasped. “Jack.” Her skin paled, blanching against her dark hair. I froze, feet cemented to the floor.

“Mom.”

That one word, one name, untangled me, nearly bought me to my knees in a way I never thought possible. Ended me but made me begin again all at once.

“Oh, my sweetie, come here.” She raced down the steps almost flying toward me, her arms wrapping around me tight enough that air whooshed through my lips. “Where have you been?”

I clutched onto her, dropping my forehead to her neck, shaking as I clung on. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”