Page 123 of When Sky Breaks
“Well, damn, if I knew that was all it took—” he grunts and chuckles when I sock him playfully in the shoulder before pulling me onto his lap, pecking me on my nose. “I love you, too, Sky Winters. Always have, always will.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
august
Sky can likely sense my nerves as we pull in front of my mom’s apartment. Hers bleed freely as well. We discussed visiting my mother again, and I agreed with her. She needs this closure as much as I needed to know I was innocent.
After squeezing my hand, her brows dip as she views the white building three stories high through my dusty windshield.
“She’s on the second floor. Says she didn’t want to be exposed to trespassers by being on the first floor, but in case of a fire or tornado, says the third floor was too high to save her in time.”
Sky nods and joins me as we get out of the truck. “Not going to lie; that’s solid logic.”
The cool wood of her ring presses against my fingers as I take her hand. That alone settles me. No matter what happens inside this apartment, I’m walking out with her.
Twisting the key in the lock, I let us in the front entrance and up a set of concrete stairs, our steps echoing.
I stop us in front of 2C, my foot brushing the edge of a checkered welcome mat.
Sky huffs out a timid laugh and points. “I didn’t realize how funny your mom would be.”
Angling my head, I follow her finger. I stand corrected. It doesn’t say welcome anywhere on the mat. It reads: The Neighbors Have Better Stuff.
“I forget she’s not old like other moms and wouldn’t be caught dead with a pastel or floral mat.” And the thing likely speaks the truth. She refused to let me help her furnish the place, which was unusual given how they begged me for money when I was nineteen, as if the glove compartment of my car—my home—was busting with cash. Instead, she elected to scrounge items from the local dump. Paying full price for something today doesn’t bother me as much as it did as a kid, but I’ve grown up and can afford things now.
Maybe it’s her way of trying to make amends, and I shouldn’t dismiss the effort. This isn’t the time to pretend I’m anywhere near perfect.
Ready to get this over with, I knock. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke faintly wafts from the closed door. After my dad died, she said she was going to quit. Start fresh and get healthy. Seems that habit is harder to break than others.
Footsteps shuffle to the door and pause. A chain lock pulls from the inside, clanking on the wood.
“Mom, it’s me,” I say, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides.
There’s more at stake with Sky here. More opportunity for my mom to make things worse for her. But she deserves the truth, and it’s the only thing stopping me from grabbing her and getting the fuck out of here.
There’s nothing wrong with my mom. It’s our history. So convoluted with time and space and while we talk at least once a week, it’s hard to forget the moments she forgets about me.
But she’s trying, and I’m willing to let her if only because of the woman beside me and the child I once was who craves familial affection and acceptance.
“Auggy,” she says, pulling the door all the way open. She drags me in for a hug, one vastly different from Catalina’s. A combination of smoke and heavy rose tickles my nose as she squeezes me tight, her braided hair streaked with gray brushing my cheek.
“Hi Mom.” I give her a quick kiss on the temple before wrapping an arm around Sky’s tense shoulders. “Remember Sky?”
“I remember her. Come on in—we’re letting out the heat. They like to charge an assload for heat around here.”
Sky looks to me and I nod, placing my hand on the small of her back before following her and my mom over the threshold.
“Sit anywhere you’d like. I might have something small for you to eat if you’re hungry. Maybe some lemonade I can make real quick? I know I bought those little packet things the other day.”
“I’m okay,” Sky says, holding her arms close to her body.
I wish I could make this easier for her. Wish we didn’t have to do this in the first place, but the file in Foster’s office didn’t yield the results Sky wanted, so this is important to her even if we have to suffer through an awkward encounter to get answers.
I sit down on the lumpy couch and pat the space beside me. My mom takes a seat in the worn recliner next to us, bending forward with her hands clasped, the metal rings on her fingers clinking together.
“So. You wanted to talk to me about your mom?” she addresses Sky, pulling at her nose. Her eyes are everywhere but on Sky. She’s nervous, too.
I pull Sky’s shaky hand into my lap and lace our fingers together, watching as she relaxes a fraction.