Page 214 of Broken Saint

“Ella?” Mom asks, although her voice sounds like she’s in a tunnel.

Or more so, I am.

“Ella, sweetie.”

Her warm hand wraps around my upper arm and suddenly I’m moving.

A new scent hits my nose before I find myself sitting down.

“Breathe in. Out. In. Out,” Mom instructs as my entire body trembles and sweat beads my brow. “That’s it. Do it with me. In. Out. In. Out.”

It takes a minute or two, but eventually, my heart rate returns to normal and the world stops spinning, although I never lose the faint dizziness I’ve been battling since I stood from the bed.

“Mom,” I whisper. “I can’t do this. I’m not ready.”

She stares at me with nothing but empathy and compassion in her eyes.

“Let’s just drive to the store. You can do that, can’t you? Just me and you,” she says, squeezing my hands. “Get some sun on that pretty face of yours.”

It might be late in the year, but the temperatures are still high, and I have to admit, the warmth on my face isn’t awful.

Without knowing, I find myself nodding in agreement.

“That’s my girl,” Mom praises.

She walks around the front of the car after closing me in, and the lingering panic threatens at the edges of my psyche. But thankfully, she’s sitting beside me and starting the engine before it really takes hold.

“I know this is hard, and I know I’m pushing you. But I need you to trust me.”

“I do,” I whisper, wringing my hands on my lap.

I just wish I trusted myself.

55

ELLA

“Mom?” I question when she doesn’t take the turn that will lead us to our usual store.

“I thought we’d go to Walmart,” she explains without so much as glancing at me as she changes lanes to head out of town.

A wave of unease goes through me.

Our closest Walmart is huge. Just thinking about the number of people who will be in there makes my heart rate increase.

But also?—

“Less chance of bumping into someone we know,” Mom reasons in case I didn’t figure it out alone.

“Some might think you’re ashamed to be seen with me,” I deadpan.

It’s meant to be a joke, but it falls very far from the mark.

“Ella,” Mom breathes. “I would never, ever be?—”

“Don’t. Please,” I beg.

“I love you, Ella. You’re my baby girl. I would never be ashamed of you. Ever.”