“They want me to talk. I’m not gettin’ on no stand, Jack.” Her tone turned terse. Angry and sharp. “No matter how much I’d like to rip her to pieces, I’m not going to help them put Angelique in prison!”
“And where is your biological mother now?”
“Dead. She got her story out, destroyed my life, and croaked a few months later.” She sniffed.
“My mother used to say there’s nothing better to help you get over your own story, than to hear about someone else’s.’” He turned on the spigot to run hot water for a spell, warming up things a bit to ensure her comfort.
“Are you going to tell me a story? I’d love to hear one. Sometimes I can run away without even moving. I can do it from the comfort of my own mind.”
“Yeah, I can tell you some stories. You told me some things about your mother. Both of ’em. You shined a small light on your father, too. So now it’s my turn.” Dipping the cloth into the water once again, he took hold of her arm and began to slowly scrub it. “My mother was what many would say a good woman.”
“What would you say?”
He turned off the hot water, then wrung the cloth with both hands.
“Good is a relative term, Kim. An axe murderer can have a birdhouse and water bath for the wildlife in their front yard, chop firewood and give it out for free to his neighbors, while still killing people at night just for the fun of it. I actually knew someone like that, but that’s a story for a different day. He was good to those birds and his neighbors, right? Not for the common good though. Anyway, all of us have the potential to do a good thing, don’t we? Say a good word. Being a good person is not unconditional. We make choices about who we’re going to be good to, and who we are not going to treat well. It’s called being human, I suppose… But I’m rambling. Back to my mother. She was a complicated person. A hard woman. She had to be both parents to her children. That’s impossible, but she tried.” He shrugged.
“Your father? Was he hard, too?”
“My father left my mother a few months before I was born. He walked out on the marriage. I know his name and what he looks like, but I don’t know him. I know he’s dead now, died some time ago, and I also know he wanted nothin’ to do with me and my brother when we were children. By the time he tried to talk to me, I didn’t want any part of him. My brother felt the same as me about it.”
“Who’s the oldest?”
“Kenton is the eldest, by one year and three months.”
“Do you two favor?”
“Sorta. Similar features. He’s six foot one and skinny. Loud and outgoing. And then, there’s me. We’re different people. He likes to work in an office. I’d rather not.”
“I always wished I had a sister when I was younger.” A sad smile creased her face. “Well, I do from my biological mother, but that’s not something I’m trying to deal with right now. Anyway, for some reason, I imagined I had this sister, right? And she and I would grow flowers together, in a little garden. You and your brother ever do anything together?”
“Farm. When I was growing up, we grew most of our own food. I knew how to work the land by the time I was fifteen.” He held the cloth over the tub, wrung it out again, then continued.
“Was your family close-knit?”
“Our family was fairly close. Grandparents. Cousins. Aunts and uncles. I enjoyed school, too, especially high school. I was going to become a police officer, but then decided to go in another direction.”
“Why’s that?” She cracked her eyes open and shot him a glance. ‘Don’t Dream it’s Over,’ by Crowded House, was playing now.
“Many of my friends from high school had become police officers, firefighters, EMS, went into the medical field or joined the military. I was encouraged to do it, too, by the school counselor. Yet, I realized I liked working the land and nature the best, even as an adult. Being a ranger made more sense.” She nodded in understanding, closed her eyes again, and swallowed. “Then, I found out I was going to be a father.”
With a sigh, he stood and switched sides of the tub. He took her other arm and gave it the same treatment.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“I admire your strength. I couldn’t imagine losing a child…”
He tarried and stared down at his leg. Maybe in some way, she was speaking of herself, too. She was a lost child, wasn’t she? Aren’t we all from time to time?
“If I fall apart, Kim, if I die and let the emotions chew on me, then I do my boy a disservice. Being strong is nothing to brag about, if being weak was never an option. It’s not a choice. It’s a consequence. Come on. Time to rinse and dry you off.”