Authors: Brenda Minton
He nodded and stood, “Yeah, I'm going.”
He had a feeling she wouldn't thank him for it.
Chapter Fifteen
H
armony knocked on the door of the single-wide trailer on a parcel of land a short distance from Joplin, Missouri. The place was old and rundown. The porch had missing boards and steps that leaned. No one answered the first knock. She knocked again. Her heart hammering fast and hard. Her stomach clenching as she waited, replaying for the millionth time what it would be like to see Patricia Duncan again.
It had been twenty-three years. What would her mother look like? Would she be angry? Would she tell Harmony to leave and not come back? Her palms began to sweat. She knocked again and waited. Inside a dog barked and someone told it to be quiet.
The door flew opened and a woman looked her up and down, then glanced past her to the car in the driveway. This was the woman who had given birth to her, this woman who looked enough like Olivia Cross that a person could tell they were related. But unlike Olivia, this woman was worn. Her skin was sallow. Her blond hair had grayed. Curly blond hair. Harmony's hair. Dark blue eyes. Harmony's eyes.
“I'm not buying whatever you're selling,” Patricia Duncan growled with a smoker's raspy voice.
“I'm not selling anything. I'm here to see Patricia Duncan.”
“I'm her. What do you want?”
“Can I come in?” Harmony's leg shook, partly from pain, but mostly from nerves.
“I'm not about to let a stranger in my house.”
“I'm not a stranger,” Harmony said through the glass door that separated them.
Patricia Duncan gave Harmony a long look. Then she shook her head. “You don't look like anyone I know.”
“Yes, I do.” Harmony saw it in the other woman's eyes, the recognition and maybe fear.
“No, I can't say that I know you.”
Harmony reached for the door handle. She was surprised that the other woman backed away and let her open it. A dog, a tiny dust mop of white fur, came out of nowhere. It barked until Harmony picked it up. It licked her face.
“Well, she doesn't usually like anyone.”
“I'm not just anyone and you know that.”
She had to face this woman. She needed this closure, this moment to face her past and to settle her future. Harmony knew that from this moment forward, her life would be forever changed.
Patricia pointed to the plaid upholstered sofa where a big gray cat glared at her with bright green eyes. Harmony sat on the edge and waited for her mother to sit on a wood-framed chair that matched.
“I guess I didn't expect you to find me.” Her mother finally spoke, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke up in the air. “Looks like you turned out okay. I heard about the wreck.”
Her mother knew about her life. She wondered how this person could pretend to know her and yet she'd never called, never sent a letter.
“Yes, I had a wreck.”
“It was a shame about your friend. It wasn't your fault, you know. I read the gossip papers and they were pretty hard on you.”
It wasn't her fault.
She'd been told the same in counseling, in rehab and even in group meetings at Back Street Community Center. It had been a tragic accident. A truck had run a stop sign. Amy had been the casualty. But if Harmony hadn't called her, she would still be alive.
Last week in group someone had asked how she knew that. It had made her angry to hear such a callous statement. She still didn't want to think it through. She would save that one for a rainy day in the distant future.
“Well, why are you here?” Patricia puffed on the cigarette and leaned back in the chair.
“You're my mother.”
“Honey, that's where you're wrong. I'm no one's mother. I'm a woman who gave birth and abandoned her child. My sister is a mother. I knew she'd love you and she did a real good job. I'm not a bad person, I'm just not a mom. I'm barely able to take care of myself.”
Harmony felt the sharp edges of anger rise to the surface. Anger at this woman.
“You left me alone in a parking lot. You could have called my mom. You could have taken me somewhere safe. You left me, not caring what happened to me.”
“I...” She shook her head. “I know. Drugs do that to a person. I guess you understand that now.”
“Do
not
compare me to yourself.”
Patricia laughed. With bloodshot eyes and hands that shook, she laughed. Harmony knew the telltale signs of an addict: jerky arms and legs, those nervous, darting eyes, the way she tapped her foot.
“You're not me?” Patricia shook her head. “But you are. And here's a news flash, kiddo. I almost ended your life before it began. Almost. But then I couldn't do it.”
The room spun, and Harmony hugged herself and stared at the woman sitting close enough to touch. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She shook her head and refocused on her mother. On a woman clearly in need of a fix.
Patricia Duncan must have seen the look.
She moved again, scratching sores on her arms. “I'm not clean. I'll never be clean. They say I probably won't live another year.”
“Why?”
“Hepatitis. I should have got help years ago, but I didn't do the program. Didn't want to. I wanted to forget everything. Wanted to forget you.”
Harmony knew how it felt to want to forget. But she now knew the danger in that. Because a person had to face their pain, their mistakes. She shook her head as the realization hit.
“I'm not you.”
“No, I guess you're not. You were the lucky one. You got help and you're clean. And you're real pretty.”
“What can I do to help you?”
Patricia reached to put out her cigarette. “Not much you can do. Go live your life and be happy. That's what I always wanted for you. That's why I disappeared.”
“I could get you help.”
She gave Harmony a long look before shaking her head. “I have friends here that I won't leave, friends that don't judge me. You would judge me. And besides, you've been through enough.”
Harmony watched as her mother began to scratch at her neck and face. “Please.”
Patricia stood up and walked to the door. “No, you should go now. You need to leave. You need to understand the difference between us. I never wanted to be clean. There was no rock bottom for me. So go, now.”
Because she needed a fix. Harmony knew how it worked, she knew the look. If she stayed she might delay it for thirty minutes, maybe an hour. But Patricia Duncan was a lifelong addict who didn't want to stop using.
And wanting to stop meant everything.
Patricia turned from the window. “Do you know that cowboy standing out in my yard? He looks like he's waiting for someone.”
Harmony walked to the window and stood next to her mother, the closest they'd been in twenty-three years. She felt compassion, maybe love, but she knew this woman didn't belong in the role of mother. That position belonged to Olivia Cross.
She wasn't surprised to see Dylan standing next to his new truck. He nodded and raised his hat, but he didn't walk toward the trailer. He waited.
“That's one good-looking cowboy,” Patricia whistled. “Are you going to marry him?”
“No, we're just friends.”
Patricia turned to look at her and she smiled. “I don't need an invitation to the wedding, but I'd appreciate pictures from time to time.”
She walked back across the width of the room and reached into the table next to her chair. Harmony watched as she pulled out a box and lifted the lid.
“This is my scrapbook.”
Harmony saw her name across the top. She looked inside the box of mementos. There were birth pictures of her, then there were photos cut out of magazines.
Emotions welled up that took her by surprise, but she managed to nod. “There won't be a wedding, but I will send pictures. Hopefully you won't see me in any more magazines.”
Patricia patted her arm. “I hope not, too. But it's been real nice talking to you and I hope you'll tell my sister that I think she did a fine job with you.”
Harmony hugged her mother, holding tight for a minute, until Patricia pulled back. She cleared her throat and looked away from Harmony. After a minute she reached down and grabbed the white fluff of a dog.
“Will you take him?” She handed the dog to Harmony. “I don't know what's going to happen to me in the next year. I have a friend who'll take the cat. But I'd like for you to have the dog. I don't have anything else to give you.”
“You don't have to,” Harmony wanted to say, but instead she took the dog that was shoved into her hands.
“Go now. I guess you know you have to go.”
Harmony nodded, and with tears blurring her vision, she made it down the steps and across the yard. She stumbled and strong hands reached out, grabbing her, pulling her close. Big hands smoothed her hair and a familiar voice told her it would be okay.
“Don't you ever listen?” she finally blubbered into his shoulder, the material soaked from her tears.
“Never.” He brushed a hand through her hair.
“You didn't have to do this.”
“Yes, I did. And if you hadn't been so stubborn I could have driven you up here.” He pulled back a foot. “Did you know you're holding a fluffy white rat?”
“It's my dog.” She sobbed into the fluffy fur. “She gave me a dog.”
“You should have told me, Harmony. You didn't have to do this alone.”
“Yes, I did. I came here to face the truth of who I am and I didn't want you to see.”
“I am looking at the person you are. The person who takes a rat dog and hugs a lady that abandoned her.”
“I'm also the person who hated her and had to work hard to forgive her.” She looked up into hazel eyes that melted her resolve. “I didn't want to take you on this trip with me.”
There, she'd said it. He'd been through enough. She couldn't let him go through all of this with her. But she could see from the look in his eyes that he wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily.
* * *
“You're in no condition to drive,” he said, reaching for her hands as they trembled. She tried to pull free but he didn't let go. He wouldn't let her go. Not without fighting for what he knew they could have together.
“Dylan, I'm fine. I promise, I'm completely sober.”
“That isn't what I mean and you know it.” He led her to her car. “You're still shaking. Let's go get some coffee. I think I saw a diner a mile or so back.”
“I saw it, too.”
“I'll follow you.” He opened her car door and when she was behind the wheel with the dog on her lap, he closed it.
He didn't know what to say to her when they got to the café. He didn't know how to tell her he'd been worried about her. Worried that her mother would break her heart again. He didn't want her to go through that. But what could he say, when it was obvious she planned to leave soon.
They took a seat in a far booth of the bare-bones little diner. The booths were orange vinyl, the tables black Formica. A waitress walked out of the back looking surprised to have customers.
“Two coffees, please,” Dylan ordered then looked at Harmony. “Are you hungry?”
“Pie would be nice.”
“We have cake.” The waitress looked at her. “Do you want cake?”
Harmony nodded, her eyes wide. When the waitress walked away, she looked at him, grinning. “She isn't Vera.”
“No, she isn't,” he agreed.
“So, do you want to know?”
He shrugged. “What do you want to tell me?”
She told him everything, spilling it all, including the continued fear of becoming Patricia Duncan. But he saw that the fear had lessened. Something had changed.
“Dylan, what if DNA is stronger than the love my parents had for me? What if I slip?”
“You're what, 170 days clean and sober? Do you think Patricia has ever gone thirty days without using?”
“I'm not sure. I just don't want to be her. I don't want to be the kind of woman who leaves a child behind.”
He hadn't expected those words to hurt, but they did. “I think women don't always choose to leave their children behind, Harmony.”
She looked down, her hands clasped together on the Formica table. “No, I know they don't and I'm sorry. But I can end this pattern of behavior.”
“What, by staying single? By not having children?” He was angry now because she still didn't see. “Harmony...”
She looked up. “What do you want me to say?”
“I guess I want you to see the person I see. I want you to have some faith in yourself.”
“I'm working on that.”
“I love you.” The words slipped out. He closed his eyes and wished he hadn't said them, not yet. Talk about the worst possible timing.
Her eyes widened. “You can't love me.”
The waitress suddenly appeared with coffee and cake. She set it down in front of them, asked if they needed anything else and left. Harmony pushed the cake away. Yeah, he didn't have much of an appetite either.
“You can't love me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the woman sitting across from him. Man, he loved her. More than he ever could have guessed, he loved her. And like an idiot he had put it all out there. “I really don't have a choice, Harmony. It isn't something that I planned.”
“No, I'm sure it's the last thing you planned.”
“Thanks.” He lifted the cup and took a sip of the worst coffee he'd ever had. At least the bitter taste of the coffee took his mind off the bitter taste of her rejection.
“I'm the last thing you need, Dylan. You need someone without all of this baggage. Cash and Callie need someone...”
“Who loves them the way you love them. Not every woman is going to want a single cowboy with two little kids to raise, Harmony. Not every woman is going to love those two kids.”
“Dylan, please...” She flicked away a tear that had rolled down her cheek, then reached for a napkin to wipe away more tears. “I'm the last person you need in your life.”