Page 88 of Lead Me On
“But how do you…? Aren’t you mad at him? How do you get over the anger?”
“I haven’t gotten over it. Sometimes it sneaks up on me and I just want to shake him, yell and scream. I used to have a real dad, you know?”
Jane took a sip from her beer so she wouldn’t cry.
“But now this is the dad I have, and I can either accept it or kill myself fighting it.”
She nodded again.
“You must’ve had a lot of anger toward your mom.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“So how did you get past it?”
Jane looked at him as if he was crazy. Couldn’t he see the truth about her? “I didn’t. I never have. Every single day I think about what my life would’ve been like if I hadn’t been raised within spitting distance of razor wire. What it would’ve been like to be normal, not the girl who got dressed up once a month to visit scary strangers in scary places. To have had a real father instead of a pen pal. I think about what kind of choices I would’ve made and…”
She swallowed hard. “I was mad at her for so long, but it’s past time to let it go. And I just keep thinking once I have everything I want, it’ll be easier to reconnect with her.”
“Will it?”
“Probably not. I keep pushing her further away.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and the touch swept over her like sunshine. “Is that what you want? To push her away?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She honestly had no idea anymore. Run away or get closer? She’d didn’t know.
“You were right,” Chase said. “You are a mess.” That startled a laugh out of her, and Jane was grateful for that. He did that often, she realized. Made her laugh when she was close to crying.
“Say there, boy!” a voice wobbled from across the lawn. They both turned to see Olive looking right at Chase.
He raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, Grandma Olive!”
“Get me a beer and come over here.”
“Oh, shit,” he breathed. “Wish me luck.”
Grinning, Jane watched Chase jog over to get a beer before he headed for Olive.
“Where’smybeer?” the old woman yelled before he’d made it halfway across the big yard.
“It’s right here,” he answered, holding up the bottle.
“Then where’s your beer?”
Jane followed casually behind him, eavesdropping, and heard him say “I don’t drink.”
Grandma Olive’s eyes snapped to narrow slits. “What kind of man doesn’t drink beer?”
Chase shrugged.
“You a mean drunk? Can’t hold your liquor?”
“No, ma’am. I just don’t drink.”
“Pansy?” she snapped.
“Um, no.”
