Is this the final stop? (Toni Shalifoe)

Chapter 72

Shelby rushes down the stairs, tripping over her own feet, knees knocking into each other. She dashes into the living room where Jobeth is folding clothes, swaying to the music on the radio. Shelby barely gets to enjoy this relaxed view of her mother, finally unsupervised from the judging glances of Dave because she crashes into the room, her socks making her entrance slippery and ungraceful.

Jobeth stops mid-fold of a tiny t-shirt belonging to Melody. And she sees Shelby's panic-stricken face, Jobeth drops the clothing and runs to her baby, wrapping Shelby up in the tightest hug. The kind of hug like a soldier reuniting home to their family, but for Shelby, she's just being herself, being accepted.

Maybe coming out really is coming home.

Shelby collapses in her mother's arms, so Jobeth effortlessly takes her weight and slides them both down to the couch. She puts out a hand to steady herself, and Shelby curls up in her lap. Almost like a baby.

Shelby cries into Jobeth's shoulder, the fabric of her shirt turning a shade darker. Jobeth keeps Shelby close in this embrace, rocking her, and smoothing the flyaways framing her face.

"Shelby," Jobeth starts, cooing her name, "Shelby, there's nothin' you can do to make me draw the line at lovin' you." Jobeth can feel Shelby move her head in response, but she can't decipher if it was a nod yes or a shake no.

"You've got nothin' to lose. You are my little girl." Jobeth pulls away and tips Shelby's chin up with a gentle thumb, "And no one is standin' between me and you. I guess, maybe, with the exception of the big man upstairs, but only if it's in the form of a bear hug."

Shelby has been dreaming up different nightmare scenarios in her head, so she is out of her depths with this response. She always figured her mind would be racing with a million different thoughts, and fears, and doubts, but she doesn't. Instead, Shelby's got a one-track mind.

Shelby rests her head into her mother's chest, "What about Daddy?" The term slips from her lips because she's in the arms of safety. "I mean, you can't really mean it. That picture—" Shelby shimmies out of her mother's grasp. Jobeth lets her, but her face can't fight the hurt she feels.

Shelby looks around her house, spotting the crucifixes on the wall, the Bible verses in fancy script, pictures of Dave mid-preach. Every religious piece reminds her of what her father hates—who her father hates. She shakes her head, starting to ramble, "That damnin' picture of us can't just hang in the hallway next to the school photos?" She leaps off the couch, facing eye to eye to a white frame with Dave and his microphone, "Next to Daddy's He Saves Us All conference?"

Jobeth softens, hearing the harshness of Shelby's tone, knowing she needs love. But Jobeth starts with, "Language," she's still a mother in need of teaching her daughter the right things. "And don't be talkin' about yourself in that way and with that kind of tone. Do you really think it's damnin'?" Shelby's not brave enough to answer, so by her admitted silence, Jobeth keeps going, "Shelby, you lift people up with your love, why don't you think God wouldn't lift you with His? Lift you up because of those things?"

"I'm not worried about Him. I guess, not really," Shelby confesses.

"You don't have to answer to anybody. Not right now, anyway," Jobeth responds. "You're free here, Shelby," Jobeth says, motioning at the empty house, "And if you're not takin' advantage of that, then I don't know what to tell you."

Shelby launches herself back into her Mom's arms, and Jobeth cradles her. A hand wraps around her head, Jobeth plays with her hair.

"Let's take this down," Jobeth says in a hushed voice, slowly pulling the hair tie out of Shelby's ponytail.