No Fault of Mine

Chapter Fourteen

Brant pushed open the apartment door and dashed down the sidewalk toward our car. Tears came to my eyes and a sadness I'd not felt since my son's dad's death pressed heavily into my chest. Brant threw himself into me, and I felt his body shake as he cried.

"I'm sorry, Son." My grief was not for what was lost; it was for what I feared might be my son's loss. Instead of him holding me now, a bullet could have found its mark, and both of his parents would be gone. I remember the loss I felt when my parents died, and I was an adult at the time. I couldn't imagine how such a loss would affect my son, but I resolved that it wouldn't...couldn't...happen.

I glanced at my sister as Brant and I walked toward the playground. She stood by the car with her hands clasped and a tear on her cheek.

"Mom, did someone shoot at you?" His voice broke, and I heard the man in the body of this boy.

"Yes," I said, forcing my voice not to betray my emotions.

"I know something's wrong, Mom," he said and stopped. He looked up at me; his gravel gray eyes shone in the afternoon sun. I recognized the look—I'd seen it a thousand times in his dad. "Someone killed my Dad, and now someone is trying to kill you."

I remembered my phone conversation with Stan, but now I felt the actual weight of my words. Could I tell my son to live in the moment and not in the pain of the past or the fear of the future?

I wanted to get close, not in a physical sense, but emotionally. It's our emotions that drive home what we say. He was too tall for me to kneel and have an eye-to-eye conversation, and my height made it equally difficult when standing. So, I suggested we sit on the park bench.

Once settled, I said, "This is a hard time, Son. One day, we'll look back at this; it'll only be a memory. But right now, it's terrible..."

"...frightening...," he returned.

"...scary...," I said. We play this game sometimes. It's called "adjective mania."

"...falling..."

"Falling?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "like falling off a cliff, watching the ground come closer and closer, and feeling helpless."

"I think that's a simile," I said. " It can be a full sentence if you say, 'It feels helpless like falling off a cliff, watching the ground come closer."

"Yeah, that's it," he said and shuddered.

"I feel helpless, too, Brant," I said, putting my arm around his shoulders. "What do you say we look for ways to feel stronger."

He leaned into me and said, "Sure, Mom."

"You first. What would help you feel stronger?"

"Uncle Thad...Uncle Luke."

"Good. The police help me to feel stronger. They are trying to figure out the very things you and I feel bad about or are scared of."

"Moving far away so they can't find us," he said. "We could do that, Mom."

"I thought we had done that by coming here, but they followed me."

"They figured out how to follow your phone, right?"

"I think so."