Not My Mother by Miranda Smith (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📕

“No, I never told her.”

“Good. Make up an excuse. Tell her you’re having company over or something. Make her think you still want to meet with her later in the week. It’s better for us if she doesn’t know we’re on to her.”

I nod, typing out a response. I punctuate my message with emojis, hoping she’ll continue to think all is well. I slide the phone into my pocket.

“Let’s talk to Mom.”

I bend down, giving Ava a quick kiss on the cheek. It feels, in some ways, like the hardest part is almost over, although there is still a long road ahead. Before leaving the waiting room, my heart fills with gratitude for both Carmen and Des. That they’ve stood by me, and Mom, through all of this. They are my pillars, lifting me, providing stability. Mom who raised me. Des as backup. Carmen, my defender. I realize how lucky I am to have been surrounded by strong women my entire life.

When we enter Mom’s recovery room, she is sitting upright, fiddling with the television remote. She presses mute. We let her know that Carmen has read the letters.

“All we have to do is validate your claims about Bruce and Amelia,” Carmen explains. “There might be someone willing to support what you say. Maybe if Jamie—”

“No,” Mom says, trying to sit up straighter. “I don’t want her getting involved.”

“Maybe she wants to get involved,” I say. “That’s why she told me about the letters in the first place.”

“I never wanted any of this to come out,” Mom says.

“It’s out there now,” Carmen says. “If you haven’t realized, you’re a victim in all this. All we have to do is present your side, and people will see that.”

Mom looks back to me. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’ll be better when I know you’re not going to prison.”

Which, I realize, is still a long shot. Warranted or not, Mom committed several crimes. It’s hard to think they’ll all be swept under the rug. Still, I have to cling to some small morsel of hope.

“I don’t care about that,” Mom says. “I made my mistakes, and if I’m punished for them, so be it. You know the truth, and you don’t hate me. That’s what matters.”

“I could never hate you,” I say. “Knowing Amelia, she’s not going to let this go. She’s going to support her own story, and the sooner we start denying her claims, the better.”

Mom tilts her head to the side, her eyes bouncing between me and Carmen. “Knowing Amelia. You haven’t talked to her, have you?”

I look at Carmen. Her shoulders are scrunched, her eyes wide, awaiting my response.

“She reached out to me shortly after your arrest,” I say, cowardly. “She’s staying in North Bay.”

Mom makes more movement on the bed, struggling to sit upright. “No, Marion. You can’t be in contact with her.”

“She reached out to me. I was struggling to make sense of things—”

“No, you can’t,” Mom says. And there isn’t jealousy or hurt in her voice. There’s fear. Uncontrollable fear. “You can’t let her around you. Or Ava.”

“I won’t, Mom. I won’t.”

This seems to calm her. Mom rests back onto the mattress, exhaling several quick breaths.

“Promise me you’ll stay away from her, Marion. Please.”

“I promise.”

We talk a little bit longer about the case, about Jamie and her likeliest whereabouts. The visit lasts the majority of the day. I speak with doctors about Mom’s condition. They are hopeful she’ll be discharged by the end of the week, although she’ll be sent back to the county jail. In light of recent events, I’m hoping she won’t be there long, but there are no guarantees. Carmen assures me she’ll try her best to set her free. She insists these letters are our best shot to make that happen.

Before we leave the hospital, Evan calls.

“How is she?”

“Better,” I say, peering into the lobby, where Des is helping pack up Ava’s things. “We’re about to head out for the night. Des and I are going to run by The Shack, make sure everything gets closed up properly.”

“Good.” He pauses. “Did you get to talk with Eileen about the letters?”

“Yeah. She opened up a lot.” I check the time, trying to predict how long we’ll spend at The Shack. “You could stop by tonight, if you’d like. I’ll fill you in on everything.”

I hold my breath. I’m not sure if we’re in the best place for a reconciliation. All I can think about is how good it felt to talk over everything with him last night, how it grounded me. I want that feeling again.

“Sounds great. Text me when you leave The Shack, okay?”

I hang up the phone and place it in my bag. As I’m zipping up compartments, making sure I have everything, my fingers brush against a sheet of paper. I unfold it, realizing it’s the check Amelia gave me. For a few seconds, I stare at it. The amount. Her signature. Then I tear it in half and dispose of the pieces in a nearby trashcan.

I look out the visiting room window. The skies are darker than they should be this time of the evening, which means a storm is settling in. And yet, I smile. For the first time since Mom’s arrest, I feel like everything is shifting back into place.

46 AmeliaThen

Sarah. She was young, pretty. Amelia could sniff the girl’s eagerness during their first conversation. She admired Amelia, like so many others did. How extraordinary it was that this quiet girl might be the answer to Amelia’s problems.

The two sparked a conversation, a short one. It wasn’t until later, when Amelia looked in Ms. Lang’s file, that she confirmed her initial suspicion. Sarah was pregnant. At first, she felt a hot rage. Why did this girl, who was in no position to be a parent at all, get to have a child? She wasn’t even married. The file listed the unborn child’s father as