The Great Divide

32. To Use Ones Voice

Of everyone I assumed to be upset over mine and James's activities over the last few months, my mother was at the top of the list. When she and my father got the call the night of the attack, I had no choice but to come clean about everything. Somehow, this prospect was even scarier than facing Winstead again.

Okay, not really. But my mother could be straight terrifying when she wanted.

Her reaction, however, flipped my entire world upside down.

My father and her had arrived via police car to the scene. They instantly swarmed me, and my father brought me into a tight hug first, which warmed me from the inside out. He nuzzled his face against mine, and his tears wet my cheeks as if my own. 

My mother stood behind him with a cryptic expression, one I had no chance of breaking. So, instead of trying to avoid the inevitable, I came clean and told them both everything – the envelope, the group home, the stadium story turned missing children story. I spared no detail – minus kissing James in the dark with no chaperone, of course. I had a feeling that would have been the thing to send my mother over the edge.

Tears streamed down my mother's eyes at my retelling, and they didn't stop. I hadn't seen my mother cry since my grandfather – my father's father – passed away, and that had been six years ago.

"Margaret," her voice cracked. "I'm so – so proud of you."

I had been so beside myself I nearly tumbled straight to the ground. "You're what?"

"It was so dangerous – so, so dangerous, I can't believe you did all of this without telling me." For a moment, her face hardened, but then it relaxed again as more tears spilled. "You were so brave, Margaret – to tell everyone at school what's been happening to those poor, poor girls. So brave. And I'm so proud."

Tears had started slipping from my eyes as well. "Mama, I – I –"

She shushed me. "You're using your talent to make a change, and though it was dangerous – so, so dangerous – I've never been prouder." My mother swayed on the spot. "And I need to tell you something."

My vision was blurry, so I narrowed my eyes to focus on my mother. "What?" I croaked, and then I saw it. It was written all over face. I knew what she was about to tell me.

She looked to my father who had been remarkably silent. "Your father – your real father." She paused and so did life. "I don't know who he was." Her voice broke and my heart split in half. "It was so long ago, back at the group home."

My body was still but my heart pounded. I waited on edge for her to continue. 

"I met him... I met him when I was walking in town one day." She swiped her eyes and cast another look to my father. "This woman was outside a store I liked to go into – a small café – and she started talking to me. So nice, the woman. So very nice. Such a kind face..." My mother's attention drifted back in time. "She bought me a cup of tea – told me to sit with her, and I did. She was nice, Margaret, so nice."

Still functioning without the use my limbs, I somehow became even more still.

"She told me that her brother was coming. She said he was very nice, and that he would like me – that we would have lots in common." My father squeezed her shoulder, and she continued, "He was nice, Margaret. Just as the woman said. He offered to take me out to dinner one night and I – I... I had never been on a date before. I was excited, Margaret. So, so excited.

"And so we went to dinner. I snuck out of the group home – it was easy then. Just had to lift the window." She inhaled a shaky breath. "And then we met for dinner. He took me to a really nice restaurant – I'll never forget how much fun I had" – she looked to the ground – "and then how much he hurt me."