Stockholm

Chapter 5

Wiping sweat from my brow, I drag the push mower back to the decrepit little shed in the backyard. The paint is all mostly peeled, revealing weathered gray wood from years of elements. Some of the bottom planks rotting away, leaving all that's stored inside exposed to critters and weather. One of the doors hangs from loose hardware, as I force the mower up the sagging ramp. I wouldn't say the yard looks great but the county won't come for us for an unkempt yard.

I check my phone, I have enough time for a quick shower, a stop by the party store to grab beer and a pizza before meeting Wyatt at his shop. I lock the shed, not that it does much and walk for the door, brushing grass clippings from my clothes as I go.

Bud isn't waiting for me, off for the day while the sun is shining and the weather is warm. I kick my boots off, setting them on a step just inside the door, and trudge into the house.

"Ma!" I call, pouring myself a glass of water from the faucet, guzzling it down seconds later. "Ma!" Water trickles out of the corner of my lips and I wipe it with the back of my hand.

I glance toward her room, the door closed tightly in its frame. "Ma!"

It's a subtle tap, tap, tap that makes me aware she's up and moving and I refill my glass. Bits of dirt and grass flake off into the white porcelain sink as I move across it for my water. And as I lean back against the counter to pour a second glass into my parched body my mom's door swings open.

"You look nice." I tell her and she does. On the few days that she works at a sleepy little resale shop she always manages to pull herself together. At least for the few hours of her shift. "Want a ride? I'm taking the truck to Wyatt."

She smiles, it softens all her features, hiding the lines that have crept into her skin over the years of nursing bottle after bottle after bottle every night. But her smile doesn't reach her eyes like it did in the memories of my childhood.

"It's a nice day, I'll walk."

"You sure, it's on the way." I offer again.

I've often wondered if she harbors more contempt for me than she lets on. After all, I'm the one still here. After everything that's happened, it's just me and her. Plus I'm the one that had to take her license from her. And I'm also the one that sold her car out from under her. But I couldn't have her driving through the city I'm sworn to protect drunk. Wreaking havoc as she spiraled out of control. I couldn't let it get that far. Not as a cop but also not as her son.

I couldn't be completely alone.

"I'm sure a walk will do me good." She straightens her shoulders a little as we pass each other like she's trying to hide all the cracks and missing flakes in her composure. But I know where all the missing pieces are, I'm the one that watched them chip away.

I also catch the waft of booze that seeps from her skin, her fingers clutched too tightly around a reusable water bottle. The cop in me knows I shouldn't let her but the son that I am has long ago come to peace with her coping mechanism.

She stops at the small dining room table, there's a stack of mail I need to go through, bills that need to be paid. Her fingers graze her purse and for a moment the tension builds between us. The pain, the memories, the things we no longer mention because mentioning them only forces more pain.

Her shoulders lift as she takes a deep breath and with her back still to me she asks "are you ever going to bring your girlfriend home or are you too embarrassed of your old broken mom."

The words spring to my throat, begging my lips to part and my tongue to form the sounds that I'm not embarrassed but I am, at least part of me. But it's not all embarrassment that's holding me back. It's so much more complicated than that.

"I'm just taking my time Ma, that's all." I say instead.

She gives a short laugh through her nose, glancing over her shoulder with a half hearted smile. "Cautious, unlike your father ever was."

I don't know what to say to that. My life hasn't taught me that being impetuous is beneficial. If anything it's done the opposite.

Her throat clears, swallowing down the mention of my dad like he's a bitter taste. "Tell Wyatt I said hello."

"I will."

I watch as she leaves. How she almost looks like a whole person from the back. The way she walks taller than when she dodders around the house. A pair of jeans and a thin sweater hanging from her frame with her hair combed and styled and a purse tucked under her arm. She almost looks like she isn't a fraction of the person she's meant to be.

I watch her until I can no longer see her, even after she's closed the door behind her and started down the sidewalk. I watch her until she disappears.

My phone pings in my pocket, breaking my fixation on the corner where my mom turned and my body goes back into motion. I strip my shirt off over my head, sending it down the laundry chute as I check my phone. I pulled background checks on a few of the names on my list of people. An alert notifies me they're waiting for me in an email but I don't have time to check it right now.

If I'm any later, Wyatt will be waiting for me.

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I think I managed to finish all of my Christmas wrapping except one annoying present that choose to come last night after I was done wrapping. But yay!!! Check that shit off the list!