Remember When #featured #AllStars

Chapter 26

Whore.

I guess I always knew that there had to be whisperings around town about my mother. Norman's a small town, after all. But the fact was, up until that point, no one had ever been so blunt as to actually say anything to me about it. I'd been suffering under the delusion that maybe, just maybe, everyone didn't know the whole story.

People always describe small towns as quaint or cozy or familiar. "You know who your neighbors are," they always seemed to say. But what you won't find depicted in a Norman Rockwell painting is how cruel those same neighbors can be. I suppose living in a small town isn't for those that have something to hide. I guess that realization is what made my mother finally leave.

At the time, I remember being so grateful that at least my father chose to keep the family right where we were instead of uprooting us and moving away. But I can't imagine what he must have endured in order to do so. Aside from the ghost of his wife that lurked in every familiar corner of town, he had to deal with the sewing circles, the store owners, and the PTO. All those wagging tongues and "tsk, tsk, tsks" behind his back had to drive him batty. Oh, sure, there was sympathy. But I guess sympathy takes a backseat to a juicy bit of gossip any day of the week around here.

Where did those people get off? Wasn't it enough that my poor father was left to raise my brother and me all by himself? That Bruce and me were suddenly motherless? That the three of us had to endure the guilt, the unanswered questions, the hole that my mother left behind when she went away?

Whore.

Of course that's all anyone thought about my mother. Why wouldn't they?

No one knew her as I did, for too brief a time, dancing in the kitchen or frosting a lopsided birthday cake or singing showtunes at the top of her lungs to wake me up in the morning. The way she'd stand at the window and open the shades, the morning sun backlighting her honey hair and making her look like an angel.

No. To Mr. Wilmington and most likely the entire town, Kate Warren's entire existence can be summed up in one word: whore.

I swiped my arm across my dampened face and looked down at what I was wearing; unexpectedly assessing my clothes with new, albeit blurred eyes. Suddenly, my dress seemed too short, the sleeveless top showed too much shoulder. I loved that dress only a few short hours ago, but Mr. Wilmington's outburst had me feeling overly self-conscious. Exposed.

Whore.

I heard Trip's sneakers pounding against the blacktop and coming to a stop at my back. He blew out a heavy breath and silently sank onto the grass behind me.

I didn't lift my face from my hands.

"It's true," I said.

"What?"

"It's true," I reiterated before explaining. "About my mother. What your father said. That she's... she's a..."

"Layla, stop it."

I lifted my head, but I still couldn't find it in me to turn and look him in the face. "No. I told you my mother wasn't around, but you don't know the whole story. She left us, Trip! She was probably screwing half the town when finally, she just up and left us for one of her boyfriends. And everyone knows it. Including your father."

"My father is an asshole."

"Yeah, well, he may be an asshole, but at least he's still around. At least he's still here."

"Oh, you think that's better?"

"Better than being left behind? Better than watching your father overcompensate every single day because he's trying to make up for whatever part he thinks he played in her leaving? Better than being left to deal with the fallout of my mother's stellar reputation? Yeah. I think that's better."