Shooting the Moon

Lauren gave up trying to close the overloaded basket. He didn’t know she was only trying to do what was best for him, that she was worried and on edge. He was just being a kid. “I’m sorry, Brandon,” she said, crossing the room and hugging him. “I’m just a little uptight right now and I need you to cooperate with me. Okay, honey?”

The confusion on his face didn’t clear completely, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Everything will be fine,” she promised, resting her chin on the top of his head. “I just…I just need you to stay with Kimberly for a few days while I take care of some things. Then our lives will be normal again.” God willing.

“I miss Grandma and Grandpa,” he said.

“They’ll be home before you know it.” She kissed his cheek and started to pull away, then stopped when he said something so softly she missed it.

“What, honey?”

“I said my mom won’t. She’s never coming home again.”

It was almost the first time he’d mentioned his mother since the day she died. Lauren had tried to get him to open up and let the pain out, but he wouldn’t. He’d stood dry-faced and resolute throughout the viewing and funeral, ignored anyone who wanted to remember her or sympathize, and had kept up that indifferent facade ever since. Still, Lauren knew that despite Audra’s faults and shortcomings, Brandon had loved her with the kind of unconditional emotion so natural to children.

“It’s not easy when someone you care about dies,” she said.

“I don’t care about her,” he insisted, but there was a tremble to his lip that belied the harshness of his words. “She never wanted to be with me, anyway.”

The knots of anxiety in Lauren’s stomach grew painful. They had to go before Harley arrived. But this was the first chance she’d had to reach Brandon, to soothe him where his mother was concerned. If she brushed the opportunity away and hurried off, she was afraid he’d retreat behind the wall he’d built and never come out again.

“It’s okay to be angry, Brandon,” she said. “Your mother wasn’t perfect. She made many mistakes. But I know she loved you.”

“If she loved me, she wouldn’t have done what she did.”

“Look at me.” Lauren tried to raise his chin so she could see his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow it. He was staring at the hardwood floor, blinking swiftly to hold back tears—tears Lauren wished he’d let fall. Go ahead, Brandon. Let the poison out so you can heal.

“Your mother was just confused,” she said.

“She didn’t want me. She never did anything with me.”

Lauren pulled him closer so he wouldn’t have to worry about her seeing the tears swimming in his eyes, and rubbed a hand up and down his spine. “That’s not completely true. I remember you going in to lie down with her at night sometimes. The two of you would talk about all kinds of things.”

“That was only when she came out of rehab and was clean for a while. And it never lasted long.”

Rehab. Clean. Most nine-year-olds didn’t even know those terms—and Brandon was using them to describe his mother. It always saddened Lauren to hear him.

“I know,” she admitted. There wasn’t any point in trying to deny the fact that his mother had let him down. It would only make him feel guilty for what he was feeling when he had every right to be disappointed. He’d been cheated, and Audra’s death was probably her ultimate betrayal.

“I can’t explain why your mother did what she did,” she said. “I know she was basically a good person, Brandon. She was just so unhappy. She couldn’t find her way out of it, and nothing we did seemed to help. Maybe if I’d had more patience with her or tried harder to reach her as a friend…I don’t know.”

“What happened to my mom isn’t your fault,” he said. “It’s my dad’s fault.”

Lauren knew Brandon was only repeating what he’d picked up from his grandfather. But for the first time she considered what it meant to let Brandon believe what he did. Perhaps if she hadn’t seen Harley again, if he’d remained nothing more than a memory, she might have let the statement pass. Heaven knew she’d spent the last ten years more or less believing the same thing. But now Harley was a real person, a flesh-and-blood man, and he seemed a lot less like the bad guy her father’s words and her own imagination had painted him.

“No one is completely responsible for the decisions and actions of another, Brandon. We all meet people who influence us, but the decisions we make are our own. If we mess up our lives, it’s our fault, no one else’s.”

“But Grandpa said my dad broke my mother’s heart.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she murmured, and then, even though family loyalty warred with what she now considered the underlying truth, she added, “Grandfather blames Harley because it’s easier to blame him than your mother. He loves your mom; he doesn’t love Harley. But your mother could have chosen a different path than the one she took. She had a lot more going for her than Harley did. She had a family who loved her. She had plenty of food, clothing and other necessities. She had the best counseling money could buy. I’m sure I could’ve done more to help her, but Grandpa tried everything. She just wouldn’t grab on to the hands reaching out to her.”