This Heart of Mine

“What does she look like?”

“I’m not sure these days,” he said, and Phoenix winced. Her shoulder-length dark hair wasn’t bad. It was thick, probably her best asset. Her hazel eyes weren’t unattractive, either. She didn’t feel she was ugly. But the scars on her face would be new to him. She hadn’t had those when she went to prison.

“She wasn’t very tall,” he added, as if that might be the only detail still applicable.

“There was a woman who said she was expecting two more to join her,” the hostess said. “But I don’t know where she went...”

Determined not to miss this opportunity after waiting so long for it, Phoenix curved her fingernails into her palms, took a deep breath and stepped around the corner. “Sorry I...I had to wash my hands.”

The frown that appeared on Riley’s face brought heat to her cheeks. He wasn’t happy to be in her presence. No doubt he’d spent the past seventeen years hoping he’d never have to see her again, especially since her release date had been extended twice beyond her original sentence.

But she’d known this first meeting would be difficult. Squaring her shoulders, she ignored his disapproval and turned to Jacob. “Hello, I’m your mother.”

She’d practiced saying those words so many times and still almost choked up. Only by sheer will did she manage to retain control. “You can call me Phoenix, though, if that feels more natural to you. I don’t expect...” Her tongue seemed so thick and unwieldy, she could hardly speak. “I don’t expect you to do anything you don’t want to do, not when it comes to me.”

He seemed surprised she’d throw that out there right away, but she also thought she detected a slight lessening of the tension gripping his body. So she extended her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I hope this restaurant is okay. Just Like Mom’s was always a favorite of mine when I lived here so I hoped maybe...maybe it’d still be popular.”

Jacob glanced at his father before shaking her hand. “Hello,” he mumbled, but wouldn’t quite look her in the eye.

Telling herself that was normal, that a certain amount of reluctance was to be expected, she let go as soon as they touched. She didn’t want him to notice how badly she was trembling.

“Are you folks ready to sit down?” The hostess, who’d been distracted saying goodbye to some departing patrons, was now watching them with avid curiosity. She’d probably figured out that this was “the” Phoenix Fuller everyone had been talking about—the one who’d been convicted for running down a rival with her mother’s old Buick just before graduating from high school.

“Yes, please.” Supremely conscious of the two people trailing behind her, Phoenix followed the hostess across the restaurant to a corner booth.

Once they sat down, she leaned back as another woman came to bring them water.

“You can have anything you want,” she told Jacob as he opened the menu.

It was too soon to mention that. But she was nervous. And she’d worked so hard in the weeks before she was released to be able to provide this meal. She really wanted him to enjoy it.

“I like the Belgian waffle with the ice cream and strawberries.”

Grateful he’d chosen something rather celebratory and elaborate, she smiled. “Then you can have it.”

Belatedly, she realized that his father should have a say in the matter; it wasn’t a healthy meal and she held absolutely no power in Jacob’s life. So she appealed to Riley. “If that’s okay with your father.”

Once Riley had given his permission, she dropped her gaze. It was easier not to look at him. If she could’ve invited Jacob on his own, she would have. The emotions she felt where her son was concerned were poignant enough. Adding his father to the mix just complicated an already complicated situation.

“You can get whatever you’d like, too, of course,” she told Riley. “My treat.”

The second she got those words out, she felt her face burn even hotter. What a stupid thing to say! Riley was a successful building contractor. He didn’t need an ex-con to pay for his breakfast. And she knew that although she’d sent every dime she could spare to the support of her son, her contributions had been paltry compared to what he’d done for Jacob over the years. Riley probably found her offer to buy him breakfast laughable. But she’d meant to be generous. She was struggling so hard to get by that thirty dollars was a lot of money to her.

“The shrimp omelet’s good,” he said, and set his menu aside without really studying it.

The shrimp omelet and the Belgian waffle were the two most expensive meals on the menu, but Phoenix didn’t mind. She quickly calculated how much money she’d have left over and started looking for something under five dollars.

“I’m not very hungry,” she mused so they wouldn’t find it strange when she ordered light. “I think I’ll just have some toast and coffee.”

The minute she lowered her menu, she nearly raised it again to use as a shield. Both Riley and her son eyed her appraisingly, skeptically. Although she’d expected close scrutiny, it was still difficult to be examined like some kind of unusual—and not particularly welcome—bug. Not only that, but she was self-conscious about the scars on her face, didn’t want them to become a focal point.

“How long have you been home?” Riley asked, breaking a silence that was growing awkward.

She slid her menu to one side and folded her hands in her lap. “Three days.” She would have contacted him immediately, but it had taken some time to summon the nerve. He’d made it clear that he wished she’d settle anywhere but Whiskey Creek.

He clutched his water glass. “Who picked you up?”

She’d had to pay for a taxi, but she didn’t want to admit that. “An acquaintance who...who’s sort of a friend.”

That was nebulous, but he didn’t seem to question it. “I thought maybe your mother...”

“No. She can’t—doesn’t—drive these days.” At nearly six hundred pounds, she couldn’t fit inside a car. Her mother had been a recluse since Phoenix and Riley were dating. In addition to her weight, Lizzie had significant issues with hoarding and depression. She didn’t own a working car or have internet service. If not for the kindhearted guy from the Baptist church who’d brought groceries and performed the occasional vet run—for only ten dollars a week—while Phoenix was in prison, Lizzie might not have survived. It wasn’t as if Phoenix’s father cared about either one of them. Or her brothers, for that matter. He’d left shortly after Phoenix was born; no one even knew where he was these days. And her two older brothers, who’d been so devastated when he left, had washed their hands of Whiskey Creek and everything that went with it when she was still in school.

Riley had to be aware of Lizzie’s situation. So was he merely trying to reiterate the point he’d made in his last letter—that he believed Jacob would be better off without her involvement in his life? He’d mentioned her mother as a less-than-positive aspect of associating with her. Lizzie’s many problems were the reason Jacob hadn’t been allowed to visit his grandmother more than three or four times during his life, and of course her mother had never reached out. Although Lizzie often couched it as a gruff rejection, she felt too unworthy, especially when she came up against a well-established, well-respected family like the Stinsons.

Riley took another sip of his water. “How’s she doing?”

Phoenix refused to be drawn into a conversation about her mother. She wasn’t willing to address any subject that might make him less likely to let her see Jacob. “Fine.”

“Fine?” he repeated. “That’s it? I haven’t seen her around town in years.”

Jacob scowled at him. “You know what she’s like, Dad.”

Phoenix cleared her throat. “She’ll be better now that I’m home. I’ll see to it. And she won’t bother you or Jacob. I’ll make sure of that, too.”

“How can she bother us if she can’t leave the house?” Jacob asked, glaring at his father. “Has she bothered us so far?”

“I’ll handle this,” Riley said, but Phoenix felt the need to chime in. She couldn’t allow Riley to think Jacob was supporting her side of any argument. Riley held her heart in his hand because he controlled what she wanted most—a relationship with Jacob. So, first of all, she had to protect her relationship with him.

“Your father’s right. She can be...an embarrassment. I remember what it was like when...when I was in high school. But she’s, um, well, like you say, she doesn’t go anywhere, so I highly doubt she’ll be an issue.” Except for when he came to her place, but she’d figure out how to handle that if and when it happened.

Obviously annoyed that his father was being so protective, Jacob grumbled, “I’m not worried about it.”

She hoped that was true. He had enough to cope with just being her son. Not many other kids had to live with the stigma of having their mother labeled a murderer. “I hear you’re a talented baseball player,” she said, eager to change the subject.

This elicited a shy smile—one that revealed how very handsome and charismatic her son was. He looked even more like his father than she’d initially thought, with those amber-colored eyes and his nearly black hair.

“I like to play,” he said.

“It’s really something to be the starting varsity pitcher as a junior,” she told him. “Baseball’s a big deal around here.”

Riley’s mood seemed to improve as he gave his son’s shoulder a little shove. “Last week he almost pitched a no-hitter.”

Jacob lifted his eyebrows. “Almost but not quite.”

“The season’s young,” Riley responded.

Phoenix loved the pride in Riley’s voice. She felt that same pride. But right now, carrying on this conversation was a chore. For one thing, except for a few close friends she’d made in prison, she’d kept to herself. She didn’t consider herself particularly entertaining. For another, she just wanted to sit and stare, memorize all the details of her son’s face. The pictures she’d been sent had been far and few between and hadn’t done her boy justice. He’d had braces on in the last one, which had come in a Christmas card two years ago. Small effort though it required on Riley’s part, she was grateful to him for sending that. She still had both the card and the photo. They were among the scant belongings she’d brought home from prison.