I turned back around, looking at him. “Do you know she always said I had the eyes of a demon, just like my father?” I waited for him to say something.

But he didn’t.

“Do you know that I barely knew her? I knew nothing about either of my parents. Because my fucked-up Aunt Wanda was the one raising me pretty much my whole life, if you even want to call it that.”

Leon shook his head in disbelief like something had suddenly been revealed to him.

I stepped forward. “So I’ll answer your question on whether or not you could have made my life better. I doubt you want to know after everything I’ve been through. Apparently, you’re not that same man now—your son defends you. Who defended me?”

He nodded his head. “No, I want to hear it. I want to hear anything you have to say.”

I sucked in a breath. “Anything would have been better than Wanda.” I shoved him into the brick wall behind him with everything I had in me. He stumbled and nearly fell.

After he collected himself, he said, “My Gran once told me you can’t make up for what’s lost. You can only make up for what’s right in front of you. I’m not the best guy in the world, but I am your dad and I could try now that you’re right in front of me,” he said.

I closed my eyes, shaking my head in disbelief. “I don’t want anything from you.” I opened my eyes, tears falling. “I look in the mirror every day and see you staring back at me. That’s enough for me.”

I headed inside our room, leaving him alone on the sidewalk, just like he’d left me.

JULY 25

TH

ANOTHER DAY WAS COMING to an end. We had survived a few days in Gusby. We stayed far away from our small town resorting to hiding out in an old barn at the end of town. It wasn’t the best accommodations, but it was the only choice we had with no money.

Mason tended to his hangover in the only way he knew how—by drinking more. We couldn’t afford a room, but we had enough for some cheap booze. As I sat in the corner of the barn on a bale of hay, I couldn’t stop myself from glaring at him.

“What?” he asked, sipping the last of his booze. He was more alert than he had been the night before—the night I saw my father.

“So this is it?” I asked. I was tired and starting to feel like I was coming down with something.

“Is what it, Kendall?” he asked me with that annoyed tone to his voice that seemed to be the norm for him lately. He sat down, settling into the ground, his hands behind his head for support.

“We’re just going to sit here and wait for the other shoe to drop?” I asked. It seemed like our lives had been put on pause and we were waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.

I had nobody else but Mason and I was beginning to wonder if he even cared anymore. It didn’t feel like it.

“I’m thinking. I’ve been thinking for days. I don’t know what to do. I’m not going to lie and say that I do when I don’t,” he said. His expression was blank.

If Mason was giving up, there really was no hope. I couldn’t understand what happened to the cocky Mason from Virginia. He would have refused to go down without a fight. But then he just left. Without him, we were doomed.

I started chewing on my nails. “Why do you think nobody here knows about us?” I hadn’t seen a single thing—no newspaper articles, no reports on the news—nothing.

“Gusby barely has cell phones or the internet. This shit hole is so behind they probably don’t even know who the president is,” he said.

He turned his head and spit as I got up and headed toward the barn door.

Mason yelled at me as I walked out of the barn. He had no idea where I was going so it didn’t take long for him to be hot on my heels to find out.

I knew I’d regret a lot of things in my life, but there was something I had to do. I would probably hate every minute of it, but I was going to go see my mother.

“Are you kidding me?” Mason asked, trying to stop me from heading down the street my mom lived on.

Give or take a few houses that had been modernized, everything on Jasper Way looked much the same as I remembered.

I didn’t have a single happy memory here. Most of my memories consisted of drunken fights, squealing tires, and a parade of men coming in and out of the house like a revolving door.

When my childhood home was mentioned, Aunt Wanda was usually in a drunken rage and went on about how horrible my mother was. She was always horrible in Aunt Wanda’s eyes.

“What do I have to lose?” I asked. The old house came into view with every step closer. It showed signs of improvement—no more peeling paint and all the windows were intact. The house number was hanging in place—not crooked or missing a number. Even the steps were new. It looked like a whole new place.

I wiped my sweaty palms on the front of my t-shirt as I studied the house. I felt slightly sick as I came to a stop in front of the gate. I looked down at the ground where green grass had replaced the blanket of dirt scattered with rocks.

I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

Was I really standing outside the gate of my childhood home?

Was I insane to think that I could really come back?

“Kendall, what’s there to figure out? Your mom might be standing in there right now on the other side of that door,” Mason warned me.

He knew at one time the mere mention of my mother would send me running for the hills. She was never someone I wanted to talk about, let alone see in person.

Mason’s face was pale. He looked close to grabbing me and running for it.

“Who are you?” a tiny voice called out.

Mason and I looked at each other confused. We knew it was the voice of a child, but we couldn’t see anyone. Then a small, brown-haired girl slid out from underneath the porch.

Her long braids danced side to side as she made it to her feet. She stared up at us with big blue eyes and round cheeks. She was cute.

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and pulled eyeglasses from her shirt pocket. She shoved them on and used her pointer finger to slide them up her nose.

“I said who are you,” she demanded.

Mason kneeled down, getting on her level. “How old are you?” he asked, avoiding her question and plying her with one of his own.

“Can’t you see I’m five?” She was not amused by him or the smell of cheap booze on his breath. She dramatically waved her hand in front of her face, scrunching her nose in disgust.

“You’re very small for five. When I was your age I was two heads taller,” he said.

“If I had a giant fro like yours I’d probly be taller too,” she said, letting out an accomplished giggle. She clutched at her belly and fell in an exaggerated fit of laughter.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The girl’s unintentional rudeness and the look on Mason’s face in response was priceless.

I wondered if my mother was inside and what she was doing or thinking at this moment.

“So, who are you?” she asked, jumping back up. She tipped her head back, getting a really good look at Mason and me.

“I’m Mason. I used to live around here long before you even existed. Way before you was annoying the shit out of your mother,” he said, looking up at the house.

I slapped him in the arm. “That was rude.”

The little girl removed her glasses and shoved them back in her pocket. She gave Mason a once-over, then spit on his leg before taking off in a flash and slipping back under the porch.

Mason cursed and grumbled in irritation, wiping at his leg. “It’s not even funny, Kendall. What kind of kid does that? That’s no kid, that’s the spawn of Satan.”