“We’ve been hiding out in a motel,” Justin told me. “I had to stay to explain to the cops about Stoat and stuff.”
I saw my chance to maybe help. “Do you miss Stoat much?”
Justin opened his mouth without speaking. Chad asked, “You’re joking, right?”
“No, not at all. Justin, do you miss him?”
“I—I’m not sure. I mean, I killed him. I had to. But then I felt bad.”
“Of course you did,” I said. “Stoat had a kind of creepy charm, and you lived with him for two years. You couldn’t not like him a little. I did.”
“But at the end—”
“I know. So I hated him too.” I rolled my eyes, mocking myself. “Human feelings are wacko. A person can feel two or three or half a dozen ways all at the same time.”
Justin only ducked his head, but Chad sat bolt upright and exclaimed, “That was me for the past year.”
Although I had no idea what he was talking about, I nodded. “Me too.”
Justin surprised me by asking, “Lee, are you going to be okay?”
“Sure. I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”
“Good! I bet you’ll be glad to get home,” said Justin eagerly. “You know, I never noticed the inside of your house. I like the mimosa trees, though.”
And his mother turned to look straight at me. Her eyes met mine. Not demanding, not pleading, just asking: did I understand what was really going on here, about the mixed emotions Justin could not yet control or even comprehend?
I nodded. Yes. Yes, I did understand. I had some very mixed feelings myself. It’s not that I wasn’t tempted.
But he was her son.
“No, actually, Justin,” I said quite simply and easily, “I don’t want to live there anymore. I’m going back up north.”
He stared at me, startled, maybe even stricken. “What?”
“I’m going to stay with my sons for a while, until the busted parts of me get better—”
“And then you’ll be back?”
“No.” I made it sound like no big deal when the truth was I wanted him for my surrogate son almost as badly as he wanted me for his surrogate mom. But now that he had his real mom back, the right thing for me to do was get out of her way.
And out of Justin’s.
If I really cared about him, I had to want the best for him. Sure, I dreamed of forming a lifetime bond based on our mutual experience of Steven Stoat. But Justin was young. He shouldn’t build a career based on memories of Stoat the Goat, for God’s sake, no matter how lucrative it might be. Far from it. He should forget the bastard, as much as possible, and move on, and have a life.
“No,” I said, “once I feel better, I’ll find someplace to live near my old friends and my family. You know, I was kind of running away from home when I moved down here.”
He was having a little trouble speaking. “But I was looking forward to visiting you all the time.”
I doubt he realized how much he wanted to come back to revisit familiar misery, seeing the blue shack across the road from mine, turning away from the hard work of recovery, feeling more comfortable in his passive past.
I must never let him know how much of an understanding I shared with him. He wanted understanding too much for his own good.
Forcing myself to sound like any obtuse and well-meaning adult, I said, “Well, you can come see me once I find a place to stay. I’m sure we’ll keep in touch.”
“Um, sure, of course.” He and his mother and father stood up at the same time. He didn’t kiss me or come near me again, just said, “Thanks for everything, Lee.”
“No, Justin, thank you.”
No longer looking at me, he shrugged and stood back. But Chad warmly shook my hand, and Amy hugged me and kissed me. And everything Justin’s parents couldn’t say to me showed in their eyes as they left my room with their son.
• • •
Quinn and Forrest came in shortly afterward to find me staring moodily at a pot of pansies. Forrie asked, “What’s the matter, Mom?”
“I hate good-byes.”
“Justin was here?”
“Yes, and I rode away into the sunset.”
“Well, then that’s where we live. So hello.” He and Quinn both grinned at me.
My sons. My family.
I smiled in response to them. Actually, I think I beamed. “You’re right, you two. Hello.”
Nancy Springer has written fifty novels for adults, young adults, and children, in genres that include mythic fantasy, contemporary fiction, magical realism, horror, and mystery—although she did not realize she wrote mystery until she won the Edgar Allan Poe Award from the Mystery Writers of America two years in succession. Most recently she has ventured into adult suspense, such as Drawn into Darkness.