Lost in Silence (The Lost Series Book 1)(91)

“Mom?” I reach up and rub my eyes, unable to trust them completely. My mother, a much older version than I remember, has tears running down her face unchecked and relief in her dark brown eyes. I’ve never seen her like this.

“Ali,” she breathes, reaching for me. I shake off my stupor and take the last step towards her, throwing myself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Her arms circle me tightly. We cry, murmuring words of love and disbelief, words I never thought my mother had in her vocabulary. “My dear sweet girl, my baby, my darling...Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” I breathe trying to find the words to comfort her. The reality of the moment was so overwhelming but also comforting at the same time. Being in my mother’s arms helps me to briefly forget Erik and his lifeless eyes.

After what seems like an eternity, I pull back, taking in her face. Growing up, my mother was the exact picture of what my father deemed the perfect woman. Always dressed to the nines in a pencil skirt, button up blouse and four-inch heels. Her hair was always in a slick back bun, and she never left the house without a perfectly made up face. Her signature scent of lavender finished off my father’s illusion.

This woman, with her arms around me was nothing like the woman I knew. She looked like the mother I always dreamt of having. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. Her face was free of makeup, a good thing after all the tears we’ve shed. She wore a pair of jeans that complimented her long legs, a plain white shirt that hugged her in the right places and a light blue cardigan for modesty. A pair of white Keds covered her feet. She looked casual and relaxed which was the complete opposite of the mother I knew.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I gasp for air, she giggles and nods excitedly. “You look so different.”

“As do you, sweet girl,” she breathes, pulling me in for another tight hug. “You are more beautiful than I remember.”

I choke back my tears, it was the first compliment given to me by my mother in, well, ever. I felt the genuine emotion behind it and knew without a doubt, my worry of acceptance was all for nothing.

“Where’s Daddy?” I ask sobering up, my tear streaked face looking around for any sign of him. My mother tenses, her eyes fill with sadness. My mouth feels dry and it’s hard to swallow. He wasn’t here. “How did it happen?”

“His heart,” her voice is thick and sad. “He tried to hang on for as long as he could but his heart just wasn’t strong enough.”

“How long?”

“Three years, last month.”

My father and I never saw eye to eye, which is why going away to Juilliard had been such a fight. It wasn’t that my parents believed me immature for my age, but rather my father wasn’t ready to let me out from underneath his thumb. He was a man who liked to be in control. Nothing like my grandfather, who I absolutely adored since the day I was born. My father was who he was and while I’m sad I didn’t get to say goodbye to him or even hug him one last time, I felt relief at the knowledge of his passing. Maybe that’s why my mother looked so casual different.

“Grandfather?” I’m almost afraid to ask but I need to know.

“He’s better,” she nods, her eyebrows high with concern. “We had to put him in a special care facility though.”

My stomach drops, “What happened?”

“After your father’s first heart attack, we found your grandfather on the floor of his bathroom,” she takes a shaky breath and continues. “It was a stroke.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology was like word vomit because I all of a sudden felt guilty. Was it my fault the two strongest men in my family crumbled? I couldn’t help thinking if I hadn’t run off with Erik all those years ago, maybe my father wouldn’t have had a heart attack in the first place and just maybe my grandfather wouldn’t have had a stroke.

“Sorry for what?” my mother asks, her brow furrowed.

“It’s my fault,” I shrug casting my eyes down.

“Oh, sweet girl, no it isn’t,” she pulls me in for another tight hug.

“If I hadn’t run off with Erik...”

“Stop it,” she cuts me off, her voice stern. “Your father didn’t take care of himself Alice. He never did. He always put the music first. I didn’t know at the time but he was sick and he had been for a long time.”

“He knew he was sick?”

“Yes,” she leans back and cups my cheek. “None of this is your fault. Even if you hadn’t gone off on your own, your father would have had the attack. It was too late to do anything about it because there was too much damage done. Short of a heart transplant, which he refused, he would’ve died anyways.”