I felt the need to apologize again.
She frowned, and shook her head solemnly. Said she didn't want any more of my apologies. I told her I owed her a lifetime's worth, but she countered with, “Let’s just think of the moment, Maddy. I don't think I can accept your apologies, anyway.” She raised her eyes to the twilight sky, looked at the half-moon just beginning to shine. “But, looking to my future self? And looking at you right now? Maybe.”
There was a horrific clattering then. Metal objects falling to a cement floor. Dad started yelling from the garage, something about his god damn wrench not being where he left it. Mom didn't bat an eyelash.
“So, what's her name?”
If I'd been drinking the Merlot, it'd be spraying out of my face. “Who's name?”
“Maddox, please,” she took her eyes off of the moon. “You've been addicted to women, not to mention sex, all your life.”
“Mother!”
“After how many years of never hearing from you, you show up like this? In that?” she pointed to the garage where Dad was futzing under the hood. It looked like the truck was trying to eat him. “I don't think you're the climb-the-mountain and talk to the yogi type. I'm assuming it was a girl, and speculating that she must be something else. Am I wrong?”
My mom couldn't be farther from wrong if she tried. Through all the years, the miles, and weighty disappointments between us, her mother's intuition was still one hundred percent operational.
“Ramona. Ramona Sanchez,” I said, and her name felt good rolling off my tongue.
“Well, when you see Ramona again, tell her I said 'thank you'.”
“If I see her again.”
“If you see her?”
I nodded, slightly, and rubbed my wrists. They were almost healed by this time, but nevertheless, I found myself doing this a lot lately. “It's complicated.”
“You could be nothing else,” she said with a faint smile.
She patted my hand, glanced back up at the moon, then headed up to the garage. Presumably to make sure my dad wouldn't meet his untimely demise by being eaten alive by my piece of shit pickup truck.
I watched them for a while. They were good people, my mom and dad. They certainly didn't deserve the crap they'd been through – losing Josh not withstanding – and retaining me, instead.
They had two addicts on their hands when Josh was around. While my addiction was a result of obsessive compulsion and bad wiring, Josh's was thrust onto him in the form of bottomless, prescription painkillers.
The thought made me sick. Literally nauseous. And as I was standing there, hoping to hell Ramona wouldn't become another overly medicated statistic like my brother – the idea struck me like a sledgehammer. The ultimate eureka moment.
I knew exactly what I was supposed to do.
And why.
Chapter Thirty-One
RAMONA
It was a day like any other had become – morning coffee followed by excruciating physical torments of the leg press, thigh machine, and treadmill – then sitting alone in my apartment staring at my phone.
I'd spent weeks trolling websites of various attorneys, taught myself everything and more about civil lawsuits on Wikipedia, and had the number of my local police department stored in Important Contacts. Armed with the knowledge my internet sleuthing had bestowed, and with the help of the 1-800 LawyerBarn online calculator, (their FAQ page had a What's Your Suit Worth? section in the drop down menu) I concluded my pain, suffering, and emotional distress was worth several million dollars.
As for criminal charges, they went well beyond kidnapping. There were over a dozen options including but not limited to aggravated assault, sexual assault, emotional and physical duress, and if I was super clever about it; abduction with the intent of human trafficking. Yes, these were wonderful times in which we lived.
And so far, I hadn't called anybody.
I'm not sure if this made me mad, or just incredibly disappointed in myself.
I could go through a laundry list of reasons why I was hesitating in having Maddox arrested. It would be a waste of time, however, as that list always ended with the same, strange conclusions.
One of those conclusions was simple. He had shit he could use in a court of law on me, too. Breaking and entering with purport to kill. That's where it gets dicey, as I never actually shot him. Clearly, it was my intention to do so, but all it would take was a cunning attorney to expunge those charges with one clever swoop of a temporary insanity plea. Case closed, and pass the caviar.
Secondly, and with far less complexity, was Maddox himself. Weird beyond bizarre, yes, but still the fact remained. He cracked his own armor by letting bits of compassion peek through. That was made apparent on the very first night, when I'd faked a leg cramp and he freaked the fuck out about it. It was one of several times when he demonstrated humanity. And lest I forget when I wet-humped his leg in a lagoon. Jesus. Having him tied to that tree, exposed and helpless… all I'd wanted was to wrap my legs around his waist, and slide his big, stiff cock inside me.
Which brought me to the most glaring item in conclusion section, although I didn't know what to call it. Maddox was out there, somewhere. Fearing my next move. Afraid of me and the time I'd bring the hammer down. Always awaiting the dropping shoe.
I was that shoe. And I liked what that meant.
It meant control. Something I never really had.
All my life, it was Rebecca who was the assertive one. I spent years nodding politely in her
