Something Blue

Chapter 27

Vivian

Things were bad.

No, things were terrible. They were worse than they had ever been. Her girls were afraid, her coffers were shrinking...

... and she was so damned happy she could cry.

She didn't know if it made her a good mother or a bad one that she yearned with such intensity to watch her son walk away. That it gave her such hope to imagine that he would leave her life and never return to it.

Maybe she was a good mother because she wanted him to be safe and happy. That was, after all, what all good mothers wanted.

Then again, perhaps she was a bad mother because she wanted liberty from the constant worry. He was her weak spot, her Achilles heel, and that was not something she could afford to have.

Not that she was some iron-clad, unfeeling bitch. She considered herself a cunning businesswoman, but not ruthless. She was stern with her girls, but she strove to be warm when warmth was what they needed. There was life in her beyond the flame of maternal devotion, to be sure.

Nonetheless, she prided herself on being a woman who could handle anything, and handle it independently. She could run her business without a man's 'expertise' with the books. She could protect her girls without a man's brawn, not that Gabe would ever see that. She could handle hunger and loss, pain and humiliation. Life had dealt her hand after hand of struggle and strife, and she had won every round and come out stronger.

Except for Gabe. She could not handle Gabe. She couldn't win at being a mother. As a baby, her son's hungry tears had cut her down to the marrow of her bones. As a child, his loneliness had crushed her. As a man, his strength crippled her. She could handle loss of money and the girls' fear, but she could not cope with her son's pain. His presence—his quiet, weary suffering in the name of protecting her—was a knife drawn down the center of her belly. It drew her open, exposed and bleeding, and there was no way for her to protect herself. She couldn't walk away stronger when every other day she was eviscerated anew.

So yes, perhaps she was a bad mother, because she wanted him gone. Not partially. Fully. She wanted to sew herself back together and bear up against the world, and she could not do so when he stood at her side, unwittingly slicing her open with his every bruise, scrape, and tired sigh.

A bad mother, maybe. But a happy bad mother.

"Spring is coming," she said, her step light as she turned her face up to the pale blue sky, walking alongside her son down the narrow road to town. It was only a half-mile walk into town, and though they both led horses they had chosen to stretch their legs rather than ride. Well, she had made that choice so that she could be nearer to him and have this conversation she was so desperate to have. She'd also made the choice to accompany him on his weekly trip to town, despite his objections and insistence that she stay behind.

"Looks like it," he said evenly, his boots making heavy, sucking sounds as he stepped through the blend of slush and mud that comprised the little road. It was more a driveway than a road, since her place was the last and only stop after it branched off from the main thoroughfare through town. If she wanted to have it leveled, she'd have to hire someone herself.

"Are you ready for spring to come?" she asked casually. There was nobody else around, the snow-coated pine woods to either side empty and still. Nonetheless, caution was paramount. One thing she had learned, long before she had picked up and moved to this town—before, even, she began to sell her body for the comfort of wealth—she had learned that speaking in riddles and code was always safer than speaking directly.