Face Your Fears

Chapter 17

It was an unusually warm day for early February. The sky overhead was gray, but the temperature was at least in the sixties. It was a nice change from the dreary cold and piles of snow still covering the sidewalks.

I walked down the street towards Mama Rosa's, my hands shoved in my pockets, my stomach twisting with nerves.

Today was the day of all days. I didn't think Mom would take the news of my impending trip to Pennsylvania very well. When I'd been required to testify at my father's trial fifteen years ago I'd made myself promise that I would never even think about seeing him again.

But, desperate times called for desperate measures.

I wasn't exactly sure of what I was hoping to achieve visiting Canaan, but something had to be done. Ever since I decided that visiting St. Pierre was inevitable, I was overcome with the urge to go to Canaan simply to shout obscenities in the man's face and then beat the shit out of him.

I knew I had problems, but beating up someone in federal prison? Yeah, not exactly the smartest idea I'd ever had.

It was a three hour drive from the city down to Pennsylvania, and I intended to figure out a game plan of what I was going to say to pass the time.

Ask him why he abused my mother? Ask him why he got screwed up with drugs and alcohol? Ask him why he killed Chris?

The possibilities were endless. I just hoped I could handle the answers, God willing he gave me any.

I wrenched open the door of Mama Rosa's and stepped inside, breathed in the warm sent of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries.

"Archer!" June shot me a grin and waved at me as I made my way to the front counter, stood beside one very surly looking customer. "What's up, brosky? What're you doing here?"

"Looking for Ma," I said. "I need to talk to her."

June handed the man his change and his to-go cup of coffee and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "In the back, baking. We ran out of cinnamon rolls right after opening."

Good. That meant business was going well.

"Thanks, little sis," I said, ruffling her hair as I passed her after jumping the front counter.

Sure enough, Mom was at one of the ovens when I walked into the kitchen, shoving in a new tray of cinnamon rolls. She looked up as I entered and gave a smile.

"Archer. What're you doing here?"

"I need to borrow the SUV," I said flatly, cutting straight to the point.

"You need to borrow the SUV," Mom repeated slowly, frowning. "Why?"

"I'm going on a little road trip."

"To where?"

"Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania? What're you doing in - oh."

A look of slight terror passed over Mom's face when she made the connection. She knew as well as I did that St. Pierre was being held in the penitentiary in Canaan, Pennsylvania.

She gripped the counter for support, her breathing shallow, her face draining of color.

"Why...you're going to see him?" She looked like she was about to drop to the floor in a dead faint. "Why are you going to see him?" 

I had known from the beginning that Mom was going to ask that, and I still had no idea how to answer it.

Hell would freeze over before I told her the truth of the real reason I was going to visit St. Pierre. After everything that had just happened recently with telling the girls the truth of what happened to Chris I was in no position to lie to Mom, either.