DRASTIC (Book 4 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 15: The Best Moms Send Tough Love

Introducing a new character in the first person--Bodie's mother. Sometimes we need to hear what a mom thinks about these rock stars. I hope you like her, cause I love her already. And I may not be the only one crushin' on Ronna (hee-hee-hee)....

The song: Family Business. Very appropriate. . Chance the Rapper has remix of this song, but I thought we'd kick it old school with Kanye.  

One more note. In case you are wondering the name Ronna rhymes with Mona. As in the the Mona Lisa...

Ronna Jamison, several weeks later

I brew coffee and tea. I figure the Brit will go for tea, but I know nothing about the man that he's bringing with him, about the man he said could help us.

I take a tray to the ridiculously large living room, trying to ignore the echoes of my footfalls striking on trendy concrete floor.

My eyes flit to the built-ins like they always do, when I find myself feeling ungrateful for this beautiful home. I smile at a picture of Clay when he was about five years old. The thought that I should tell him I'd like a smaller home fades.

He's so proud that he can install me in a big fancy house in a safe neighborhood like this. And it's not that it doesn't sometimes come in handy—I have friends and family that visit, and I host some luncheons and meetings for the various charities I'm involved in.

The space is very convenient and comfortable, during those times.

But most of the time, I'm one person in a house built for a bigger family.

Family.

I return to the kitchen table, which is littered with photographs, cardstock, washi tabe and various scrap-booking supplies.

I'm making a scrapbook of Mrs. JJ's sevientieth birthday bash.  I pick up a picture that I've looked at a thousand times in the last week since I had them printed.

Life is full of unexpected turns. When I decided to throw her that celebration last month, I had no idea where that decision would lead me.

But maybe it was meant for me to host that party in the park of our old neighborhood. Maybe that one moment led me to the key to saving my son.

I flatten the photo between my hands and raise them to my face, like a prayer. I ask for Clay's safety, because there's a dread in me, these last few weeks.

My son is not okay.

He's been in trouble before. When I realized how deep into gang life he was, it was too late for me to do anything but be there for him, during his jail time.

But once he got out, I did everything in my power to correct the mistakes I had made raising him. He was always smart, and mature, and I left him alone too much, working night shifts. That's what let him fall into that gang.

So when he got out of juvi, I did the hardest thing I've ever done.

I told my son, he wasn't welcome in my home anymore. I told him he had to go live with his uncle—my older brother by a year— and prove his worth. It hurt me much more than it hurt him, because the boy knew, I wasn't angry with him. I wasn't even disappointed in him, not after all the long years he was in juvi.

No. I was only loving him the best way I could—not letting him return to the door of gang life. Putting him in that college town, where I knew his brain and his pride and his ambition would fire.

I knew he would get himself in school.

I was right about that, but I never saw the music coming. I mean, I knew the boy liked to sing and dance as a child, that he was a natural born performer, always making up song parodies and raps and even singing his spelling words. I knew he took to the drum-line in band like a fish to water. But the other instruments, and the exceptional talent he showed for a drum kit? I guess the talent was always there, but the skill grew during his music therapy in detention.