Free Dancing Barefoot by Amber Lea Easton Page B

Is this what you wanted when you were my age? To be an alcoholic—"
    She grabbed Julie's arm as it raised for another slap.
    "—a woman dependent on a man or her own daughter for money, for consolation?"
    "I put you through college. My sacrifices gave you this fancy life of yours."
    "No, you didn't. Grandma helped, I worked three jobs, and have loans I'll be paying for the next twenty years. I can't keep doing this."
    "Doing what? You're my daughter. You owe me."
    Conscious of Sylvia looking out the window, she released her hold on her mother's arm and walked back inside the house. She'd come this far so she may as well clean the house, get it in order, do something productive.
    "I'll get dressed," Julie said. "We can go to lunch if you want."
    "Fine," she answered through clenched teeth. Despite everything—all the stepdads and melodrama—they'd always been a duo. Maybe a dysfunctional duo that no longer worked for one of the participants, but a team nonetheless.  She moved through the house, slamming trash into a bag, and thinking of all the reasons she should have walked away and all the reasons she couldn't.
    After bundling up the trash bags, she walked into the backyard to the dumpster and looked at the row of similar houses with chipped shutters and small porches. Not that many years ago, she'd been a child growing up in a similar house in an adjacent neighborhood. When Julie brought home people from the bar or that special guy of the night, little Jessica would grab her bunny and crawl onto the porch roof from her window. She'd stare at stars and dream of far away places that she'd seen on television or learned about in school. While the fray went on inside, she traveled in her mind and drew pictures on anything she could find once her notebooks would fill—napkins or backs of magazines. But she'd always known that art needed to be channeled into something useful so she could earn her own way in the world.
    Dreams don't pay bills , her mother used to say.
    She leaned heavily on the lid of the trashcan and closed her eyes. What did Julie know about dreams? She'd worked at so many odd jobs her entire life that Jessica had lost count. When kids in school asked her what her parents did for a living, she'd lie.
    "What are you doing out there?" Julie asked from where she stood on the back porch. "It's about to rain."
    "I'm coming, mom." A raindrop hit her forehead. One and then another. Faster. She walked slowly toward the porch, unable to stop thinking about who she'd been as a child and all of those dreams she'd had. "I'm getting the promotion, by the way, mom," she said once she started climbing the steps. "You know the one I told you about yesterday? They liked my design."
    Julie pulled the sweater tighter around her narrow body and studied her face. "That's good, real good."
    From her mother, those words were as good as gold. She linked her arm through her mom's elbow and led her back into the house. "Let's stay here. I'm sure I can make us something to eat."
    "We should celebrate." Julie pushed trembling hands through her hair. "I washed up a bit, I can change clothes."
    "Okay, mom. Whatever you want." Jessica sank on the sofa, rested her elbows on her knees, and wondered what Jacques would say if he could see her now. A son of a diplomat who'd spent his life living around the world, how could he ever embrace her history? She had managed to avoid full disclosure of her childhood while in Italy because there she had been able to reinvent herself into anything she'd wanted.
    Maybe it had been pretend , just a summer of make believe. She fidgeted with the ring on her finger and blinked back the tears that burned her eyes.
    Out of all of her friends, only Marc had been here. He'd been the one in college who had helped bail Julie out of jail and had listened to the rants. Marc had been the one who had called her that morning in Italy when her mom had nearly died and who had arranged for the emergency airline ticket to