Free Redesigned by Denise Grover Swank

been thinking? Lexi’s life is none of my business. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. I was totally out of line.”
    She stops and turns to me. “You were right, but I’m not sure I’m ready to lose their support yet.
    That’s part of the reason I’m here, though. To learn to be a bit more independent.”
    If this is more independent, I’d hate to see what it was like before. My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out. “It’s me today.” I laugh, but the smile falls off my face when I see the number.
    Ice water flows through my veins. I consider not answering, but I haven’t seen that number on my caller ID in over three years. “I’m sorry … I have to take this.
    “Of course!” Lexi waves and continues toward the stairwell. “See you tomorrow!”
    I lean my back against the wall and take a deep breath, unsure if I’m ready to face what’s on the other side of the phone. My curiosity wins out. “Hello?”
    “Carol Ann.”
    My mother’s voice slams into my head, taking every ounce of confidence I’ve built up since coming to Southern. “Yes.” My voice is tentative. How did she get this number? I changed it when I moved away.
    “It’s your momma.”
    I want to say I know , but my mind is too muddled.
    “I’m sick, Carol Ann.”
    My breath sticks in my chest. My mother is the healthiest woman I know. When I was younger, the few times she was sick she went to work anyway. Her philosophy trickled down to her children.
    The Hunter children didn’t stay home from school unless they had a fever over one hundred and two.
    “I didn’t want to call you, but your father insisted.” Her voice has always been gravelly from years of smoking, but there’s a raspy tone I’m not used to hearing. My father’s voice is muffled in the background, encouraging her to continue. “They say it’s not good. I only have a couple of months.”
    I’m not sure what to say. I’m standing in the busy hallway of the administration building, students streaming past me, and my mother has just told me she’s dying. I know I should feel something, but there’s nothing.
    “Your father thought you should know.”
    “What is it?” That’s an odd way to ask, but it’s the first thing that pops into my head.
    “Lung cancer.” She laughs, but it sounds like a bark when she starts to cough. “Guess you were right after all.”
    Back in fourth grade, we learned about the dangers of cigarette smoking from our DARE officer.
    When I went home and begged my mother to stop smoking, worried her lungs would turn black like the ones in the photos he showed us, she told me to mind my own damn business. My feelings had been hurt for days, and I’d be justified to say I told you so , but the words stay deep in my chest.
    “Okay.” I know I should say something else. Feel something else.
    “All righty then. That’s it.” And then there’s silence. She’s hung up.
    I stay propped against the wall, not trusting my now shaky legs. Of course, she’d call me out of nowhere in the middle of the day and drop this bombshell on me. She hasn’t said the one thing I’ve been waiting to hear since the day I drove out of Shelbyville: I’m sorry .
    But she’ll never be sorry. She may have admitted I was right about smoking, but she’ll never admit that she treated me like dirt when I left home.
    The truth hits me now, why I feel nothing at her news. She may be dying now, but she’s been dead to me for three years.

Chapter Eight
    When I walk across campus at three forty-five, I see Lexi standing next to the eight-foot-tall statue of President Andrew Jackson. Other than country music, he’s Tennessee’s claim to fame. Southern has several images of him scattered across the campus.
    Lexi wears a classic gray tweed skirt and jacket, an ivory blouse underneath, and a pair of three-inch-heeled black pumps. Her blonde hair is pulled into a French twist. I considered going casual so I’m now thankful I went with a business