Free Just One Thing by Holly Jacobs Page B

hand himself. He waited and watched until Sam clawed his way back up to the bars, then slowly walked to the other end.

    “I would have given up if it wasn’t for Grid. I would have just sat back and stopped. But he pushed me. The therapists yelled about insurance issues and tried to keep him away. He didn’t listen to them any more than he listened to me. He just kept hammering away at me. He wouldn’t let me quit. I didn’t imagine you giving up and the thought of it pissed me off.”
    I snorted. “You think you know me from whatever this is, but Sam, you don’t know me at all yet.”
    “But you’ll tell me?”
    I wanted to say no. I wanted to let him live with his illusion of me being strong, just like Gracie had. But I knew I’d come too far to lie to him now, either by saying the words or by omitting them.
    Lies of omission were still lies.
    “I’ll tell you. But I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“Lexie, it’s your mother,” Mom announced over the phone late the next afternoon. She’d always started conversations that way, as if I wouldn’t know who she was unless she told me. “I’m coming out for dinner.”
    “Mom, today’s not a good day for me. I’m working on this project—” I’d been stitching a graduation cap into the tapestry. I’d worked on it all day today.
    “Lexie, you and I both know that no day is a good day for you anymore. There haven’t been any good days in a long, long time.”
    That was true a few months ago, but not anymore.
    Mondays were good days.
    It was as if talking to Sam brightened . . . well, everything. I felt the need to work again. I felt . . . I searched for a word. More alive.
    I’d tried therapy, but I’d just ended up sitting across from some bottle-redheaded woman, staring at her and trying not to think about how much money I’d wasted in order to sit and stare at her.
    But at The Corner Bar, for the price of a bottle of Killian’s, I’d found my couch.
    “Mom—”
    “Don’t cook. We’re going out.” She hung up.
    “Great,” I said to Angus. “Looks like I’m going out on a Tuesday.”
    I glanced in the mirror. Then did a double take. I looked . . . well, haphazard. As if I’d taken a shower and thrown on the first clean clothes I’d found, then pulled my wet hair back in a ponytail.
    I probably looked that way because that’s exactly what I’d done. My mother wouldn’t believe I was okay if I didn’t look the part. Marion Jones Morrow was a firm believer in putting on a social-face. “Looks like I’d better do some spit and polishing first.”
    Angus barked.
    “Everyone’s a critic,” I muttered.
    By the time my mother arrived, I had on a pair of jeans that had no holes and a shirt that Conner hadn’t outgrown or Lee hadn’t passed on to me.
    I’d brushed my hair and even put on some eyeliner.
    “Well, you look spiffy,” my mother said as I opened the door for her. “For you,” she added.
    Mom still lived with the hope that someday I’d clean up properly and be wearing clothes I could introduce her to by name. I hated to shatter that hope, so I simply said, ‘Come on in, Mother.”
    She shook her head and remained firmly on the porch. “No. We’re going out. I’m dragging you away from here, at least for a little while.”
    Angus hadn’t even bothered getting up from his seat on the couch. I left him there, grabbed my keys and wallet and stuffed them in my pocket, then flipped the lock on the knob and shut the door. “So, where do you want to go?”
    “To your bar. I assume they have food?”
    I didn’t want to take her to the bar. Maybe it was selfish, but I didn’t want to share it. It was my place. “Maybe we could go into a restaurant in Union City or even Waterford. There’s a restaurant at the old Eagle Hotel. It’s supposed to be fantastic.” The cottage sat about midway between both towns.
    “Or we could go to your bar. I drove by it coming in. Come on, I’ll drive.”
    My mother was a