Free Don't Let Go by Sharla Lovelace Page A

kind of thing when you go off to college.”
    “Eating on the couch?” she said, throwing her arms over her head in a contorted stretch I’d probably need help to get out of. “I’m pretty sure you can still do that if you want.”
    I smirked. “Cute. You know what I mean. It’s been just you and me for a long time, Bec. I’m gonna miss you.”
    She shrugged and finger-combed her crooked hair back. “Well, who knows,” she said, hugging a pillow with a lazy smile. “Maybe I won’t go anywhere.”
    Tiny bells rang in the back of my brain. Ones that had been poised and ready to ring for months now over the lack of college application enthusiasm.
    I licked my lips. “Meaning?”
    “Meaning—maybe I won’t go anywhere,” she repeated, finding that broken record again.
    “So, have you heard back from any of them?” I asked, fully aware of the answer since I got the mail every day.
    “No, but it’s early,” she said. “Besides, there’s always Community College if nothing else.”
    I felt my eyebrows raise. “For an associate’s degree, Becca. For summer courses. You can’t get a master’s or even a bachelor’s degree there. For the level of teaching that you want—”
    “Here we go,” she said, pulling the afghan off and sitting up.
    “Here we go?” I echoed. “It’s a simple conversation, Bec, and a legitimate one. You graduate in less than six months.”
    “Totally aware of that,” she said, nodding. “Believe it or not, they actually mention that once or twice at school.”
    “Don’t get smart with me,” I said, feeling the tide go out. “All I’m doing is asking what the status is on your college plans. A lot of kids already have it planned out by now.”
    “And—I don’t,” she said.
    “I thought it was teaching.”
    “I don’t know anymore,” she said.
    I frowned. “But it’s always been teaching.”
    She rubbed at her face. “Oh, my God, Mom, have you ever been undecided on anything ever in your life? Has everything always just fallen in place for you?”
    I blinked at her, stunned, before a laugh worked up from my chest. “Are you serious?”
    “Whatever.”
    Becca stood and carried her TV tray back to its designated place as the show came back on, and headed toward the stairs.
    “The show, baby, it’s back—”
    “I’m done,” she said, waving a hand halfheartedly. “I’m—gonna go read or something. Supper was good.”
    I watched her trudge up the stairs in her socks, shoes probably discarded in the kitchen. I kicked myself for ruining the night with logic. I was already missing the good vibes and warmth of hanging out with her.
    “I love you, Bec.”
    “Love you too, Mom,” she said quietly before the house swallowed her up.
    The photograph of her and Harley looked at me from the side table, and my eyes went to the park painting from there. Has everything always just fallen in place for you?
    Wow.
    I got up and walked upstairs, passing Becca’s room and mine, going to a door that was seldom acknowledged anymore. I opened it, instantly breathing in the old familiar smells, as charcoal and paper and mostly dried-up oils wafted up into my senses. My art closet, easels hanging obediently on their hooks, drawers of supplies sitting unused, and huge portfolio envelopes of charcoal drawings leaned together in stacks.
    I licked my lips as my fingers twitched, itchy to pull things out and explore. But to what end? Something else to fill up time I didn’t have? I closed the door. I had a business to run now.

Chapter 6
     
    A whole day with no drama.
    No Becca tantrums—she got up and fixed herself some Pop-Tarts and headed off to school. No Johnny Mack canings. And no Noah sightings. It felt almost normal. And had me feeling just skippy enough to hit Ruthie up on her night out offer. Why not, I thought. It had been forever since I’d been out to eat with anyone except Becca—well, unless you counted the pizza and beer with Patrick. I didn’t count that,