Free A Mother's Homecoming by Tanya Michaels Page B

a strong drink. “Pamela Jo told me something unexpected tonight.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œShe’s an alcoholic.”
    His mother pointed the spoon at him. “Possible ammo against her in case she ever tries to take Faith.”
    He scowled, a little irritated that his mom’s immediate reaction was how to use the information to her advantage.
Technically,
my
advantage.
She was only trying to protect him and Faith. Still … “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. She’s not after custody.” Hell, he’d practically had to beg to get her to agree to half an hour with their daughter, which reminded him all too painfully of when Faith had been a baby. When he hadn’t been busy trying to appease his parents, he’d been trying to cajole his wife into taking an interest in her own child.
“I’ll change her diaper, but wouldn’t you like to hold her afterward?”
    â€œBesides,” he told his mom, “she’s a
recovering
alcoholic. She mentioned looking for AA meetings while she’s in town. That sounds like pretty responsible behavior to me.” It wasn’t as if she’d been doing lines ofcoke on her aunt’s front porch. “I was just surprised to hear that she’d had problems drinking because of her mother. She was always so embarrassed and angry about Mae, I figured Pamela Jo would be the last person in the world to hit the bottle.”
    Gwendolyn shrugged. “You hear statistics about children of abusive or alcoholic parents being more likely to become abusive or alcoholics themselves. I’m more surprised that she confided something so personal.” The critical edge in her voice was unmistakable.
    â€œYou have an overactive imagination,” he scoffed, aware that
imaginative
was not how most people would characterize Gwendolyn Shepard. “We spoke briefly on her aunt and uncle’s front porch. It was by no means an intimate chat.”
    â€œGood,” his mother said unapologetically. “Because the last thing you need is to get involved with that woman again!”
    â€œMimosa is more likely to be wiped off the planet by an asteroid,” he assured her wryly. “We’re … strangers now. Who don’t much like each other.” He’d been exasperated by Pamela Jo’s reminders to call her Pam, as if she could erase the past and make herself a different person just by shortening her name.
    But she
was
a different person, wasn’t she? One who’d apparently developed and fought an addiction he’d known nothing about. What about the other details of her life? Had she, like Nick, remarried? Where did she even call home these days?
    He only knew one thing about her absolutely. Pam had given him Faith, for which he would always be grateful. And he wouldn’t breathe easy again until Pam left Mimosa.

Chapter Seven
    By the time AA ended, the sun had fully set. The bob-whites that had been singing when Pam had parked her car an hour ago had been replaced with the harmonious buzz of insects and the low hoot of a distant owl. Even though it was dark, she’d decided to visit Mae’s grave. The idea had come to her during the meeting, when she’d been thinking what a waste it was that alcoholism was probably the strongest bond she and Mae had ever shared. She knew that if she waited until morning, Ed or Julia would probably insist on coming with her, wanting to be there for her, but she preferred to do this alone.
    Pam had seen big, formal cemeteries before that were gated and locked up after a certain hour. But Mae had been buried in the small patch of graveyard alongside the old Baptist church, which had been a one-room schoolhouse many decades before and had gradually lost a fair amount of its congregation to newer churches in the area. Anyone could park at the church and walk between the headstones.
    The uneven parking lot was empty at this hour, and Pam