Read Online Random Acts of Trust by Julia Kent - Free Book Online Page A

glad to hear you say that,” she said, her voice cracking, “because that’s exactly how I feel. He’s so strong and he’s so smart, and if he just put his mind to it he could do anything. My goodness, he could—”
    My brain, the half that was screaming, increased the volume by a factor of ten, which meant that the other half of my brain had to keep itself occupied to drown out the sound. I started tapping, absentmindedly, on the bench and found myself dulled, just slightly, by picking a tempo and sticking to it. Was the fact that Sam did the same thing part of why I chose this as a haven?
    Sam . My shoulders loosened, Mom prattled on. I’d reached a point where, even though I didn’t listen to the words, I knew from the tone and from her pauses, exactly when to pretend to respond. I could fake it. Faking it, in fact, was what I was expected to do. If I told her the truth—and trust me, I had tried—she would explode on me. Not go cold and shut me out, though she was good at that too. I mean, she would just flat out explode.
    The handful of times I’d tried it, I’d gotten a rage-filled mother that I never really expected was under the surface. Mom was a guidance counselor with a Master’s in Psychology and Counseling. So, to watch her turn into a fury—a red faced, screaming monster who accused me of not loving her or Evan when I had simply said, “Mom, he’s an addict, and he doesn’t want to get better yet”—well, that shuts you down. That shuts you down damn fast.
    I’d tried once after that. Once. She’d cut me off, turning away, marching out of the room, and then stopping in the threshold and looking back with eyes that were a strange combination of red and black, and a face so cold you would think that she was an executioner. “I don’t ever want to hear you say another word about what your brother can’t do.”
    And that was it.
    The lesson? The truth matters less to some people than the veneer. Sitting here on the park bench, I nodded like an idiot, tapping my fingers and shining her on.
Sam
    As Joe ran off I thought about what he’d just said. For the past four and a half years my entire life had been like walking along the blade of a razor; one slip and the results were deadly. That’s how this worked. When I stood up to my father I took complete control of my life. Except, what no one tells you, is that when you take complete control of yourself you assume complete responsibility , too.
    Responsibility I don’t mind. What I didn’t really get was that, at barely eighteen, suddenly everything that I didn’t realize was going on behind the scenes when it came to the right stuff was all on me .
    Dad might have been an asshole, but he gave me a place to live. Dad might have been a self-righteous prick, but I had a car to drive. And my father might have been a selfish alcoholic with a megalomaniacal streak in him as wide as the path of the Boston Marathon, but when you discover that you don’t even have a car to sleep in after a screaming match where you stand up for yourself, and you come to see that your friends’ parents are the only thing keeping you from living on the streets—that sense of freedom and responsibility loses its expansiveness and takes on the feeling of a stone around your neck.
    Don’t get me wrong—I wouldn’t trade it, ever. I’d rather slip on the edge of that razor blade than go back. But it was times like this, where I was indebted to Trevor and Joe for all these years of help and support, either from them or their parents, where some part of me wavered and wished for more.
    I couldn’t ask for two better friends, and now Joe was asking something of me; to take over his half of the rent, to give Trevor some stability. Offering to front the first six weeks was really kind. For a guy who been a supercilious jerk most of high school, Joe had turned out OK.
    More than OK.
    I turned away after his form was gone and I heard a familiar voice.
    “Sure, Mom.”