Caught in Us (Caught Series Book 4), Kacey Shea [top 50 books to read .TXT] 📗

Yours always,

Alicia

4

Alicia

Present Day

“Hey, Mom.” I step into the sunroom of my parents’ house. Simon is upstairs with Matthew getting settled in one of the bedrooms. I was surprised my mom wasn’t waiting to greet us at the front door. If not for me, then for her grandson. This is the first time I’ve been home in years, after all. But after talking with Mari and Joanne, my family’s housekeeping staff, I realize why. It’s the reason I showed the boys to our rooms before heading out to find her. “Mom?”

Her head jerks at my voice. She lifts her gaze across the room. Her eyes are bloodshot, her gaze unsteady. “‘Lisha, baby, that you?” She’s drunk. Or hung over. I don’t know which is worse.

My gut clenches with unease. I knew it was bad. My brothers warned me. But hearing and seeing are two different experiences. “It’s me.” I step forward, but our reunion isn’t rushed. Something holds me back from running into her embrace. There’s a fear that maybe she doesn’t want me to. Or maybe it’s the collection of wine bottles that clutter the table. If I’m not careful, I’ll make myself vulnerable to a relapse, and I’ll do anything to avoid that.

Mom isn’t herself. She hasn’t been in a while. It’s something my brothers have been saying since Daddy’s stroke. It’s part of why I always came up with an excuse to not visit. I think she resents me for leaving. I know she still hasn’t accepted the reality of my father’s condition. She’s always been an alcoholic, but by her current state, she’s less functioning than ever.

“When did you get here?” She reaches for the drink cart to her right, picking out two empty glasses and almost knocking them over in the process. She sets them on the coffee table and attempts to fill them, but each of the open bottles of wine offers nothing more than a few drops of liquid. “Let me get you something to drink.” She tries to push onto her feet, but doesn’t gain her balance, falling back into her chair with a grimace.

I step forward but she waves me off, pointing toward the vacant seat across from hers. “Sit. Please. I’ll get Mari to bring something out.” She rings a bell and not two minutes later, Mari appears in the doorway.

“Yes, Mrs. Martin?”

“Bring out our best bottle of merlot.” My mother glances my way. “We’re celebrating the return of my prodigal daughter.”

Only, I don’t drink. Everyone knows this.

Mari shoots me a concerned stare, but leaves to do my mother’s bidding.

“How’s Dad?”

Her gaze cuts to mine, an icy edge to her stare. “He’s wonderful. The nurses love him. Not surprising. He always did have a way with people.”

“Mom.”

“Where’s Matty? Do I get to finally meet my grandson or did you leave him behind?”

Like I would even consider leaving him. “Matthew is upstairs sleeping. It was a long flight.”

“I assume you brought the boy toy along as well?”

“Mother,” I practically scold. “His name is Simon. Please don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh, I’m embarrassing?” She scoffs. “Is that why you refused to come back here? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”

“We are not having this conversation.”

“I just don’t understand. Is there something about being home with your own family you can’t bear?”

“Mom. Don’t. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” But that’s only part of the truth. I ran because I was scared. A little lost. I needed space from everything, and yes, the graduate program was important to me. But that’s not why I stayed so long.

“You left when your father was still in the hospital, Alicia. Surely, you could have deferred a year. Under the circumstances they would have understood.”

She’s right, but at the same time a part of me knows I never would have left. It wasn’t as much about losing out on the Master’s program, but losing myself. “I had to go.”

My mother’s glare turns hard. “And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you for that.”

Her words slice, giving pain to an old wound. The guilt for leaving. The shame for not being a better daughter. But staying wouldn’t have changed anything. If anything, it would have made things worse. Besides, I was dealing with my own shit.

Mari returns with the bottle of wine, already corked. “Pardon,” she says, aware of the uncomfortable tension. “Did you want me to bring this to the dining table?”

My mom straightens her spine and points at the table before her. “No, here is fine.” She doesn’t clear away any of the empty wine bottles, so Mari sets the merlot down and cleans the small tabletop.

My mother doesn’t wait for her to leave the room before filling one of the glasses. She moves to the next glass to do the same. I should ignore her. It’s not as if calling her out will change a thing. Still. It’s so damn frustrating that after everything she still undermines my sobriety.

“I don’t drink. Remember?”

“Oh?” Her gaze lifts, hard and icy. “How would I know? I don’t know anything about you.” She abandons the bottle and brings one of the glasses to her lips, taking in a long sip and not breaking her stare.

I shove to my feet. “I think I’ll go lie down. I’m tired from the flight.”

My mom leans back in her chair, her gaze drifting out toward the wall of windows that showcase the expansive estate. This place used to be full of life, even if it was a little pretentious. My mother used to host fundraisers, lavish parties, and endless social events. But no more. Not since my father’s stroke.

It’s sad that he spent his entire life working and my mother spent hers keeping up pretenses, and for what? They still have the house, wealth, and every extravagance money can buy, but she hides away in this ivory tower refusing to let anyone in. Maybe it’s how she’s able to maintain this state