Chapter 11: Jude

Without responding, I pressed play. Not even the Beatles were salve to my wounds. I didn't know what I expected; I should have anticipated pain, agony. The pain of my mother's passing. The pain of Portia leaving. The pain of being alone. Yet even though I knew it would come, I hadn't foreseen the way it would wrap its arms around me, dig its talons into my flesh and soul, and tear at me like a starving animal devouring prey. I couldn't escape it, couldn't welcome it, and struggled to handle it. The only time I'd felt any control since my mother died was when I pounded my fists into Chad's face.

Nothing I did for the next three days gave me that same relief. No matter the level of exertion or the menial task at hand, I couldn't release the rage that brewed and bubbled inside.

Then she walked in the door. I hadn't heard the car in the driveway, and her presence in the foyer surprised me, along with the large duffle bag she'd dropped at her feet.