Momma nodded. “The boxer.”
Mathis Quiroga was destined to be the next middleweight boxing champion of the world. With a flawless record and the majority of his wins by knockout, at the time he reigned, there was nobody who could touch him in his weight class. All of Birmingham acted like they’d given birth to him themselves. They called him “The Birmingham Bomber” and all the local school kids learned about him in history classes when I was growing up. He’d been killed by a tragic blow to the temple by Dominic Ortega aka “Silver Bullet” during a bout in Nashville, Tennessee. I had no clue that Momma had ever known him, but I knew for sure she wasn’t lying. Just hearing his name, the way it made me feel inside, was enough proof to me. He was my father.
“Did he know about me?” I asked.
“No, he was killed in the ring when I was three months pregnant. I hadn’t told him yet because I was still trying to decide what to do. His family would’ve sworn I was trying to trap him since he was on the brink of becoming a champion. I guess I thought they’d convince him that I was using him and he’d dump me.”
“But you two were an item?”
“Oh yeah, a heavy item.”
“How come you never told me?”
“What was the point? He never knew about you and he was no good to you dead.”
Momma was unbelievable.
“It would’ve helped to know that my father was an actual individual, instead of some nameless, faceless person,” I said excitedly. She simply didn’t get it.
“Rayne, I’m not as bad as you think I am and you’re not as bad as you think you are.” She stood, walked up behind me, and embraced me, laying her head on my shoulder. “I do love Truck but I’ve never gotten over Mathis. I’ve acted a fool because of it; I realize that. It was my way of coping with the pain.”
I felt her tears streaking down my arm. “I’m so sorry, Momma.”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve told him. He deserved to know. If I’d been woman enough to tell him—instead of being paralyzed by fear—things might’ve been different.” I’d never heard her sound so weak; so defeated. “He might’ve fought harder if he knew he had a child on the way, or he might not have fought at all, which would’ve been even better.”
“Is that the reason you drink so heavily, too?” I asked her, hoping to get everything out.
“Yes, it’s the reason I do everything destructive.”
Her sobs grew heavier and I turned to take her into my arms. I drifted her back over to the sofa so we could sit down. I cradled her for a moment while she let all of her emotions out. Before I knew it, I’d joined her. Her pain was my pain and I felt bad about everything negative I’d ever said or thought about her. She didn’t need me to chastise her; she needed me to help her.
“You can get help, Momma, if you want to get help.”
“I do, baby. I do want to live again; really live.”
“I’ll get you into a center, Momma. Right away. They’ll make you all better.”
“Thanks, Rayne.”
“No, thank you.” I lifted her face so I could stare in her eyes when I said, “I see everything so much clearer now.”
“I lost my only chance at real happiness. Don’t lose yours.”
We sat there, holding one another, as I pondered her last statement.
Momma had managed to fall asleep in my bedroom. She was totally exhausted from all the tears shed; so was I. I was walking out the kitchen with a tall glass of water when a knock came at my door. I knew who it was before I opened it.
Yardley was a disheveled mess. His eyes were red; a perfect match for mine. Before I could open my mouth, he started rambling.
“I’ve been wandering the streets outside your building for the past two hours, debating about coming up here. Part of me is angry. I can’t understand how you could do this to me. All I’ve ever tried to do is love you. All I want to do is love you forever.”
I bit my bottom lip, but hesitated to say anything. I couldn’t find the words I was searching for.
“If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me and I’ll fix it.”
He put his hand to my face and rubbed my cheek, then my hair.
“Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”