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Chapter Fourteen

Monday June 30, 2008

10:28pm

Roger was in bed. Anessa was staying the night with a friend. Bella was nowhere to be seen. Tyson was sat alone at the couch of the TV room when his mother emerged from the upstairs hall, crossing their paths for the first time since their Saturday-night altercation.

The young shepherd had been itching for this moment. He had spent much of the afternoon composing unanswered messages and cursing his mother's interference. Measured, but only just, Tyson rose and turned to face his mother.

"If you're looking for a fight," grumbled Patricia, "save your breath." She looked a mess--gnarled hair and tired limbs.

"Why?" asked Tyson

Patricia tiredly massaged her temple. "Why what?"

"Why did you go and fuck everything up? I know what I'm doing. I don't need you dictating my relationships."

"I don't think you know what you're doing at all, Ty."

The mother shepherd drifted past the couch. "You thought that you were being 'cool.' Dating an older woman. Sneaking around."

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd make a huge deal out of it."

"Oh, of course. It's so normal for you to date a woman older than me."

"You should let me handle my own goddamn business."

"I'm your_mother."_ Patricia's lips curled into a glistening snarl.

Tyson barked a laugh and replied with a shake of his head. "Yeah, a really good one." He smiled incredulously. "You're impossible to talk to."

More white began to show from Patricia's muzzle as her son carried on.

"All you do is treat me like a piece of shit. Unless it's one of those 'one in a million' days."

"Is that what you really think?" asked Patricia.

"Yeah."

Tyson took a deep breath--set himself to really rip into his mother.

Then Patricia's muzzle dipped, and she began to cry.

"I'm sorry . . . Ty," she spluttered pitifully.

The wind left Tyson's sails, leaving him only to stare in disbelief.

Patricia, shielding her face, expelled several weeping breaths before regaining her voice. "If anyone's a piece of shit in this family it's me," she muttered. "I know it. But I can't help it, Ty. I know how you all feel about me."

Frowning, Tyson asked his mother what she was talking about.

"Oh, please," sniffled Patricia, digging a knuckle into the glossy corners of her eyes. "It's obvious that all of you fucking hate me."

"What--"

"Bell won't listen to a word I say. Your father, well--there's nothing left there anymore. We just--"

"What about Nessa?"

"She only sucks up to stay on my good side."

Tyson sighed. "That's bullshit."

"And you--"

"I don't hate you," Tyson grumbled.

"Really_?_"Patricia sounded entirely unconvinced.

"Really," said Tyson. "It's just--" He sighed, not really sure of what he was trying to say.

Without warning, Patricia flung herself at her son, pinning the side of her head to his shoulder. Tyson limply hugged his mother, wondered what the hell was going on and waited for her mood switch to flip again. But his mother only held him tightly.

A long while later, Patricia pried herself from her bewildered son and traipsed down the stairs.

* * *

In the days that followed, Tyson saw his mother off to work with awkward hugs, and when night fell they converged on the couch to talk as a normal mother and son might. The drastic change left Tyson scratching his head. There were no threats. No fights. No bitter sarcasm or mean-spirited jokes. It was more than they had spoken in years, and the young shepherd began to wonder if he had been too hard on his mother all along. But longing thoughts--thoughts of a subdued smile, the growl of a husky voice, beautiful and intelligent golden-yellow eyes, those thoughts wouldn't go so easily.