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away, leaving me alone with the woman that had once been my mother. Sally and Bill Summers were the only people that had stuck around for the duration.
     
    I had become a pretty permanent fixture in their house, after all—it felt way more like a home than the old house did. I used to pray and pray, night after night, that my mom would come back to me. I don’t do that anymore. After years of unanswered prayers, I started to realize that God had left Painted Rock a long time ago and there was no sign that he ever planned to come back.
     
    “Momma,” I say quietly, gently placing my hand on her shoulder, but she barely even reacts and just continues staring straight ahead of her, at the armchair that was my dad’s customary place. “Momma, I’ve gotta go back to work soon, but I’ll fix you something to eat first, okay? What are you hungry for?” I ask, trying to keep my voice as even and calm as I can.
     
    I had learned the hard way that the slightest hint of tension or pressure would send her into a spin that would end up with her screaming and crying. The good Dr. Moyes has told me that her illness would “last as long as it lasted”. I hadn’t told him that the diagnosis wasn’t a lot of comfort to a fourteen-year-old girl who was now essentially alone in the world.
     
    “Momma?” I ask again, giving her a little nudge to make sure she knows that I’m there.
     
    “Hmmm,” is the only reply I get as she breathes out and the rattle in her chest sounds like a creaky door. I wonder when the last time she’d had any water was—probably early this morning, when I’d managed to get her to take a few sips before I’d left for work.
     
    “How you feeling today Mom?” I ask, walking around the chair to look at her. Although our eyes meet it’s like she isn’t really there, not in any way that counts.
     
    There’s no response and I try to remind myself that there’s no point in feeling disappointed, that it didn’t make sense to expect something would suddenly change as if by magic after so long. “It’s Jake’s birthday soon—you remember Jake Summers?” I ask, kneeling down beside her and holding her dry, scrawny hand in mind.
     
    She doesn’t reply or make any sign that she has the first clue of what I’m talking about. I’d been doing this since the beginning, since her phases of hysteria had stopped and she had lapsed into this state of near coma. I would come home and tell her about my day, talk about the funny things that had happened in class, or the A that I had gotten for my science project.
     
    Of course, she never replied, never laughed at the joke I would tell, or congratulate me on my academic achievements. But even so, it was nice to tell her about it all. It was nice for me to be able to share things with her, even if she didn’t know that’s what was going on.
     
    “There’s so much happening,” I say to her in nothing more than a whisper. “There’s so much I want to talk to you about. Everything is changing, Mom, and I need you.” I try to keep the tearfulness out of my voice.
     
    When there’s no response, I stay there for a few more minutes, wishing that I could feel the comfort I so desperately need from her, but sitting here with someone who isn’t really there just makes me feel even more alone and lost than I already do.
     
    “I’ll go fix you something to eat,” I finally say, and wander into the kitchen, squeezing my eyes shut against the feeling of loneliness that is threatening to overtake me.
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    I let the cool water of the shower wash over me and I finally let the tears come. This is the only place that I will cry, the only place that I can let go of the tight hold I’ve placed over myself. The day after my dad died I vowed that I wouldn’t ever let the Angels see me cry—I’d given them too much power over me already, I wouldn’t let them see how badly I was hurt.
     
    I wouldn’t even let myself go with Jake.