Chapter 12 — On the Floor
I got as far as standing, and then my legs simply stopped agreeing to hold me, and I went down onto the courtroom floor with my arms around my son.
Two years of held breath came out of me at once.
Every eviction notice I had opened with steady hands so Rory wouldn’t see them shake, every reference that had died on the phone, every dinner I had told him I wasn’t hungry for so that he could have the larger plate — all of it broke loose in the middle of that cold room, and I wept into his small shoulder, which smelled, as it always did, of cheap laundry soap and something sweet underneath, like rain.
“I’m sorry, Rory,” I said.
I could barely get it out.
“I’m so sorry you had to carry that by yourself.
I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep him away from you.”
His arms came around my neck, and his chin rested on the top of my head, and when he spoke his voice was steadier than mine.
“You did keep me safe, Mom,” he said.