She grasped the knob. She gripped it with all the strength within her, until her knuckles turned white and the vein in her neck bulged. I can do this. But even though she kept telling herself that, her feet wouldn't move and her hand wouldn't turn that knob.
Swallowing, she breathed a prayer and then she did it. She pushed open that door. She stepped inside that smokey bar. She stood hesitant in its threshold, breathing in the rancid smell of body odor and alcohol.
She felt the eyes of men on her and her cheeks flared. She ignored them and pressed forward, fingering the worn picture she carried in her pocket.
“Need help, little Missy?” came a gravelly voice somewhere next to her.
She whirled and slipped out the photo. “Actually—yes.” She handed it to him. “Do you know her? Her name is Jaycee Mills.”
The man studied it, gave a rub along his unshaven chin, then nodded his head. “She hangs around here pretty often. Don't really know her, though.” He leaned up and peered over her head. “In fact, that's her over there. Sitting in that corner.”
Reagan followed his finger and froze—taking in the sight, knowing she was the mother that had rejected her. “Thank you,” she whispered, and the next thing she knew she was in the corner and staring down at the woman.
Jaycee was sitting in the lap of a man, facing opposite of Reagan. I can do this, she thought, even though the thought of turning around and running away seemed the most compelling. Reaching out, she touched the thin shoulder.
Her mother's head snapped around and she glared at Reagan, as if irritated that she had been interrupted. Dark, sunken skin circled beneath her blood-shot eyes. Her hair was bleach blond, though the roots were a dark brown.
“Mother?” she breathed very quietly.
The woman blinked. “What?”
Reagan pulled the same photo out and showed her. “I'm Reagan. Your daughter,” she nearly choked over the words.
Sliding off the man's lap, Jaycee looped her arm through Reagan's. “Outside,” she ordered. “We need to talk.”
Reagan swallowed down the pain as they exited the bar. No tearful embrace. No gentle kiss on the cheek. Just a thin arm locked within the crook of her elbow, leading her outside the bar to...talk.
The parking lot was quiet, except for a woman smoking a cigarette at the door. Jaycee pulled her to the side of the building and behind the large garbage bin before she released her. She stared at her for a long moment, before saying gruffly, “How old are you?”
Reagan blinked, surprised by the question. “Eighteen.”
“They said they wouldn't tell.”
Reagan saw the anger cloud her face, reflecting in her eyes. “Who?”
“Your parents. Said they wouldn't tell you about me, but they did.” She swore under her breath. “I didn't want it this way.”
Reagan couldn't fight the tears any longer. They slid down her cheeks, leaving wet trails that glistened. “They didn't tell me,” she gasped. “I found out on my own!”
Her mother's face softened a bit. “Listen, baby,” she soothed. “It's not that I didn't want you to find me. It's not that at all. I'm glad to see you.” As if to put assurance behind her words, she leaned forward and hugged her daughter.
Reagan basked in the feeling of her mother's arms. They were thin and her rumpled clothes reeked of dirt and beer, but just the embrace—mother and daughter—had a way of comforting her soul, filling the desires, meeting the needs, answering the questions, warming her...
“I love you, baby,” Jaycee rasped, still clinging, still touching. “I didn't want to give you away.”
Reagan sobbed into that rumpled shirt, trembling against that thin body. “I know, Mom,” she whispered.
Jaycee pulled back. The moment was broken. And so were Reagan's dreams.
“We can spend time together, Mom. You've made mistakes, but now you can fix them. We can be close—just like I've always dreamed of. We can be like—”
“No.” The word came out hard, cold, passionless.
Reagan gulped in a breath of air, numbness coursing through her, striking even her heart. “What?”
“I said no. I don't have time, hon. It won't work.”
“You just don't want me—”
“This is why I didn't want you to know!” Jaycee's nostrils flared. Fire glared in her eyes. Hatred. Anger. Selfishness...
Reagan sucked in a sob and straightened.
“I don't have time for this. I didn't have time for you as a baby, and I don't have time for you now! I just want left alone. Between Dallas and my job, I just don't got time for anything extra.”
“Dallas?”
Jaycee scowled. “My boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Her face turned bleak. She was giving her up again...for a boyfriend. For a job. For selfishness. The same selfishness that had put her up for adoption eighteen years ago.
Jaycee sighed and bit the edge of her lip. “Listen, babe. I don't want to hurt you—that's the last thing I want to do. But you won't fit in with my kind of life. You need to go home. You just need to forget you ever knew me.”
Reagan stared at the woman. After a long, long pause, she closed her eyes, resting her lashes against her tear-stained cheek. “Mom?” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
Pain ripped through her, knotting in her stomach—sweat in her palms. “Just one more thing. Please.”
There was another pause. “What?”
“Will you kiss me—goodbye?”
Again the pause. Then she could smell her mother—she could feel her mother's touch on her arm—her lips on her cheek, quick, soft and gentle. Almost caring.
Jaycee drew back and scurried away, leaving her daughter alone.
I can do this. I can go home. I can forget. She drew in a rugged breath, the anguish pushing through her. She touched her cheek, still feeling her mother's brief lips.
She tried to ignore the fact that she would never feel them again.