Disclaimer: I don't own these characters.

XOX MOM

Tim was looking for some bait when he nearly ran into his mother.

He didn't recognize her at first. His head was down, and his lank hair sheltered his eyes.

He was two towns away from Dillon on a day fishing trip with Jason, who was elsewhere in the sporting goods store.

He passed a woman with a little girl calling to her mother about something. Scuse me, he said, brushing by.

When her mother answered, Tim's head snapped up and he froze. He turned to look at them as they moved away.

It was his mother, eight years older than when he'd last seen her tear-stained, bruised face, fresh from the latest in a string of endless fights with his dad.

He'd run to his room to avoid their argument, like he always did. He couldn't recall what started the fight since they fought about everything.

His dad's temper was matched by his mom's strong will; whiskey escalated both. If his dad hadn't hit her that one last time, she might've stayed. Til the next time, anyway.

After Tim went to bed, she packed and left. He hadn't seen her since.

His dad did what he could, but it wasn't nearly good enough, and two years later, he bailed too. It was just Billy and Timmy, for better or worse.

-/-/-/-

Tim walked rapidly. Hey, he called. Mom.

She paused, sensing a familiar tone, but it was a boy's voice in her head, not the deep one she just heard.

Couldn't be. She turned slowly, focusing her green eyes on the grown man down the aisle.

Timmy. Baby. The space closed between them.

She was still beautiful, lean, graceful, with dark hair and handsome features from the Cherokee blood on her father's side. Tim had gotten her looks; there was no mistaking they were mother and son.

He stopped a yard away and gave her an intense, opaque stare, one that could go either way – explosive anger, or retreat. She knew it well from his father.

We needed you and you walked out on us, he said quietly.

It was pretty much life or death, Timmy. Your dad… he was… is a mean man.

And you left us with him… You coulda called or written.

It hurt too much, believe me. Had to be all or nothing. And the clinic …

Tim'd heard rumors she'd gone to a rehab clinic for her addiction.

But I've thought… think about you boys all the time… She hung her head, glancing at the girl.

Tim looked at one, then the other.

This here's your half-sister, Melissa. Melissa, Timmy. She's six, and Timmy is…

Long pause. He looked away, guessing she had no idea.

… seventeen years, 8 months, nine days old.

He bit his lip, trying not to cry. She wasn't lying.

Jason is here. You remember Jay…

Of course, you two were inseparable. Such a sweet boy.

Practically lived at his house after dad left.

She stared at him. What?

After dad left, Tim repeated.

She didn't know.

She staggered backward, leaning against the counter. Her hands moved to her face, now pale as a sheet.

What'd you think he was gonna do? Tim whispered away from Melissa's earshot. He's an irresponsible bastard, no way he could handle us. So he walked out two years after you. Billy raised me since then.

Thought you knew.

She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

Oh my lord, she whispered. That son of a bitch.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting with his sunglasses, looking for Jay.

Look, I better be going. Nice to meet you, he said at Melissa, who couldn't stop staring at him with her hazel eyes.

Timmy, wait. I want to… to see you again, his mother said. And Billy.

What good will that do? Besides, Billy hates your guts. Both you and him. Dad.

Tears welled in her eyes.

And you? You hate me too?

I don't know you enough to hate you, Tim said flatly. Look, you've moved on. Leave it at that.

Tim turned, loping quickly toward the register where Jason was checking out. He stood looking out the window when a clerk ran up to him and handed him a matchbook.

He motioned to Jay that he'd be at the truck.

When Jason got there, Tim was inside, head leaning against the doorframe. His shades hid his eyes; his brow furrowed. He helped Jay in, stowed his chair.

What's with you? You look like you saw a ghost, Street said.

He pulled out of the parking space. In the side mirror he saw his mother lean against a car, her body convulsing. As Melissa watched Tim drive away, she waved at him.

I did, Street. My own.

He handed Jay the matchbook. Inside was scrawled:

713-882-1339

TIMMY PLS

CALL… PLS

XOX MOM

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