Chapter 6: Mother's Love

George ran to the house in a panic. A million worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind, visions of blood, chalk-lines, his mother, dead. He burst through the open threshold expecting to see a scene out of a bloody cop drama. Instead he could hear is mother's distraught voice tearfully giving someone a description of George. He followed the voice to the kitchen where she was listing off George's physical attributes to a young patrolman while another was examining the pile of smashed dishes on the floor next to the breakfast table.

As he came into view Jessica gasped, leapt from her chair, and smothered him in a motherly embrace.

Sobbing, she cried, "Thank God, oh thank God!"

George was relieved but confused. A moment before he had been imaging the worst and now, while relieved, he wondered what could have happened to put his mother in such a state. Had they been robbed? Were his sisters alright?

In any case, his mother's tight hug was making him uncomfortable and he disengaged from her as gently as he could. "What happened?" he asked.

She wiped her bleary eyes as she answered, "Someone ... someone broke in. I thought ... I came home..." she visibly took hold of herself and with forced calm said, "I walked in and saw all this and called for you. When you didn't answer I feared the worst."

Burglarized? He had only been gone a couple of hours, three tops. He scanned his surroundings for signs that the house had been ransacked, but the only damage had come from his earlier romps with Dawn.

Then it hit him. That was what she was referring too, he and Dawn had left the house to go shopping without cleaning up the disaster left behind after their last escapade in the kitchen. The pantry had been almost completely emptied, the sink was filled with dirty pots, and even though the perishables had been put away, most of the food he bought was sitting around the kitchen in flimsy grocery bags.

"W-what did they steal?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Just a few of your father's clothes. I don't understand what someone would want with them though. They must be over ten years..." Jessica paused as she realized what George was wearing, "George, where did you get those clothes?"

"I, uh, borrowed them from your closet," he replied sheepishly. There was no use in being coy, she would put the two and two together on her own, but George couldn't help it. He knew this wasn't going to end well.

Her expression began to change as she started to get a glimmer of what had really happened. Her lips stiffened into a thin frown, her soft brown eyes narrowed, and her face went from hot anger to hurt to disappointment. Despite her obvious disapproval she asked calmly, "George, please tell me why you would..." she stopped.

George felt Dawn's gentle hands wind their way around his arm. She looked at Jessica square, not flinching or embarrassed, merely making her presence known. She exuded a quiet bravery, at peace with the fact that this could not be avoided. George was in trouble and she was putting herself in the line of fire. George was sure that if she only knew how terrifying his mother could become when she was truly angry, she'd be shaking in her booty shorts. However, he noticed that Dawn had traded in her much too short shorts for a pair of capris, along with a bra. She was definitely the smarter of the two of them, he thought.

"I see. Officers," she said quietly, "you can go now. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"Ma'am, are you sure this is your son?" asked the officer who had been taking down George's description. He stared at his notepad, then back up to George with a confused look on his face.

She merely scowled at him.

Not needing to be told twice, the two men headed for the door. One of them put a hand on George's shoulder and whispered, "Good luck." The sentiment didn't make him feel any better.

Jessica moved to the stove, where a kettle of water was beginning to steam. "Would you like some tea?" she asked quietly.

George was too petrified to answer, but Dawn immediately stepped forward. He screamed in his head Don't take the tea! She's going to tear us a new asshole! Don't take the tea!

"Yes, thank you, I would love some," said Dawn. George cringed.

Jessica's hands were shaking as she reached for two mugs from a nearby cupboard. "How do you take it?" she asked.

"Um, however you take it. I have not had much tea."

Jessica began to pour, but the heavy kettle slipped and splashed boiling water on her hand. She dropped the mug and it smashed to the floor with a sharp ceramic shatter. "Goddamnit!" cursed Jessica as she nursed her scalded hand. She knelt down to pick up the pieces.

Dawn immediately threw her purse on the table and moved to help with the cleanup. George was tempted to help as well, but he knew from experience that when his mother was this pissed he should keep his distance and wait for her to tell him what to do. He noticed that some of the contents of Dawn's purse had spilled across the table. There was a half-used Chapstick, a few dollars with some change, and a few crumpled gum wrappers. There were all typical things George knew would be in a woman's purse. But what truly surprised him was the book that Dawn had stashed inside earlier. It was a collection of stories by H. P. Lovecraft. He thought it was an odd selection for her first read, but figured she was probably mislead by the author's name.

The women finished cleaning up the mess in silence, until Jessica added a very curt, "Thank you." She went back to making the tea and Dawn quietly moved to the kitchen table and sat down. George sat next to her as far from his mom as he could get.

"So, I'm George's mother, Jessica. And you are?" she said as she finished making the tea and placed a mug in front of Dawn. Her anger over the situation was barely hidden behind a thin veneer of civility.

"It is very nice to finally meet you Mrs. Everhart. My name is Dawn," she said as she noticed the contents of her purse spewed across the table. She scrambled to cram everything back inside.

"Dawn, what?" asked Jessica as she sat down.

Dawn's face turned ghostly white as she struggled to come up with a satisfactory answer. George's mind went into overdrive as his eye's darted around the room for a something to remind him of a name. Suddenly, he caught sight of the book Dawn had been trying to push back into her purse. He just blurted out, "Lovecraft! Dawn Lovecraft." He regretted it as soon as he said it. How cliché could you get? But it was out there now, and there was no explainable way of taking it back. Under the table, Dawn's hand crawled into his. She didn't look directly at him, but he could tell that she approved.

"That's an ... interesting name," said Jessica as she sipped her tea. "Well, George, I guess if I'm going to really understand why you decided to freak me out like this, you'd better start from the beginning."

George sighed heavily as he searched his thoughts for a place to begin. As he hesitated, Dawn started to explain, "Well, you see, I was..."

Jessica cut across her, "Thank you Miss Lovecraft, but if you don't mind I would like to hear his explanation first."

Dawn deflated in her chair and squeezed George's hand tightly. She was beginning to understand what George already knew, his mom was nobody to bullshit. He entwined his fingers with hers and gave her a gentle squeeze. You're worth even this, he thought.

"I was at work," he started, "I was having a really shitty day. I was late, Rocko punched me in the face, and Linda made me stay for the late shift."

"Wait, Rocko punched you? Why?" said Jessica, a look of concern momentarily breaking through her anger.

"Why does Rocko do anything? Because he's a fucking jerk, that's why." The memories of that day aroused a fury inside of George that he had forgotten about since Dawn's emergence, but he hadn't meant to test the limits of his mother's understanding at the moment. Jessica wasn't fazed by his harsh language. Instead she cursed something under her breath.

"Anyway, I was sitting by myself, just like I always do, thinking about how much I hated my life. I thought about quiting. I ... I thought about ... lots of things, when Dawn walked in."

Dawn stayed quiet as this was the first time she had heard George speak of the events leading up to the discovery of her vessel. She hung her head low and locked her eyes on their joined hands. She caressed his index finger with her own.

"She didn't work there or go to school there, but all she wanted was a swim, and I needed some company. So, I let her in. We talked for a while. She told me about herself. She's from Phoenix, she just graduated high school, she was looking into colleges, and ... she liked me." Dawn's hand squeezed his like she would never let go. Jessica listened intently and said nothing.

"I like her," he glanced over at Dawn and made a quick, meaningful, eye contact. "She's new in town and needs a place to stay. So I let her stay here. And, I don't want her to leave."

"I see," said Jessica as she reached an understanding. She turned to Dawn, "So is that your scam then? You find someone vulnerable, then get a few nights under a roof, steal everything of value and move on?"

"N-no that is not..." cried Dawn. George stopped her. Now he was angry, and he didn't care if it was his mother who said it or Adolf Hitler. She had no right.

"Mom, I know I fucked up. And I'm sorry for that. You can yell at me, punish me, ground me till the end of time, but don't talk to her that way." It was all he could do not to scream at her, but Dawn's touch kept him grounded and prevented him from saying something he would probably regret later. "If you have any faith in me at all, you'll trust me that she isn't like that."

"And you know this, how?" she asked incredulously. "I love you, but we both know that you aren't very experienced when it comes to this. For all you know she could be on the run, or worse!"

"So far, all she's done is be polite to you! You're always telling me to see the good in people, to give them the benefit of the doubt. Why is it any different when I finally bring a girl home?"

"Oh c'mon, George! Who goes across the country, by themselves, without some plan as to where they are going to stay? I suppose she doesn't have any money either. I taught you to be smarter than that."

"First of all, she has no family, she grew up in an orphanage. Secondly, I don't have any money either. Only what you gave me, and she hasn't so much as looked at it!" He took a sharp breath to calm himself. "I understand why you are upset with me, but why are you taking it out on her?

Jessica looked away from him. She looked ashamed and confused, but still very angry. "Fine, in the interest of finding out why my kitchen looks like the aftermath of a natural disaster, let's assume you're right and move on."

Don't say something you'll regret he thought. He found it impossible to hide his scowl. "Fine. She spent the night, the next day we hung out and got hungry. We were looking for something to eat but there wasn't much, so we got a little creative." He paused as he struggled to keep his explanation strictly PG, "But we got carried away. I had meant to clean it up before you got back. I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow, so I wasn't worried about it. Why are you home so early anyway?"

"That investment I had been tracking turned out to be a bunch of bullshit. Run by two college kids who were trying to run a scam, so I came home early. I figured you would be lonely here by yourself, so I was going to surprise you. I didn't realize you had found ways to ... entertain yourself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked pointedly.

"Nothing," she said with a dismissive wave. She took another big sip of her tea.

George continued, "As I was saying, I remembered that you asked me to go food shopping, so we went this afternoon. But I didn't have any clean clothes that would fit me. I found these in your closet. I'm sorry, I didn't know ... that you still kept his things. I should have asked."

Jessica looked away in an attempt to hide the sudden swell of emotions that made her begin to tear up, "Yeah, well, if you would do your part and keep your room cleaned up, and put your dirty clothes in the laundry room, you wouldn't need to go through my closet."

"You know, you're right," he admitted. She was trying to change the subject away from what was really bothering her, George could tell, but she echoed what George had only recently come to realize. "I need to take better care of myself, and my things. I will, from now on."

"So, thats it," said George, "after we finished shopping we dropped off the food and went to Walt's for lunch. Then we stopped at a store on the way back. When I saw the police car, and your car, I thought something really terrible happened. I bet I was just as freaked out as you were."

"Well, I didn't think about it that way." She took a deep breath along with another sip of her tea. "Maybe I overreacted a little. I just ... when I saw the house like this ... and you weren't around ... I suppose I should have noticed that your car wasn't here, but I just panicked." she wiped a tear forming at the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry mom, I didn't mean to scare you. Things have happened kinda fast around here. I wasn't thinking."

"Alright," said Jessica, her anger dissipating, "you are going to clean up this mess though, right?"

George nodded.

"Okay. I'm sorry I scared you and I'm sorry I overreacted. I should have had a little more faith in you." She reached for Georges hand from across the table and gave it a reassuring pat, before finishing her tea. "Now, George, will you leave the room please? Miss Lovecraft and I need to have a chat."

George and Dawn cast quick nervous looks to one another. "Um, why?" asked George.

"If I'm going to let a stranger stay in my house, I'll need to interview them first. I think thats fair, isn't it?"

Dawn squeezed George's hand so tightly he thought his fingers might pop off. He had faith that Dawn would be okay, but he hadn't planned on throwing her to the wolf so soon. He stroked her hand reassuringly, "I'll be upstairs then."

He leaned over and kissed Dawn on her temple, then he stood and headed for the stairs. He made a lot of noise as he pounded his way up, and shut his bedroom door, but it was only so that his mother would believe he was out of earshot. He moved back down the stairs very slowly and quietly, until he was sitting on the bottom step. With his new body, moving silently was much easier. He couldn't see them, but he could hear them perfectly.

He could hear his mother getting herself another cup of tea. "How's your tea?" asked Jessica.

"Oh!" She sipped fast, "Wow, this is delicious! What did you put in it?"

"Just some milk and a little honey. I have a cup or two every night. It helps me unwind."

They sat in silence for a few moments, save for the sound of tea cups rattling on saucers. It seemed neither knew how to begin. In one corner was the reigning female champion in George's life, and in the other was the challenger threatening to disrupt the status quo. His mother had always tried to encourage him to be better, to get out in the world and mix it up, to chase his dreams. But to have the fruits of her encouragement sitting across the table from her must have been quite a shock. George wasn't sure for whom he felt more sympathy: Dawn and her inexperience, or his mother with her own.

"Well then, I'll just come out and ask it. Are you two sexually active?"

George would have spit out his tea if he were drinking it. Dawn however, seemed unaffected, "Yes, we are."

"Are you using protection?"

"Yes." George forgave her for telling a half-truth. The protection she was speaking of came from no normal means of prophylactics. "And there is no worry of disease, George was my first."

"You'll pardon me if I find that hard to believe."

Another uncalled for remark. Why was she acting so cruel? There was silence for a few moments, George could hear Dawn sipping her tea again. "There is nothing that I can say that will make you believe me at this point. But I think that you will find, in time, that I am trustworthy."

Another pause. He heard Jessica stand up, along with a frustrated sigh. He could hear her fumbling with some dishes in the sink. Then she stopped, "You know, I really thought this would be easier. I've always wanted George to find a nice girl. It's just, George has been through a lot. Not just with the teasing and the whole embittered geek thing he has going on. I mean real trauma."

"And you think, that I am going to build him up with false affection, and then leave him?"

"It isn't fair to assume that. But that's how I feel. I can see how he looks at you. I haven't seen him act like that ... well, ever. If you take that away from him I'm afraid I'll lose him forever.

I'm not foolish enough to think that I can stop you two from going down whatever road you've already chosen. But please, if you aren't a hundred percent serious about this, leave now. I'll blame it on me, that I drove you away. I'd rather that he hate me then have whatever is left of his soul be crushed by a passing fling."

Dawn paused to sip some more tea before answering, "Mrs. Everhart, I appreciate your caution and your obvious concern for George's well-being. I wish ... I wish I had a mother who cared for me like that. But George isn't some scam to me, or a fling, nor is he a guy I can change if I work hard at it." Her voice began to crack as she became more impassioned. "I love your son. I will always love him," George could tell that she was trying very hard not to cry. "P-please believe me."

Hang in there, thought George. His heart ached to be with her.

"Have you told George, that you love him?"

"Yes," whispered Dawn.

The dishes Jessica was washing made louder clinking noises, like they were being pushed around forcefully. "Then there's no turning back now. What did he say?" said Jessica, defeat evident in her voice.

"He didn't say anything, but, he cried."

"Wow," she sounded genuinely astonished, "that's way more than I've ever got out of him."

"What do you mean?"

"I must have told him that I loved him a thousand times, but he always waves me off. No 'thanks', or 'I know', or 'I love you too'. It's like he thinks I'm just kidding. But you actually made him cry?"

"Yes. He wouldn't let me say it at first, but I felt like I had to. He needed to know. And then I said it and he broke down. I may not understand why George feels the way he does, but I do understand what he is feeling. I know how much it means to him to hear that we love him. I would never say it unless I really meant it."

Jessica was moving around the kitchen now, opening and closing cupboards as she put food away. "You know, I can't remember the last time I saw George cry, or laugh, or smile."

"Mrs. Everhart, why does George have such a hard time telling someone he loves them?"

George panicked. Please don't tell her, mom! She'll never look at me the same way again! Please don't tell her about dad!

Jessica stopped roaming around the kitchen and sat down. There was a pregnant pause as she searched for a way to explain. "George's father, Henry... ," she said sadly, "he died a while back. Let's just say, it had a profound impact on George. He was only eight at the time."

Dawn started to ask something presumably, but Jessica stopped her, "It really isn't for me to say. It should be him who tells you, not me."

George, on the verge crashing the conversation, felt a sudden wave of relief.

"Anyway, after that he changed. He used to be so happy, he was a handful let me tell you. He and his father were so close, more like best friends than anything. And when Henry died, much of George died with him. I tried everything I could think of to help him: therapy, drugs, I even remarried ... nothing worked."

George remembered all of her attempts to bring him out of his depression after the death of his father. The therapy sessions didn't help because he didn't want them too. The various psychologists and "spiritual healers" wanted him to accept his father's death as something that had to happen, something that made sense, something that would all go away if he let it. The drugs only made him stop feeling, and that hurt even more. And his step-father stopped showing an interest in him when it was clear that George would never accept him as even a poor substitute for his real father.

"Haley and Corina would freak out if they knew the George of old. Haley has a big mouth, but her little jabs are nothing next to George's nuggets of wisdom." He heard her sip her tea and balk, "Would you like some more tea, hon? Mine is cold." Jessica got up and fumbled with the kettle some more. "You know, it's really sad, I don't think George has ever told his sister's that he loves them."

"But, I can tell that he wants to say it. It is on the tip of his tongue. But then he gets this pained look on his face, like ... like..."

"Like someone died."

"Yeah."

Jessica sat back down with fresh tea. "I've seen that too. I think, I'm not sure but I think, that he associates love with loss. If he admits that he loves someone, even for a second, they'll leave him. I'm his mother so I know he loves me, even if he never says it. I can only imagine what its like for you, to put yourself out there and not have it returned."

"He will say it when he is ready. I have only known him for a few days, but one thing that I know for certain is that he feels more deeply than either of us can imagine. All he lacks is the courage to show it."

Another pause. "I think you're right," said Jessica. She chuckled lightly. "I have to admit, I think I might have been wrong about you. When you walked in my first thought was of all those girls I grew up around, who got any guy they wanted just by turning off their brains and hiking up their skirts. But I should have more faith in George. He would never settle for a girl like that."

"Thank you Mrs. Everhart," the sincerity evident in her trembling voice. "Do you think, we could start over?"

"I think we should. I'm Jessica Everhart, George's mother. It's very nice to meet you."

"I am Dawn ... Dawn Lovecraft, I am George's girlfriend. It is an honor to finally meet the woman who raised such a wonderful son."

That's my girl, he thought.

The topic strayed away from George after that, focusing on Dawn's fictional background. Believing they would be finished soon, he headed back up the stairs quietly to wait in his room. The last thing he heard before he closed his door was, "So, why don't you use contractions?"

"Um, I do not know, I just..."

George quietly closed the door to his room and paced back and forth as he waited for them to finish their chat. Dawn had passed the test of his mother's wrath with flying colors, though he wasn't surprised. He believed Dawn could do anything, and not just because of her powers. She had a way about her that disarmed everyone. You couldn't hate her, even if you wanted too. She wasn't shallow or petty, or self-centered or rude. Even in the face of outright hostility she never stopped being thoughtful and genuine.

He was more surprised by the way his mother had acted. Sure, the kitchen was post-apocalyptic, and maybe he should have thought twice about going through her closet. But to freak out at Dawn for just being there, his mother had always been much more rational than that. He had always thought that, for a mother, she was pretty cool. She kept her music tastes current, played video games; she even cussed in front of George without so much as an apology. So why had she lost it so completely when she found out that he had gone into her closet? Maybe there was something there that she didn't want him to find, something other than his father's clothing.

Bah! What am I thinking? This is my mom, not some Columbian drug trafficker he thought. She's probably upset that I got into Dad's old clothes. It probably reminded her of how much she misses him. But the idea that his mother was hiding things from him was intriguing, and alarming. He had always been too preoccupied by his own drama to worry much about her. She always seemed so poised and strong. But maybe there was more going on that he had been too self-absorbed to notice. Maybe she was also in pain. Lonely, just like he had been.

In any case, it was an odd thing for George to hear them talking about him that way. He always believed that his mother had his best interests at heart, but he could have never imagined the depth of her concern. Had he really been so callous as to disregard his mother's love? He realized that he had made the same mistake with his mother that he had with his father. He had taken her for granted. But this time it was worse. Not only had he assumed that she would always be there, he had downplayed her affection for him in an effort to shield himself from more pain. The only upside was that she was still alive. There was time to make things right.

He ruminated over the situation for an agonizing hour before plopping down on the bed. He hadn't been tired up to that point, but the new bed's heavenly comfort lulled him into a dreamy haze. He closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to spend the night with Dawn in the cloud-like wonderland he had wished into being. He could almost see her lightly tanned skin glistening with sweat, hear her melodious voice crying out in ecstasy, smell the tea-like scent of her hair as it fell around him, feel her entire body shiver out of post-orgasmic euphoria. Just thinking about being close to her was enough to make him hard. He rubbed his member casually as he dreamed of Dawn lying next to him, kissing him like he needed to be kissed, loving him just because he was him, and nobody else. He was asleep before he even realized it, drifting off into a dream involving Dawn, a sandy beach, a hammock, the sunset, and gently lapping waves.

The wind, the salty mist, the cold, they bit his face and eyes as he shot at breakneck speed across the water. Exhilaration ... invincibility ... freedom. They were all that mattered. Speed, more speed. The waves couldn't stop him. Hit them harder, go faster, don't stop.

Too fast ... too hard ... the sea always wins.

A wave ... too large. No control. A dull thud, a loud crack. Where is he? Where is dad?

There ... face down. The sky is gray, the sea is gray. So why is the water red?

Save him. You can do it. Grab his hand, pull him up. Swim, goddammit, swim.

Too heavy ... too rough ... too cold. Can't do it. Going under, water everywhere, can't breath.

Get to the boat. Almost there. Just a little farther.

Arms, legs, cramping. Lungs heaving, choking. Let go ... he's dead ... you can't help him.

Never give up ... never stop ... invincible ... free...

You'll die ... let go ... you tried ... it's over...

Hand slipping.

Wake up ... help me ... I need you...

Too heavy ... too cold ... need air ... I'm sorry...

Fingers slide free ... he's gone ... into the black.

Get to the surface ... and breathe ... but not live.

George broke the water's surface, sat up straight, and choked violently on air. He was awake, back in his room, his old room.

No. Was it a dream? Where is Dawn? It couldn't have been a dream. Please tell me it wasn't a dream!

His mother opened the door just a crack, and whispered, "George? Are you awake? You can come back down now."

George was soggy and cold. "Wei-what?" he asked shaking.

"I said, you can come back now. Dawn and I are finished. Are you OK? You're sweating."

Dawn wasn't a dream, he had awoken from a nightmare. George fell back as relief once again washed over him. "I ... I'm OK. I'll be right down."

Jessica opened the door all the way and entered. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Honey, did you have the dream again?"

He didn't answer. But his mother knew. "You haven't had that dream for long time."

He was embarrassed. He was a grown man, and was fiercely loved by the most amazing creature in all the universe, yet he just had an old nightmare. "I get it every once in a while, when dad comes up in conversation. It sneaks up on me. I was feeling alright when I dozed off but, for some reason..."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He sat up straight, "Not really. There isn't much to say. Same old stupid dream, I woke up just as I broke the surface just like last time."

Jessica looked like she wanted to say so many things, but they had all been said. "You know that ... I don't blame you? Right?"

George said nothing. He knew she didn't. She never had. But sometimes he wished she would. He wanted her to hate him for letting go, for being stupid, for being weak. For so long he had felt like it was no more than he deserved. She was the one person in the world who had every right to give up on him. But she didn't. While others feared him, loathed him, and took pleasure from his pain, she remained loyal, true, and hopeful. It would have been so much easier to give in to grief long ago, but she wouldn't let him.