50
“She is, but she didn’t pass until a couple of years ago.” My gaze followed the gulls coasting on the ocean breeze. I’d moved past the trauma of my childhood, but I didn’t talk about it often, so the words were stiff and rusty. “I told you she died when I was ten because she might as well have. That’s when Dad kicked her out because she’d become a drug addict. I never saw her again after she left. After I was discharged, I searched for her. Didn’t take long to find her death certificate. The chances hadn’t been good that she’d rehabbed and regained her life, but I had to check. So, Dad was a hard-ass, and Mom was a mess—not exactly the American dream.” “Did your mom’s drug problem influence your choice to go into the DEA? To help keep drugs off the streets?” I shrugged. “The only training
- Writer
