“I don’t want you to, honey. I have to go register with the officer and it’ll take a while. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“I’ll take your jacket,” Barbara said. “I don’t trust the federal system to get anything right, and they’re certainly not going to lose a perfectly good jacket if I can help it. What about your ring?”
“My prison consultant said it’s technically allowed.”
“Those men inside will be melting it for money in a matter of seconds. I’ll hold on to it for you,” Barbara said.
Dale twisted his wedding ring off, and handed it to Barbara with a questioning look in his eye. Evelyn watched as her mother folded her fingers around the ring, then grasped Dale’s hand and squeezed it tight. Dale let his head fall on her shoulder. Evelyn stepped a few paces back, behind the trunk, to give them some space.
She heard them murmuring, and a few minutes later, her father cleared his throat. “Evie?”
“Yeah.” She joined them again.
“It’s time to go.”
She stepped forward and hugged him. “I should’ve asked: Are you going to be all right?”
“Dang straight,” he said. He winked, and kissed a startled Barbara, then he was gone, inside a trailer on the prison grounds.
That evening, back in Bibville, Evelyn headed to the Regis Library, which was quiet, the computer kiosks empty. She sat down in front of one and Googled “Debt counseling Maryland or Delaware.” Three days later, she was leaving an office in Wilmington with two strict budgets and a negotiated payment plan with her credit-card companies. One budget, for now, included a mandate to either increase her hours at the Caffeiteria or get a second job; she knew the Hub, the beer-and-burger place, needed a waitress. The other plan was for when she was, God willing, not living at her mother’s apartment in Bibville and had a better-paying full-time job and was actually covering her own rent somewhere, albeit rent at the laughable level of $700 a month, which would translate into a fold-out couch somewhere in Queens. She was starting now on paying off the bills, some up front, some in steady monthly chunks over the coming years, a slow cleanup of the mess she had made.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
On the Dock
Barbara pushed through the door holding bags from the Food Lion in Easton. Barbara had discovered Juicy Couture sweatsuits as of late and was wearing a peach velour hoodie and sweats, for apparently elastic waistbands were the one upside of being ousted from society.
The doorbell rang long and loud, surprising Evelyn. It was her day off, and she was still wearing pajamas though it was late in the afternoon, watching as Dorothy dissed Rose to Blanche. She couldn’t remember the last time she had heard the apartment’s doorbell. “Evelyn, will you see who’s at the door?” her mother called from the kitchen.
Evelyn opened the door slightly, ready to shoo away the Jehovah’s Witness or whoever it was, but there was a burp of cold air and she felt someone on the other side pushing against her. Through the crack of the door, the top of a head with messy light-brown hair appeared, and—
“Jesus Christ,” said Charlotte, shoving open the door. “You’re actually here.”
Evelyn’s left lip curled up in a smile. “Yes.”
“What the fuck, Ev?” Charlotte lifted a hand as if to hit her. “Is that the Golden Girls theme song?”
“That’s your first question?”
“No. No. Sorry. I was in Annapolis for work, and I thought—I didn’t know where you went. I had no idea where you went, Evelyn.”
Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself. “Did it matter?”
“Well, yes. Your cell phone was disconnected, your Bibville landline didn’t work, your apartment was emptied. What did you think I’d think? Bad shit happens to girls in New York and I was worried.”
“Bad shit did happen to a girl in New York. How did you find me?”
“Alumni office. They once called me at a hotel in Dallas where I was working on a company integration, so it’s really no surprise they found you at a fixed address. Meanwhile, didn’t you think of mentioning to your old friend that you were packing up and leaving the city?”
Evelyn moved to give Charlotte a hug, but Charlotte shrank back. “We didn’t hug at graduation, we aren’t going to hug now. I will bite you. With my sharp little canine teeth. My bladder is about to explode; there are seemingly no bathrooms between Annapolis and Bibville. Can I pee?”
“Evelyn, dear! Who’s at the door?” she heard from her mother’s bedroom—her mother must have slunk in there when Evelyn answered the door—then a crash as her mother rounded the corner too fast. Evelyn turned her head to see her mother, resplendent in a caftan and a hair turban, looking like Elizabeth Taylor after one of her fat-camp sessions.