morning.”
Inside the brown bag are a roll of fifties and a prescription bottle of the drug needed to help Mom detox from heroin. Thank you, Shirley. I try not to think about what she sold or what she did for the money. It’s here and I need it and that’s good enough for the moment. I throw everything into the garbage bag and go into her bedroom. The pickings are slim in the clothing department and I toss the less stained and torn clothes into the bag.
“Elisabeth,” Mom says in a whine. “Maybe
we should put it off—by a day or two.”
“We are not putting it off by a day or two, we’re leaving. Where are the keys to the car?”
“I…don’t…know.” Which means she does
know.
I swing the bag full of stuff and knock her liquor bottles off the bedside table. Glass HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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shatters against the wall. “That’s what
Trent’s going to do to your head one of these days. We’re getting out of here!”
Frustrated, I stalk out of the room and
quickly glance toward the spare bedroom. The door is open for once and I freeze. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
I rest my head against the door frame—too dizzy with disappointment to stay upright on my own. On an old coffee table I found near a Dumpster a couple of years ago are several bags of white powder. Smaller baggies and balloons lay on the floor. I can barely whisper the words. “You’re selling heroin.”
Mom shoves me out of the way and shuts
the door. “No. Trent does. I used to let him keep it here overnight at times, but after the night you busted out his windows the police got nosy with him so he brought it here for good. It was the least I could do.”
My fingers open and close. “You busted out the windows of Trent’s car. I took the fall so they wouldn’t send you to prison.”
“Pretend you didn’t see it, Elisabeth. Trent will be mad you know. He thinks you ratted him out to the police.”
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“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I
shout in her face. “Do you not remember the outcome of our last heroin experience?”
Forming a gun with my fingers, I point it to my forehead. “He was going to kill me, Mom. I was eight years old! He pushed the gun against my head and cocked the damned trigger.”
Mom shakes her head too quickly and won’t stop. “No, he wouldn’t have. Your father said he was just trying to scare me and your dad.
Your father said you were safe the whole time.
He swore it.”
How can she lie to herself so easily? How can she continue to turn away from the truth again and again? Then Mom rubs her arm. I stumble back and hit the wall. God, I’m no different. All the signs of a heroin user were there, for weeks if not longer, and I ignored every single one.
But I’m not ignoring the truth, not anymore.
I go into the living room and start throwing crap off the kitchen counter to find her keys.
I’ll drag her out by her hair if I have to. The knob on the front door turns and my heart squeezes and drops. I’ve taken too long and Trent is going to kill me.
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Ryan
BETH BLINKS RAPIDLY WHEN I WALK IN.
Standing in a tiny kitchen, she holds a garbage bag. I’ve never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. Nor have I ever craved to shake someone so badly.
“Going somewhere?” I focus on remaining calm. Beth doesn’t react well to threats or anger or anyone standing in the way of her doing anything.
Beth turns her back to me and throws papers and trash onto the floor. “Get out.”
“Fine with me. Let’s go. We’ve come into Louisville twice for dinner and we have yet to have that date.”
Beth leaves the kitchen and rummages
through a card table. Her hands shake and her face is too pale against her black hair. “I’m not playing, Ryan. Mom and I are leaving today.
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That’s been the plan the entire time, remember?”
“It was.” My eyes dart around the confined room trying to pinpoint the threat that has Beth terrified. Adrenaline pours into my bloodstream, preparing me for the unseen attack. “But you changed your mind on Saturday.”
A woman enters the living room. Too thin.
Stringy blond hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen Beth’s mother up close. “Who are you?” she asks.
I force myself to look into her flat eyes.
They’re the same color as Beth’s, but without the shine. “I’m Beth’s boyfriend, Ryan.”
Her lips struggle into a weak smile. “You have a boyfriend, Elisabeth?”
Beth tosses an empty plastic two-liter onto the floor. “Ex-boyfriend. He fucked me and then he told his mommy and daddy he hated me. Where are the damned keys, Mom?”
My calm snaps. “I didn’t do that to you. If you’ll give me a chance I’ll explain about my parents.”
“Mom!” Beth screams and her mother
flinches. “Keys. Now!”
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“Okay,” she says and shuffles down the hallway.