She came out in a long white shirt and loose tan pants. “Honey, I can do all that.”
I’d learned every smidge of pride I had from her. It was hard for her to stand by as I served her up a ham sandwich, her pills rolling in a tiny cup. “It’s nothing. Sit, eat, relax. I’m really sorry I didn’t come by this morning.”
Settling onto her tiny excuse for a couch, she took a bite of food. Her mouthful—her silence—told me more about how hungry she was than she’d wanted to say. Guilt burned through my veins.
Swallowing the pills, she chased it all with water. “Your long story. Go on.”
“Uh . . . oh.” I can’t tell her I got arrested. She’d be mortified, and her poor heart . . . “An old friend called me up last minute. She needed me to stand in at her wedding, it just took longer than I expected. Again, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” Waving her skinny fingers, she smiled in a way that made her look younger. “Weddings are fun. And a good way to meet boys,” she said, winking.
Laughing, I shook my head furiously. “Last thing I need is a ‘boy’ in my life.” Kain is no boy. He’s almost more than a man. Shifting where I stood, I looked at the floor.
“Oh-ho,” she said slyly. “You met someone. Was he hot?”
“Mom!”
Grinning, she nibbled her sandwich. “That’s a yes.”
“Give me a break.”
“Give me details.”
Covering my burning face, I said, “I can’t. I won’t. It doesn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t right for me.”
“No?”
“No.” I meant it to come out firm, but the edge of the word wavered.
My mother heard, but bless her, she changed the subject. “How’s work been?”
I started to smile—I almost said good and meant it, too. The checks. Right. I’d never gotten to cash all that money. I was out a wedding dress and worse off than ever.
Lifting my chin, I leaned closer. “It’s wonderful. Everything is good.”
My mom studied me for a long minute. “I’m glad. I’d hate for you to regret moving back here and—”
“Mom, no. Stop.” I was hugging her before I could think it over. In my arms she felt like a set of sticks in a cloth bag. Sickness had ravaged her, a fact I didn’t like to dwell on. I couldn’t tell how much was her depression over losing my dad or what was from her weak body. “I love being back. I get to see you all the time. Plus I don’t miss the noise and pollution of New York at all.”
Patting my back, she squeezed, then pulled back. There was warmth in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. My mother used to say that coming home brought good luck.”
“Luck,” I said, tracing the word with my tongue. Cleaning up the mess as my mom chatted at my wandering mind, I had a funny little oddly comforting thought.
This has to be rock bottom.
From here, I could only go up.
Right?
I ached all over when I crossed the threshold into my own home. The floor creaked, only slightly louder than my overworked joints. Clicking on the light above my stove, I used the flickering illumination to pour myself a cup of water.
What a fucking day.
Leaning over the sink, I stared at my warped reflection in the metal faucet. It was all stretched out; it was exactly how I felt. Every bit of me had that too-tall, too-strained sensation. In the sink, my stallion mug sat collecting water. It was hard to accept that it had only been waiting there for a day and a half.
Heading up the stairs, I kept expecting my bones to disconnect on every step.
I debated taking a shower—I definitely needed one—but sleep clawed at me until I couldn’t fight back. In my bedroom, I reached back to strip the dress off. I struggled with the zipper, tugging at it side to side. “Come on, you piece of—urgh.”
Breathing in desperately, I fought a wave of cresting anger. I was beyond drained, I just wanted to drop into my bed and forget this whole day, and now this torture of a dress was resisting me.
“Get the fuck . . . off!” Grunting, I felt the threading give way. The zipper tore, it was enough to wriggle the dress down to my ankles. I’d been wrong earlier when I’d thought the zipper was real gold. Poor craftsmanship, I noted, kicking the garment aside. My dresses never ripped like that.
I enjoyed my nakedness briefly. Rocking side to side, my arms overhead, I groaned. There were marks along the undersides of my breasts from the support wire. Rubbing at them tenderly, I pawed through my dresser for pajamas.
Man, it’s seriously cold in here. Wasn’t it summertime? This state was plain unpredictable. Shivering, I pulled a long shirt over my head, then tugged on some thick black sweatpants. The wind cuts right through the walls of these old houses that landlords love turning into cheap apartments.
I shouldn’t complain; cheap meant I got to live here.
Turning, I jumped at the sight of my own shadow on the bedroom wall. “Jeez,” I laughed nervously. “Calm down.” The outside streetlights made every corner appear darker, richer, and bleaker than ever.
Streetlights?
For a while, I stared at my window. The glass stared back at me. Something about that was wrong—but what?
The blinds. They broke yesterday morning and . . .
I’d covered the whole window with a big piece of cardboard. Now it was sitting on the floor against the wall, propped up exactly like someone had taken it down and set it aside carefully. But I hadn’t done that, so who—
In the hall, I heard my stairs squeak.
Someone is inside my home!
Whoever it was, they’d broken in through my bedroom window. Good people didn’t do that shit. Panic gripped me, smothering any chance I had to scream. Shooting my eyes all around the room, I made myself focus. Fear swirled up, my mouth tasting like the inside of an aluminum can.
I need my phone. Shit, my purse was downstairs. A weapon. I need a weapon! Twisting, my eyes bulged and throbbed—everything in my skull was pressurizing. I’d never imagined I’d be in a situation like this. Was it a robber, a murderer?
I caught motion in the hall just outside my open door. I froze, and whoever was standing there froze, too. I couldn’t see their face—it was too dark—so to me, this intruder could have been the devil himself.
We stood so still that I began to hope maybe he’d just go away.
Maybe . . . maybe everything would be okay.
He stepped forward, moving into the light. He was big—and I could have sworn I knew that face somehow.
His hands came up, as threatening as any weapon. In that second everything shattered. Filling my lungs, I screamed. My ears rattled, and the man rushed forward to silence me. He never got that far; the pile of dress on the floor caught around his ankles.
He slammed onto his chest, giving me the chance I needed to run past. I hadn’t stopped screaming, my voice echoing through the stairwell. A thousand bees stung my throat, and still I just pulled in more air and began again.