Page 56 of Fight

Fifteen

P

I mademy way to my mother’s house, pretty much floating down the cracked pavement on a cloud of happiness so intense, I was certain nothing could penetrate it. I’d walked the same path thousands of times, but I’d never felt like this.

And Ioan was the reason.

The stupid grin that covered my face at the thought of his name would have made me scowl had it been on someone else’s face, but I didn’t care. Because with Ioan, I had found something I’d never, not even in the deepest part of my heart, hoped for, let alone believed I would get.

Happiness.

And best of all, I thought he’d found some measure of it with me as well. I did most of the talking, no surprise there, but I saw his contentment when I caught his eye over dinner with Bunica, felt it every time he touched me.

That happiness, the bone-deep contentment I felt with him was addictive, so strong that not even my mother could take it away. I didn’t even let the wariness that sometimes creeped in take it away either.

Because this wouldn’t last.

I knew that. Once Ioan had settled his debt and mine, this would be over. But until then, I would cherish every moment with him.

The rusted door that led into my mother’s building swung open, and I smiled at my good fortune because I hadn’t had to touch the dirty doorknob. Not pausing to even look at the proprietor, though I heard the incessant noise of his TV talk show, I made my way up to her place and banged on the door.

“Ma!” I called, though even my yell didn’t have its usual bite.

The door opened quickly, and one look at her made the smile drop from my face. The mottled circles of exhaustion under her eyes could have passed for bruises, and her skin was ashen, her lips dry and chapped to the point of cracking.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” I said, pushing aside the immediate guilt. I hadn’t visited her for weeks, and the time apart hadn’t been as kind to her as it had been to me.

“And why would you think something’s wrong, Patty?” she asked, her voice edging toward mean, as sure a sign of her withdrawal as anything.

“Because you look horrible,” I said, entering the apartment.

“Easy to look horrible when you don’t have a man to take care of you, Patricia,” she said, flopping down on her sofa.

The frame sagged, broken where it hadn’t been before, and I dared not look too closely at the stained cushions. When she got like this, she’d sweat what seemed like buckets, and I told myself that the filthy-looking circles were just that. Ma didn’t seem to notice, and when she curled her hand into a fist, her thumb flexing, I could see how bad off she was. She’d pick the skin on her fingertips until she bled, then pick them more.

I inhaled and tried to prepare myself. She got nasty when she couldn’t get high, and I braced myself for impact.

“What’s going on, Ma?” I said, knowing she’d seize on the question.

It used to hurt when she did that, but the pain had long since stopped. I was just happy to give her an outlet to fuel some of the energy that came from her deprivation. At least I’d missed the early days of her withdrawal, hadn’t had to watch the tremors that racked her so hard, I worried they would make her bones break, hadn’t had to hear her heartbroken cries.

I wasn’t so much a fan of her anger, but it was the best worst option.

She stared up at me with venom in her eyes, her thumb still working furiously, not that she seemed conscious of the motion. “You got your new man to cut me off?”

“What?” I said.

I hadn’t had the courage to ask Ioan if he dealt with drugs, terrified he would say yes and I’d have to leave him because I couldn’t bear the thought of that.

“Patricia!” she snapped.

I shook my head, refocusing on her. “What, Ma?”

“My shit’s been cut off. Haven’t had anything for close to two weeks,” she said.

A lie.

There was no way she could go for that long. Which meant she’d been getting enough to get by and keep her from the worst of the withdrawal, but not enough to get as high as she wanted.

---