Page 66 of Drifting

During lunch, I can think of exactly what I want to say to her. She doesn’t need to know all the details. No one does.

A blush fills her cheeks. “I’m fine with that.”

Over lunch, I tell her how I felt the first time she went into rehab, and how hard it was to adjust when I went into a group home. Especially when we lost everything every time she had to go back to rehab. I never got to have anything nice. I hated every time I made friends, then she went into rehab, and I wouldn’t see them again.

I don’t tell her about how I slept on the street before Cin got there. I do tell her about our small apartment and about how we still went to school. I tell her about meeting Ricky, Billy, and Mark, and how it was Billy who made us go back to karate so we could protect ourselves. I tell her stories about my races and how we spent Sunday watching football and grilling out.

“I didn’t know you knew karate?” Patty says, picking up and taking a bite of her sandwich.

“I’ve been doing it since I was seven. Uncle Brett got us started. He never said why, but I’ve always thought it was because we both wanted to be in a male-dominated workplace. He wanted to make sure we could take care of ourselves.”

“I’m glad you know how to defend yourself, since I’ve never been there to do it.” She smiles sadly. “I can tell you I’m sorry a thousand times, and it won’t make up for what you went through. But I’m glad you found friends who looked out for you. I didn’t have that.”

She fiddles with her silverware again. “My parents were hard on me when I was a child. They demanded a lot. They were strict, Catholics who believed that a child should be seen and not heard.”

That’s the second time I’ve heard that. It must be a big thing for that generation.

“They had strict rules,” Patty says, “and if I broke any of them, I got my ass whipped by my dad’s belt. Uncle Brett left home as soon as he could.”

That doesn’t surprise me. No way can I see him being a good, Catholic boy. He’s a flannel-wearing, boot-stomping, greasy mechanic.

“When Brett left, he disgraced our family, and our parents became harder on me. I was only allowed to go to school and church. I got too good at sneaking off to meet your father. He was the town bad boy. He’d race anything and would take any dare. I loved how free he was, and he promised me a bunch of bull. He said he loved me and would take care of me forever, but all he wanted was my virginity. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I believed him. He was good at what he did. I spent as much time as I could with him, which was mostly at parties. He introduced me to my first taste of drugs.

“The next Sunday, my worst nightmare came true. My parents told me they found me a husband. He was the oldest, ugliest, fattest person they could find in their church. When I told them I was too young and I wanted to find someone my own age, my father stood up and told me that I would either marry George or leave his house and never come back. They wouldn’t even let me pack anything. They just kicked me out with only the clothes on my back.

“Of course, the first place I headed was to your father’s house. There, I found him with another girl already on his arm. When I told him what happened, he just looked at me and laughed. I was a bet to see who could fuck the Catholic virgin first. He said I wasn’t worth the thousand he won. I was the worst lay of his life. Then, he slammed the door in my face.

“I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back home. They would have forced me to marry George. I called a friend who let me stay the night. The next day, she drove me two towns over and dropped me off in the middle of town. There, I found a job as a waitress. The owners were a nice, older couple who let me stay in the back of the storage room.

“Then, one day, a customer asked me when I was due. When I told her I wasn’t pregnant, the lady apologized and said that she made a mistake, but it got me to thinking that night, and I couldn’t remember when I had my last period. I’d gained weight, too. The next morning, I went and bought a pregnancy test, which turned out positive. I spent the day crying in the back. I had no idea what I was going to do. The owner found me crying and gave me a business card for a place that helped teens who were pregnant. That place helped me find a place to stay and made sure I had everything I needed for my child. But after I gave birth, depression hit hard, and that’s when I spiraled out of control.”

I never knew the whole story. She’s been through a lot, too. “Thank you for sharing about your past. It means a lot to me. I understand where you’re coming from.”

“Sorry, it took so long for me to tell you. I wanted to leave my past in the past.” She picks up the bill the waitress dropped off during her story and pulls cash from her purse before giving me a watery smile. “I think we’ve spent enough time here.”

Once we’re back in her SUV, she glances at me. “You know, you never told me what kind of car you have.”

Shit, I had hoped she’d forgotten about that. “It’s not a car. It’s a motorcycle.”

She laughs and shakes her head, which isn’t the reaction I expected. “Doesn’t surprise me one bit. Your father loved his motorcycles.”

Tilting my head, I study her profile. “Are you feeling okay? You’re not yelling at me.”

“No, I’m not going to yell at you. I might not like it, but you’re almost an adult and can make your own decisions. I’m sure you’ve been riding for a long time. Where is it? Can you get it here?”

I explain about the storage unit. “The only problem is, I don’t have their number. Cin and I shared a phone, and she had it on her when she got sent back home,” I sigh. “I’ve wished a thousand times that I memorized their number.”

“I’d like to meet these guys who took care of you. They seem like an intricate part of your life. Maybe we can have a pool party and a cookout? When you get their number, of course. Have you tried a phonebook? Do they have phonebooks, anymore?”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “No, they don’t make phonebooks. It’s still a good idea, though. I can search for them online. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. Thanks.”

“I’m glad I could help. I’m going to just drop you off. I have a therapy meeting to get to. But I’d like to hear about your experience at the group home before I go.”

“It was a horrible place where no one cared about any of the kids. We could do anything we wanted. The staff didn’t give a fuck.” Taking in a breath, I scrub my forehead. “There was one kid, Roger Dillard, who stood out. He had a shaved head and these cold, blue-green eyes. He was a complete psycho, and for some reason, he fixated on me. I can’t tell you all that happened, I just can’t—or won’t—talk about it.”

She lets out a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me that much. If you need to talk about it to someone, me or a professional, just let me know. I’m here for you now.”

I turn to look at her. “I know. Thanks for a great lunch. Maybe we can have another one soon, Mom.”

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