Page 97 of Your Every Wish
“No, I can’t. Look, I may be a lot of things, including a bitch. But I’m an honest bitch. And moving in with Dex would be a colossal mistake. I bet he made it sound like he was doing you a big favor, offering you a way to come back to the big city just so you can be with him. Cue the superhero music. Emma, before you inherited Cedar Pines you were about to be homeless. Where was Dex then?”
“I was never going to be homeless.” She juts her jaw at me. “There were plenty of places I could’ve lived, including my mom and Sam’s. Dex wasn’t there yet. But with time apart, he’s had time to think about us, about our future.”
“It seems to me that after nearly ten years of dating, he should’ve beenthere,even before you had to move here. Furthermore, why does everything have to be on his timetable? You needed a place to live, and he had one. From where I’m standing, he should’ve offered then, regardless of whether he was ready yet.” I see her face crumple and tell myself even if the truth hurts what kind of friend . . . what kind of sister . . . would I be if I didn’t lay it out there? “Hey, you’re the one who asked.”
“I actually didn’t. And you’re just upset because I’m leaving, and you’re stuck here.” Emma gets up from the table, rushes out, and slams the door behind her.
She forgot her jacket.
I can hear my phone ringing from the other room and without even looking at caller ID, I know it’s Madge. Max needs a new transmission for his truck. He’ll pay me back as soon as his deal goes through.
Well, he can get in line. My boss from Caesars has left three messages, the last one marked urgent because by now he probably thinks I’m either dead or being held captive by a band of California tree huggers. So far, I’ve managed to avoid listening to the messages. No news is good news, right?
Stop being irresponsible.
There was a time when my phone was permanently attached to my ear. I wander into my bedroom, lift my phone off the nightstand, and stare at it. Oh, what the hell. I play the most recent message. And as predicted, it’s Madge.
“Kennedy, I’ve been trying to call you for days. Maybe you found the money and have been too busy to return my calls.” Translation: Maybe you found the money and have been too busy spending it without me. “Please call. I’m getting worried about you.”
The next three messages are all from the bossman. He wants to know the combination to my locker because he’s reassigning it to a new casino host. My replacement.
“When you come back, we’ll figure out something else for you,” he says. Translation: If you come back, and that’s a big if, we’ll give you a bottom locker in Siberia, otherwise known as Caesars’s basement, next to the garbage chute.
Well, screw him. He can figure out my combination on his own. But guilt has me dialing Madge.
“There’s no money, Mom.” That’s my greeting to her because that’s all she really wants to know anyway.
“You found the golf bag?”
“Yeah, and it was empty. It was Willy’s last fuck-you to the world.”
“Are you sure? Maybe the money is somewhere else.”
“Nope. There’s no money. Zero. Zilch.” For some zany reason it feels good saying that, not because I like pushing Madge’s buttons but because it feels like acceptance. Like I can finally move on with my life, even if it means losing my job, going to jail, and whatever other bad things the universe has in store for me.
“What about the campground? That’s got to be worth a pretty penny.”
“First of all, it’s not a campground, it’s a mobile home park.” I’ve only told her that a million times. “And even if it’s worth a fortune, we’re not selling.”
There’s a long pause, Madge probably working out her next move because if nothing else my mother is shrewd. “Isn’t it generating income? The lot rentals along with all the other fees on those places are outrageous. You have to be raking it in.”
“The lot rentals here are stuck in the 1970s. And half of the spaces are empty. Don’t get me started on the property taxes and insurance. Do you know how much it costs to insure a place like this in the middle of a California forest? One match and the whole place goes up.”
“Are you telling me that you’re not making anything?” More than shocked, she sounds deeply disappointed.
“Yeah, Mom, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“Why would’ve Willy purchased a place like that?”
The question of the century.
I plop down on my bed. “I have no idea. A tax shelter? A place to retire after he got out of the joint? Who the hell knows? What I do know is if I don’t come up with forty grand in the next few days . . .”
“I’ll talk to Max,” she says. Max of the art of the deals.
It’s all I can do not to let out a maniacal laugh, like Jack Nicholson’s inThe Shining. “Mom, you got me into this mess. It would be really great if you could get me out of it.” But even as I say it, I have zero hope of that happening. She would if she could but the only way she’ll ever be able to come up with forty thousand dollars on the fly is to steal it. “Look, I’ve got to go. Let me know what Max says.”
Other than getting a sick satisfaction from telling Madge that there is no money, the call was rather unproductive. I’ve managed to disappoint both my mother and Emma in one fell swoop.
