Page 17 of Catch a Kiwi
“I’m good at names.” He laid the gauze over my knee, thendidn’t tape it down, just sat there, his hand above it, on my thigh.
I felt that hand like it was somewhere else. I got an actual sort of … stab, right to the spot.
Such a bad idea.I’m turfing you out tomorrow,
“Much like anyone’s story,” I said, making it light. “Some good times and some bad times.”
“Don’t want to tell me, eh.” He started taping the gauze down. Good.
“It’s boring,” I said, though it pretty much wasn’t. I’d turned down an advance in the mid-six figures—pounds, not dollars—to tell my story. That had probably been stupid, but it had felt like the only possible decision. “Just more snakeskin that I’ve left behind.”
“Tell me Delilah’s story, then. Entertain me. It’s been a long day. Had to give somebody the sack.”
“You did? Who?”
“Operations director on a firm of mine. Gave somebody else a promotion afterwards, though, andhewas chuffed.”
“What kind of firm?” I asked. “And why did you fire him?”
“Nah. Boring, like you said. Tell Delilah’s story instead.”
I couldn’t object too much. He was finding the last stitched cut, the one on my shin, and bandaging that now, I was here for a few minutes more, and I was warm. I’d tell him, but I’d keep it short, so he’d know I wasn’t some charity case begging for his help, and that I wasn’t going to be begging for anything else, either. Everything in me curled away from that, but he’d told me about his day, hadn’t he? Sort of. I knew he was well off now, but I’d known that before. The size of his house. His obvious power. The fact that he fired people with “director” in their title. Anyway, rich men didn’t impress me much. Money didn’t change who you were, it just showed who you were. “My cousin,” I said, “but my mom took her in when she was little, so more like my sister.”
“Ah,” Roman said. “That’s the vibe I got, yeh.” His hand on my shin, his touch light. “And she’s with you now because …”
“Because I found out my mom died.” There was a lump in my throat. The day, the bourbon, the loss of my inadequate home, the almost-loss of Delilah … something.
“You found out?”
“I was living in the UK, dealing with … with my own stuff. And Delilah didn’t tell me. She was almost done with high school, so she kept it to herself.”
“Sorry, why?” He was frowning, and not bandaging anymore, either, but he still had his hand on my leg.
I didn’t want to tense up. I wanted to stay in the warm cocoon that was the sort of big, comfortable bed I hadn’t slept in for months, not to mention the touch of a strong man’s hand. The illusion of safety.
Which was anillusion.“If she told me,” I said, “she knew I’d come get her. That I’d think I had to take over, she said, and she was fine, and what did it matter if I wasn’t there? Dead people are dead, she said. They can’t know. Which is true, but … So anyway, she stayed there and finished school. The rent wasn’t much, just the lot rental—it was a trailer park, and not a fancy one, and I’d paid—” I stopped.
“You’d paid what? And Delilah’s tough, eh.”
“Yes. She is. I’d paid off the mobile home,” I said reluctantly. “Some years back. I wanted to buy my mom a house, but she told me to save my money. I wish I’d done it.”
He didn’t say,And now losing your campervan is making you panic,but I could feel him thinking it. The guy was no dummy. I hurried on, “Delilah paid the rent for those months, and everything else, which wiped her out. I didn’t even get to—” Another breath. “But I might not have been able to come anyway. I was stuck. Another reason she didn’t tell me. I wasn’t calling her at that time, either, or my mom. Iwas ashamed. I’m not proud of that, that I didn’t call them. I thought, when it was over, when I had time, I’d sit and tell my mom everything and let myself cry. Maybe I would have. Maybe not. I didn’t like to worry my mom. She had enough worries. It made her feel so much better to know I didn’t, that I was in control, that my life was good.”
He didn’t ask what you’d expect: “What happened to you?” He also didn’t ask the question Americans always asked: “What did your mom do?” Meaning for a living, so he could put her in a slot. He asked, “What was she like, your mum?”
I took another sip of bourbon, then handed the glass to him. He’d poured in a lot. That was the only reason there was any left.
Maybe I told him because his legs were so warm and solid, and his hand was on me. Maybe I thought,I won’t see him again after tonight.Maybe I just needed to finally tell somebody, anybody, who wouldn’t judge, and for some reason, I thought that was him. I said, “Strong because she had to be. Loving because we were all she had, or maybe because that was how she was at rock bottom, and believe me, she was at rock bottom plenty of times. Proud of us, and wanting better for us, and tired always. Life can be too …” I had to take a breath. “Too hard. She cleaned houses. She worked fast food. She did anything she could get, but she could never get ahead, you know? Something always happened. The car broke down, or one of us got sick, or she got laid off. It’s so hard to get that step up when you’ve got nothing backing you. And she had a record.”
“A record? Of what?”
“A criminal record. You can’t get a good job with one of those. I don’t know for what, exactly, because she didn’t talk about it, but when she was younger …” I stopped, then went on. “She had sex for money. She’d put me in my bedroom and say, ‘Mama has a boyfriend tonight, so you stay here and be a good girl, and I’ll make us pancakes in the morning.’ I never asked her about it, but it happened. Later on … well, that’s a young woman’s life. Later on, you get some extra shifts at Burger King instead.”
Roman said, “Shit.” Quietly.
“Yeah.” I took the glass from him and finished it off. “When I got older and could work, it was better. And I sent her money. I said I’d send Delilah to college. I went myself. Scholarships. Work. Loans. When I graduated …” I had to blink against the tears. “She was so proud. She always said I could do anything. I couldbeanything. She said, ‘Just don’t get pregnant and clip your wings, and you can fly.’ I hate that I wasn’t there when she died. I wish I’d known she wasn’t feeling well. She had a heart attack, and I’m guessing it wasn’t the first one. She dropped dead pushing a vacuum, in fact. The homeowner found her lying there hours later. The vacuum was still running.”
Roman didn’t say anything, and maybe that was why I went on. “They didn’t even pay for the cleaning. Because she hadn’t finished, I guess. Or because they had to call an ambulance and it was upsetting, who knows.”
