Page 42 of Dare
Icywind tries to slice us in half as we cross the road. It’s a relief to duckinside the warm coffee shop which is redolent with the scent of coffee andbaked goods. After ordering our drinks and a cinnamon roll each, we settle at asmall table in the corner.
“Howis Arnold?” I ask her. Arnold is her husband of over thirty years. I’ve met hima few times when he accompanied her to competitions.
Shelaughs. “Driving me crazy. He retired this year, and if he doesn’t find a hobbyother than yelling at football players on television, I’m going to choke him.”Her eyes shine as she speaks, her love for him obvious. “Now, tell me whatyou’ve been up to. Your mom said you’re living in Indianapolis.”
“Iam. The physical therapy center they sent me to is there, so when I finishedrehab, I decided it was a good place to start over. I work from home as agraphic artist, and give private dance lessons at a local school.”
Shegrins at me as she sips her coffee. “Husband? Boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend.”I pull out my phone and pull up a picture of Dare. He was lying on my couch,shirtless, flipping through the T.V. channels when I snuck a photo.
Laughing,she fans herself. “My goodness, girl, he’s hot as a basted turkey.”
“Wehaven’t been together long, but we’re happy.”
Herhand wraps around mine. “I’m so happy for you. How long are you in town?”
“Justfor a couple of days. I’m just here to visit my mom.” My gaze meets hers and Ishrug. “I promised.”
“Haveyou kept in touch with her?”
“Wetalk maybe once a month or so, but for some reason, she was insistent about mecoming home at Christmas.”
Lena’sexpression darkens. “I’m not trying to say anything negative about your family,hun, but you should know what you’re walking into. There has been a lot of talkaround town about Gil. He’s been picked up twice for Public Intox. Darryl, theguy that works at the auto shop, found him passed out in the parking lot.”
“I’dlike to say I’m surprised, but it’s pretty much what I expected. I got a roomat the Comfort Inn, so I can make a quick escape when I want to.”
Shenods and sits back in her seat. “Do you know your mom took a second job?”
Now,that’s news I haven’t heard, but I know why she didn’t mention it. Gil won’thold a job since it interferes with his drinking and pill popping, and sheknows I’m not going to be nice about pointing that out. I’ve never understoodwhy she lets him get away with the shit he does, but for as long as I canremember, her goal in life has been to give him whatever he wants. Nothingmatters but Gil getting his way, no matter the damage it may cause to otherpeople. It’s been that way since they first met when I was ten.
“No,I didn’t know. Where’s she working?”
“Nightsat the mower factory, mornings at the bakery.” It probably makes me seem likethe worst daughter in the world that I don’t know what’s going on in her life, butshe’s equally as clueless about mine. The truth is I don’t want to know. Andthe answer to the simplest question is always the same.
Whatis your mom doing these days?
WhateverGil tells her to do.
It’ssickening, and I got sick of watching it, so I went my own way. It was the onlygood thing that came of what happened to me, being able to settle inIndianapolis, far from all the bullshit. It gave me a chance to start over andfind people who actually care about me and what I want.
Lenaand I spend a few more minutes chatting, and she catches me up on the localgossip, before I reluctantly return to my car and head to my mom’s house. Momis just pulling into the driveway, her fifteen year old sedan chugging andsputtering, and she climbs out holding a large paper bag from the liquor store.
Abrand new car sits beside hers. Is someone else visiting? I park behind her,and she waves when I climb out. “Ayda! You made it.”
“Idid.” I gesture to the new car. “Is someone here? I don’t want to block themin.”
Sheflaps a hand at me. “No, that’s Gil’s car. Nice, isn’t it?”
Gil—whodoesn’t do any work which doesn’t involve tilting his elbow—has a brand new carwhile she’s driving the POS to two jobs. “It’s nice. Bet the insurance paymentsare a bitch,” I remark.
Shesmiles, shaking her head. “Yeah, I started working mornings at the bakery tomake up the difference.”
Thereabout a thousand things I want to say right now—or scream—but I know it won’tdo any good. The second I say anything negative about Gil, she’ll lose herfucking mind and start screaming about how worthless and ungrateful I am. Ijust want to get through the next twenty-four hours and go home.
Assoon as I follow her inside, I’m glad I reserved a hotel room. Gil has alwaysbeen a hoarder. In his mind, nothing is junk and he has to have it all, nothingcan ever be thrown away, but things have really escalated since I was herelast.
There’sbarely a path through the living room to walk. Every inch of floor is piledwith random junk, broken fishing poles, tools, busted small appliances. Sheleads me into the kitchen that smells of stale whiskey and old cheese. Half abicycle rests against one wall, a stack of shoe boxes propping it up.
