Page 234 of Heartache Duet

I follow her out of the tent, ignoring the rain now pounding on my shoulders. She starts singing again, louder than before, pulling me to her as she sways me in her arms, dancing to a rhythm only we can hear. Trevor stays in the tent while we dance around him, our laughter filling my heart with joy. The rain only gets heavier, until the ground beneath us turns to mud. Mom cackles when she falls to the ground. Lying on her back, she swings her arms and legs back and forth. “What the hell are you doing?” I laugh out.

“Making mud angels!”

I stomp around her, splashing mud all over us, my arms swinging wildly as I continue to sing.

We needed this.

God, did we need it.

Just one night. One moment to forget everything else, and just like all the times before, Connor’s the one to give it to us… even from all the way in Georgia.

Neighbors turn their porch lights on, opening their doors to see what all the laughing and singing and yelling are about. I don’t care what they see, and Mom—she’s so blissfully unaware, and I love that she is. It’s been eight fucking years since I’ve seen her like this, and I want to hold on to the moment for as long as I can. Mom starts to sing again, screaming the lyrics as she gets to her feet, mud caked all through her hair, through her clothes. She skips around the front yard, her arms flailing. Our next-door neighbor on the opposite side of Connor comes out of his house, his screen door slamming against the tired siding. “Get your drunk ass back inside! You’re disturbing the peace!”

“She’s not drunk, you piece of shit!” I yell back.

“Ignore him, Ava,” Trevor says, coming out of the tent. He palms the small of Mom’s back and holds her hand, and they dance together, a pathetic attempt at a tango that has them both howling with laughter.

The piece-of-shit neighbor’s on the phone now, and more people have come out of their houses, watching our joy from the shelter of their porches. I grab my gift, not wanting it to get ruined in the rain, and bring it to the porch, and when I turn back around, the street is lit up by red and blue lights. “Trevor, stop!” I yell, and he’s too busy laughing to hear me.

I rush toward them, glaring at my neighbor. “The cops are here!”

Mom’s head throws back with her cackle. “What are they going to do, Ava?” she shouts over the rain. “Handcuff me?”

Two uniformed officers get out of the cruiser, while Trevor and I stand side by side, ignoring Mom as she continues to sing.

“Is there a problem, officers?” I ask when they approach.

They’re two males. The younger of the two is tall, a solid wall of muscle, and the other one’s shorter and rounder around the gut. The tall one says, “We had a noise complaint.”

I shake my head. “We were just out here—”

“In the rain?” the short one cuts in.

I nod, wipe the water from my eyes. “Is that illegal?”

“No,” says the taller one, and I can already tell he’s the nicer of the two. I look at his badge—L. Preston—and he must know my brother because he asks, “Trevor?”

“Hey, Leo.”

“You know each other?” I ask, looking between them. Behind me, Mom’s still singing, still blissfully happy.

“He’s one of Tom Preston’s boys.”

“Oh.” That explains the name.

“Look,” says Leo, “we have to come out if there’s a complaint made, but it looks like y’all are just having—”

“They’re disturbing the neighborhood!” my neighbor yells. I’ve never even spoken to him before, and I don’t understand what the fuck his problem is. “Look at all the people watching! They’re all scared. Who knows what that drunk bitch will do—”

“Don’t fucking call her that!” I shout.

“Ava,” Trevor sighs, shaking his head. “He’s not worth it.”

Our neighbor laughs. “Yeah, listen to that—”

I don’t hear the word, but I know what he said. It’s prejudice. Bigoted. Rage fills my bloodline as I take a step forward. “You racist piece of—”

Trevor holds me back, covers my mouth with his palm. But I’m not the one he needs to worry about. Mom screams, pushing past me. Within milliseconds, she has the guy by his collar, his face an inch from hers. “What the fuck did you call my son?!”

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