Page 249 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
Jonathan Bridger.
And Linda Marsh.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
21
AVERY
“We were living in a trailer,” Mom begins. She grabs a shirt from the laundry basket and starts to fold it. Her hands fumble and she gives up, tossing it back in the pile.
“I know that,” I say numbly.
We’re still on the service porch, and I’m sitting in an old aluminum lawn chair—one that I think used to sit outside our mobile home on the outskirts of Bayfield. Mom drops across from me in a metal folding chair—the kind that goes with a card table.
I never thought about the fact that we lived in Rainbow Estates—though estates was certainly generous. But to the rest of Bayfield, we were trailer trash. At least that’s what Mom is trying to get me to believe.
Funny. I never felt like trailer trash when I was a kid, and no one at school ever made me feel less than. Seems to be my mother’s problem.
“I worked my tail off at that factory, and I took whatever odd jobs I could find during the many layoffs.”
I remember she was always busy, rarely at home. “I know all this, Mom. I was there.”
“I was determined that you wouldn’t have to help,” she says. “You were a kid.”
I have no idea where she’s going with this, but so far, none of it is important. “Again, I know this.”
“You tried to give me your babysitting money once,” she says. “Do you remember that?”
I have to dig deep because I’ve buried most of my Bayfield memories, but I find it. “Yeah. I remember.”
“I didn’t take it. I told you to get yourself something.”
I did. I got myself a chocolate malt in town and a pair of fake pearl earrings. I loved those earrings. I was going to wear them to the prom with Chance…
“Anyway,” Mom continues, “things were looking bleak your senior year. They closed down the factory.”
I widen my eyes. “I know it closed down, but that was after we moved.” The puzzle pieces begin to link together. “Wait. Is that why—”
She sighs and holds up a hand. “Let me get this out, Avery. This isn’t easy for me.”
I sigh. “Fine. Go ahead, Mom.”
“I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it. I was behind on rent, and the car was on its last legs. I remember thanking God every time you went out with Chance Bridger, because I knew you’d get a decent meal.”
“Mom, I never went hungry.”
She inhales. “I know you didn’t. I made sure of that.”
I regard my mother. She’s got a few wrinkles around her mouth and around her eyes, but she’s still very attractive. She’s kept her figure, and her cheeks are always rosy. But when I think back—
She was always pretty, but she got thin for a while.
Almost too thin.
And I never went hungry. Oh, God.
“But you did, didn’t you? You went hungry, Mom.”
