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Son of a bitch. I fucking knew something was seriously wrong with her.
Spinning back around, I sprint toward home.
***
Our trailer comes into view as I turn right, pounding on the rutty, muddy street that crosses the park. The trailer was white once, with big windows and a small shed on one side.
My heart in my throat, I run up the three steps and throw the door open.
“Mom!” I walk inside the cramped dining room space with the kitchen on the side, a smell of urine, stale sweat and rotten meat hitting me, and I see her, at her usual place, her knitted blue blanket over her legs, a faraway expression on her thin face. She’s staring outside the dusty window, a magazine laid open on her knees, her dark hair an unkempt nest.
Everything looks normal.
Panting, I lean against the door, trying to get my breathing back under control, when a small noise from my left catches my attention.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” a male voice says, and there is dear old dad, coming out of the bedroom, a beer in his hand. “Hi, Son.”
“It’s Blue to you,” I drawl.
He scratches at the week-old scruff on his sallow face and sneers at me. “That’s not your name.”
“It sure is. It’s the name I fucking chose for myself.” Can’t help taking a step back, which pisses me off. I’m not a little kid anymore. “What are you doing awake?”
He sleeps all day, drinks and plays cards all night. A pattern he didn’t break all my life—until now.
The unease is back, twisting my stomach.
“Didn’t I kick you out, years ago? You have no place here.”
I grit my teeth. “This is my home.”
Home. A word that has haunted me for as long as I can remember.
“Hasn’t been your home since you walked out.”
“You just said it. I didn’t walk out. You fucking sent me away.”
“For good reason. You’re not welcome here, boy. Unless you have a good reason to be.”
Jeez. I have nobody left. I’m not an orphan, but I might as well be. Maybe I was all along and didn’t wanna see it. Accept it.
Dammit, no. I have Mom.
“I have a good reason,” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I’m checking on Mom. Someone has to, seeing as you’re never here.”
He scowls. “Your mom is sick,” he says. “Did she tell you?”
“You tell me.” The small interior tilts a little. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Doctor isn’t sure, but it ain’t looking good, boy. Could be… how did he call it? Lupus. Yeah.”
I slam a hand into the trailer wall to steady myself. My ears are ringing. My worst fears are coming true. “Who is this doctor? I wanna talk to him.”
“Wanna talk to him? Here.” He pats his pockets, pulls out a business card and throws it at me. “Now get out.”
“You fucking kidding me?” Anger pulls me from the trance-like state of shock. “I’m not going anywhere until I know Mom’s okay.”