Method

“I paid you.”

“Ten dollars a week,” she says sourly.

“And you took it.” I know that tone. My mother is about to blow, and Maddie is close. I gather my book bag and head to the door. “Anyway. He’s old enough now that he doesn’t need keeping.”

“He still needs to be looked after. He needs guidance.”

“He’s coming home. That’s the end of it.”

Maddie glances my way, the same fear in her eyes as I’m sure she sees in mine.

“I’ll be back,” I mouth. She nods as her eyes trail over me like I’m her entire world, and I feel the same because she’s mine. Her trailer is my escape. And this world we create gives me the break I need from my parents and their crap.

I move to stand at the door and stare down at my mother who cuts eyes the color of mine up to me in a dark blue robe that’s seen better decades. She jerks her head in the direction of our trailer. “Come on.”

I step outside and turn to Maddie who nods at me, forcing a smile and her signature wink. “See you soon, boy.”

It’s the first time my heart ever broke, and I can feel the tear between us as my eyes swell. I’d been by her side since I was eight years old and there’s something so unnatural about what’s happening that I immediately stop my feet and start to protest.

“No, Mom, I’m good over here. I’ll be home before dinner.”

“Home, now!”

Maddie chirps up from behind me. “Mind your mother, Lucas.”

But I shake my head. “This is bullshit, Mom! What happened? Did Dad hurt you again?”

My mother snaps to attention, looks back at Maddie embarrassed and then leans in to me with a vicious bite. “You have no business at your age staying with that woman. You’re growing.” My mother leans in, brows quirked. “Is she asking you to touch her?”

My eyes widen. “What? No!”

Maddie’s door slams shut before we hear the shatter of glass. I glare at her accusingly. “She heard you!”

“Good, she needs to keep her paws off my son!” she shouts past me toward Maddie’s trailer.

“All we do is run lines!” I say, standing my ground. “What’s wrong with that? I need all the practice I can get!”

She harrumphs. “You should be playing football or something. That’s not good for you.”

“What do you care what’s good for me!?” I dig my feet in as she tries to pull me toward our trailer. “There’s nothing to do in there!”

“You need to study and make good grades,” she says, clearing the two cement steps up to push the broken button on our screen door.

“All of a sudden you’re a mother?” I yell at her from where I stand. “She’s more a mother to me, and you know it.” I must have lost my mind, but my tirade is cut short when she looks back at me.

“What’s that red mark on your face?”

“What?”

She peers closer. “Did she slap you?”

“No, Mom! We were just acting.”

“She hit you?”

“No, that’s your job when you drink too much, smoke all your cigarettes, and have no one else to blame.”

The truth barely pauses her tirade. “She’s an old weirdo. You either stay away from her or I’m calling the cops!”