She shrugs. “Couple hundred. ”
Mom begins to sing an old song Grandpa used to sing before he drank himself to sleep. I rub my forehead. We need that damn car and I need a damn plan. Mom and I should have been gone weeks ago, but Isaiah ruined that. My windows of opportunity keep closing and I’m not sure how much longer Mom will last on her own.
I pull out Echo’s cash and place half of it on Mom’s bedside table. She stops singing and stares at the cash.
“Listen to me, Mom. You need to sober up and get the car out of the impound lot. I also want you to pay the phone bill. We’ll be leaving soon. Do you understand?”
Mom keeps her eyes on the money. “Did Scott give you that?”
“Mom!” I yell and she flinches. “Repeat what you need to do. ”
Mom produces an old stuffed animal of mine from under her pillow. “I sleep with this when I miss you. ”
I slept with that stuffed animal every night until I turned thirteen. It’s the only thing my father ever gave to me. The fact that she kept it rips me into pieces. I can’t focus on that now. I need Mom to remember what she needs to do.
Her life depends on it. “Repeat what I said. ”
“Get the car. Pay the phone bill. ”
I stand and Mom grabs my hand. “Don’t leave me alone again. I don’t want to be alone. ”
The request feeds on my guilt. We all have our fears. Those things that exist in the dark corners of our mind that terrify us beyond belief. This is hers. My fear? It’s leaving her. “I need to buy you food. I’ll make some sandwiches and put them in the fridge. ”
“Stay,” she says. “Stay until I fall asleep. ”
How many nights as a child did I beg her to stay with me? I lie on the bed next to her, run my fingers through her hair, and continue the song where she left off. It’s her favorite verse.
One that talks about birds, freedom, and change.
I SLICE THE LAST sandwich in half and place the full plate in the fridge, along with the remains of the ham and cheese Isaiah bought while I sang Mom to sleep. Isaiah busies himself by putting the boxes of cereal and crackers in the pantry. He bought food Mom can easily fix for herself.
“Haven’t you punished me long enough?”
Isaiah asks.
The chains that permanently weigh me down become heavier. “Are you going to sling me over your shoulder and force me to leave again?”
“No,” he says. “Everyone knows Trent’s in jail. The worst thing that’s going to happen to you here…” He glances over at the closed door of my old bedroom. “Maybe I should toss you over my shoulder again. This place is no good for you, Beth. ”
“I know. ” And that is exactly why I want to leave…with my mom. A small part of me is curious as to what Isaiah knows that I don’t. I could open the door to my old room and find out, but I shake away the thought. I don’t want to know. I really, really don’t.
“You should go back to work,” I say. He changed from his work clothes to his favorite black T-shirt and jeans, which means he intends to stick around. I don’t want to be responsible for him losing a job he loves. The garage he works for is across the street from the strip mall, which explains why he reached me so quickly.
“I got off an hour ago. I stuck around to bullshit and to tinker with a newer Mustang someone brought in. She’s real pretty. I think even you would like her. ”
I’ve missed this. Isaiah telling me about his day and his excited tone when he talks about cars. With his gray eyes, Isaiah looks me over. I’ve missed him. His voice. The tattoos covering his arms. His constant, steady presence. The last is what I miss the most.
Isaiah is that one relationship I’ve never had to question. The one relationship where I don’t wonder if it’ll change when I wake in the morning.
I take the two steps and wrap my arms around his chest. One arm at a time, Isaiah embraces me. I love the sound of his heart. So steady. So strong. For a brief few seconds, the chains lift. “I’ve missed you,” I say.
“I’ve missed you too. ” Isaiah rests his head against the top of mine. One hand reaches up and cups the back of my head. His fingers graze my cheek and my spine straightens.
We’ve touched many times over the past four years. All those times we touched we were high. Since my arrest, Isaiah has touched me way too much sober.
One night last year, we pushed too far when we were high. Sort of like me and Ryan.
Unlike me and Ryan, Isaiah and I pretended it never happened. If it weren’t for Ryan, I probably would have forced amnesia on our night together in the barn.