“It suddenly dawned on me,” I said, breaking the silence. “How can you take off work for three weeks? You do still have a job, don’t you?”
“Yes, I have a damn job!” She shifted in her seat. “A shitty ass job but I have one.”
“Are you still working at the drugstore?”
“Yes, night shift. Sick fuckers.”
“What sick fuckers?” I asked in curiosity.
“Rayne, you wouldn’t believe the sadistic shit that goes on in there all night. Can you believe that we had to start keeping the Preparation H behind the counter?”
“That’s ridiculous! Why would you have to do that?”
“Thieves! Druggies!”
“Okay, I’ll bite, Momma.” What she was saying made no sense. I’d heard of people stealing cigarettes but Preparation H? “Why do people steal it?”
“Drug addicts use it to rub inside their noses so they can continue to snort shit. Then they steal a ton of lotion also, to rub on the tracks on their arms.”
“Okay, I guess that I understand.”
“And check this out,” Momma said, moving up to the edge of the sofa in excitement. “Some of the bastards are bold as shit. They’ll come in, head for the paper goods aisle, open up boxes of aluminum foil, use some to smoke crack and then leave their trash back there. Nasty asses.”
“Hmm, I’m not too sure about you working there,” I said with genuine concern. “That doesn’t sound too safe; for you to be in there at night. Can you at least switch to the day shift?”
“I’m not trying to work there period. I hope they do fire my ass before I get back. Let someone else deal with those addicts. I’m above all that.”
While I knew it was going to be a low blow—a very low blow—I couldn’t resist. “But aren’t you still addicted to alcohol?”
I saw her ball her left hand into a fist and figured she didn’t even have the nerve to come at me with it. She’d punched me quite a few times when I was a child but once I’d turned into a woman and headed off to college, I’d set her straight. The night that I was packing for school, she came into my room in a drunken stupor and started going off about how I was deserting her. I attempted to explain to her that it wasn’t a matter of desertion but simply me trying to move on with my life. Although, truth be told, I couldn’t wait to escape the nonsense.
The argument had escalated until she’d tried to punch me in my face. I grabbed her fist and flung her backwards, halfway across the room. “Momma,” I’d said. “The days of you laying your hands on me are over. Don’t ever try to hit me again, or I will hit you back.”
Those words must’ve been resonating through her head at the same time they were echoing through mine because she relaxed her hand.
“Rayne, why must you insist on hurting my feelings?” she asked in her most pitiful sounding voice. “I know that I like the liquor, dammit! But that’s a far cry from doing crack and heroin.”
On one hand, I agreed with her. On the other hand, an addiction was an addiction. I decided not to comment further. I knew that before her visit was done, she’d prove my point for me without me having to utter another word.
Sure enough, before I knew it, she was pulling a bottle of vodka out of her suitcase and getting the ball rolling.
Twenty-three
Yardley
I got to Rayne’s apartment at nine o’clock on the dot that night. I was feeling good about the activities that I’d planned for us and couldn’t wait to see what she was wearing.
When she answered the door, the first thing I noticed her wearing was a gigantic frown. “What’s the matter?” I instinctively asked.
She shook her head and folded her arms in front of her. “I’m so sorry about this, Yardley.”
I was completely puzzled. “Sorry about what? Are you okay?”
Suddenly, a hand appeared over her right shoulder and pushed her to the side. A woman who had to be Rayne’s mother stood there, eyeing me up and down like she was deciding whether or not she wanted to be in my presence.
“This.” Rayne nodded toward her mother. “I’m sorry about this.”
I cleared my throat and said, “Hello. How are you?”