Sliding into her big bed, I stare at the ceiling, jumbled thoughts running through my head like a screenplay of memories. Thoughts of my mother don’t bring me smiles or feelings of joy. Instead, they bring heartbreak and remind me of what it feels like to go hungry and to worry if I’m safe in my bed at night. No, memories of Diane are more like nightmares, and her death feels like I’m finally free.
THE NEXT MORNING, CHUCK drives me to the police precinct. We’re met there by Detectives Brown and Jones, who escort me into the coroner's lab and a viewing area. The smell of death and antiseptic permeates the room, something I’m familiar with having done pathology labs at my university, and the temperature is cold; a wave of goosebumps appears on my arms. I’m led to a window facing into the morgue where a body can be seen on a table covered by a white sheet.
“Are you ready for this?” Detective Jones asks me quietly. Her voice is tinged with sympathy, and I’m torn. That guilt comes roaring back, reminding me that I should be the one upset right now, but there’s also a little relief that this is almost over. I nod my head, and she waves her hands to the scrub-clad tech standing next to the table. Leaning down, they pull back the white sheet to expose the face of the body. With detached feelings, I study the person shown to me. My mother wasn’t quite twenty-one when she had me, which makes her not quite forty-seven now, but looking at the face in front of me, you can see life hasn’t been kind. Lines and divots where the drugs have eaten away make her look closer to sixty. Her skin is sallow and pale, sunken cheeks giving her a skeletal look; she must have resembled the corpse she now is in life as well—the weeks since I’ve seen her have obviously not been good.
“Yes, that’s my mother, Diane Stubbs,” I confirm out loud for the detectives. Nodding his head, Detective Brown gestures for the tech to cover her back up.
“Is there anything else you need from me?” I asked the detectives.
“If you just come with us, we can hand you over the personal effects she had on her and sign a few documents so you can be on your way.” Detective Brown gestures back toward the front of the precinct.
After signing a few documents, they hand me a set of keys to her trailer. “These were on her body when she was found. Her clothes are being kept as evidence in case, but there was no sign of foul play, and the coroner confirms that she died from a massive overdose of heroin.”
I frown at the statement. “Really? I would have thought someone used to doing drugs would have enough experience to not accidentally overdose.”
Detective Brown shrugs. “Sometimes it’s because they’ve built up a tolerance, and only a bigger hit will help them achieve the high. Sometimes it’s a bad batch of drugs. Unless someone comes forward with some other information, we can only go on what we’ve found.”
Nodding my head, I thank them both, waving off their directions to call them if I have any issues with the trailer park owner. Chuck has been quiet but supportive throughout the whole process, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders as we leave the police precinct.
“I’m really sorry, Harlow. Your mom used to be such a bright, bubbly, giving person, and I’m so sorry you never got to see that. And I’m sorry that you have to do this now.” I bump my hip against his and rest my head on his shoulder, a silent thanks for his support. He knows I’m not emotionally capable of much more and doesn’t push me. Sharing my feelings has always been very difficult for me, and it’s taken a lot of therapy to get me to a place where I don't automatically flinch when I do, anticipating the hit that was always bound to follow when I made the mistake of voicing an opinion to Diane.
He drives me over to the trailer park where Melinda and Maxine are waiting for me in front of my mother's home. The front of the park is full of cheery, well-looked-after mobile homes that have little gardens and white wooden fences around them. People living at the front take pride in the appearance of their homes. As you drive further on, that changes. The homes get older, the painted fences turn to wire and are falling down, and the grassed yards are dirt patches littered in old furniture or cars. Hopping out of the car, I study the surrounding area. The trailers aren’t in good condition, and the people keep to themselves, everyone minding their own business. No point in starting something that might get you dead.
Mom’s mobile home is one of the worst-kept of the lot. The steps are sagging, and weeds are pushing up between the gaps in the boards. Her screen door is hanging by a hinge, and the siding is faded and cracked.
Stepping carefully up the steps, I put the key into the lock, but the door just swings open. Bracing myself for what's to come, I step in. The smell is horrendous, and I can hear Melinda and Maxine behind me gagging in disgust. My cheeks tingle with embarrassment, but I take a deep breath and turn around, looking at them. The horrified grimaces on their faces have me snorting. They’re both dressed in jeans and boots and have gardening gloves in their hands. Both are used to outdoor work, but they have never struggled for anything in their lives. And even though the Bostons are generous to a fault with charities, they never really see the causes they donate to. This way of living is an eye-opener to them.
“Just be careful. Don't stick your hands into places you can't see; she was terrible at disposing of needles.” Their eyes widen in shock, and my cheeks almost heat in a blush of embarrassment. I appreciate their support, but I also would’ve been happy to never expose them to this facet of my life. “There's probably nothing salvageable; well, there wasn't when I was visiting here. The only place I'm interested in is her bedroom. I was never allowed in there.”
They nod their heads, and we walk through the doorway. The silence is deafening as we look around the trailer. Really, that term is too generous. It's a trash heap. My mood sinks even lower as I study the squalor my egg donor and incubator was living in. At least when I visited, I would clean it. Now, dishes are jammed into the sink. Ashtrays are full of cigarette butts. The trash can in the kitchen is overflowing, and there are empty, dirty take-out containers on every surface. The only sofa is sagging, ripped, and covered in dubious stains. The faucet in the sink is leaking, and the water dripping against the metal is hypnotic in the silence. Drip...drip....drip. The sound of a car backfiring makes me jump and brings my attention back to the front yard.
“Let’s get this done before the locals pay too much attention to us.”
Shaking off my disgust and melancholy, I step forward, and the floor sags, causing the trailer to shudder and mice to scatter out from under furniture. Melinda screams and hauls ass out of the door. She can’t deal with the mice on the farm either.
“I’ll call the guys for help removing everything and speak to the owner about dumping the furniture,” she shouts back over her shoulder.
Maxine and I laugh as she hurries in the opposite direction. My mother's trailer is not big; it only has one bedroom, a small bathroom, and the living area/kitchen we just stepped into. There is absolutely nothing I want to keep. She’s never had any personal items, and the few things in the kitchen are chipped and broken. As far as I’m concerned, it can all go in the trash. We just have to haul it there.
I turn toward the bedroom, intending to go forward, but then stop. A nervous feeling sits at the bottom of my stomach. I'm worried about what we might find, but I’m also worried that there isn't anything to find, and I have my hopes up again. Maxine bumps my hip, knowing me well enough to notice how I’m feeling. “Come on, let's get this done.” Smiling gratefully, I follow her into my mother's bedroom.
Chapter Four
Harlow
My mother’s bedroom is just as bad as the rest of the trailer. Barely bigger than the double bed it contains, there’s an overfull ashtray on the upside-down milk crate beside the bed and what looks like a drug pipe and lighter as well. The musty, sweaty, sour smell brings on more nose wrinkling from the both of us. Suspicious stains spread across the bed sheets that have seen better...decades. “Don't sit down anywhere,” I warn her.
“Eww, wasn't planning on
it.” I can feel my cheeks redden in embarrassment again, and she sees it. Max grabs me by the arms, shaking me in frustration. “Stop it! Stop feeling responsible, or guilty, or ashamed, or whatever it is you’re feeling. Nothing that woman did was your fault.” She's right, and I hate it. I'm feeling all of those and more. Nodding, I look around and find a small sliding door that must be her closet, and I gesture to it.
“Can you start pulling things out of there? There’s not enough room over there for both of us, so put everything on the bed, and I'll go through it. Then, we’ll flip the mattress and see what's under the bed.” Maxine starts pulling out all my mother's clothes. Half of them wouldn't properly cover a twelve-year-old, let alone a grown woman, but she has slowly withered away into a shadow of her former self, so I may be wrong. One thing’s for sure, for someone who always cried poor, my mom has a lot of clothes. Nothing we can donate, though, unless it’s going to Strippers-R-Us.
“So who was that hottie last night?” Maxine asks, shooting me a cheeky grin. “Don't think I didn't notice that I lost you as soon as we went upstairs.”
I scoff at her. “Your friends are douchebag snobs. Why would I want to hang out with them?” She stops pulling clothes out of the closet, her lips thinning.
“No, they're not,” she says quietly. “Have you ever thought it’s you who doesn't give them a chance?”
Now it’s my turn to get angry, and I hold some of it back, letting loose just enough to be honest without going too far. “I did in the beginning. I was nice to the catty girls and friendly to the guys, but when the guys constantly hit on me, and the girls got bitchy and territorial, I stopped. I was dealing with enough in my life without having to deal with that as well. You know this, we’ve talked about it before. Just accept it, okay? Why do you need me to like them?”
I grab a handful of clothes and carry them out of the room to where I hear Melinda out front. Outside, she has a heap of boxes, and the ranch’s truck has pulled up with a trailer on the back. Chuck climbs out with Luke and Peter, two of the farmhands, in tow. I dump my armload of clothes in one of the boxes at Melinda's feet and hurry back inside. Peter and Luke have always been polite to me, but I think they see me as competition for their jobs, and I often catch Luke looking at me with undisguised lust. It freaks me out; he gives me weird creeper type vibes, and I often find him in the stables under my apartment when he has no reason to be there, so I avoid them as much as possible. I’m also incredibly embarrassed for them to see where I came from, so I'll just let Melinda give them instructions.
Rushing back into the bedroom, I see Maxine has the closet wide open and everything spread out on the bed. She looks up as I walk in, and now it seems that it’s her turn to flush, red splotches on her cheeks betraying her own embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I know you're right, but I hate that you are.”
Waving my hand, I shake my head. “Don't be. It is what it is, and I’m used to it. I’m happy with my own company, and I have you and Tasha if I need her. I’m used to being alone.”
“Yeah, but I’m such an asshole for forcing them on you all the time. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be used to being alone.” She’s in such a state she sinks down onto the bed, not realizing what she’s doing.
“I’ve been such a bad friend all of these years, but you don't realize how cruel they can be.” I snort unbelievably at these words, and she immediately looks a little sheepish. “Well, maybe you do, but you know I hate confrontation. I've just learned to overlook their bad behavior in an attempt to fit in. I don't know how you can continue to be my friend.” I’m not ready to dig into such a deep subject with her on top of everything else that’s going on, so I wave her off for now and gesture to where she’s sitting.
“Ewww, oh my god!” she screeches, just like my barn owl, and jumps up, rubbing at her clothes and gagging slightly. I snort again in amusement, her actions breaking the tension.
Looking at the remaining items, I consider going through the clothes and shoes and checking the pockets but figure anything of value would have been pawned a long time ago. “Can you go and grab a box from your mom? We’ll put the rest of this crap in it, and it’ll make it easier to take to the dumpster. I don't want to go out there; Peter and Luke are here.”
A knowing look crosses her face, and she squeezes by me to do as I ask. Leaning against the wall, I blow out a huge breath, looking around. The warmth of a tear trickles down my cheek, but I wipe it away with the back of my hand. Pushing all the feelings down to examine later, I stand up and gather all the clothes together. Voices travel through the central area of the trailer now as they start to shift things outside.
“Fuck, this is not livable. They might as well set it on fire; no one will want to rent it,” Luke’s nasally voice exclaims in disgust. Little does he know the trailer park has a waitlist even for properties like this.
Maxine comes back with the box, and we start to pack things away. “So, you still never told me about the hottie from last night.”
I laugh. I knew she would come back to it. “Wow, nosy much?” I tease her.
She growls at me, “Since when have you kept secrets?”
I look at her in surprise, knowing she likely meant to tease me but finding her words are hitting a bit of a painful spot instead. “When was the last time we talked about guys or anything other than training schedules for horses? I love you, Max, and you're my best friend, but we don't do much together anymore, apart from work. We’re always too busy to talk about anything else.”
She stops what she’s doing and looks like she’s really thinking about it until a devastated look crosses her face. “Oh shit, Harlow. I’m sorry. You just always project the image of being okay by yourself. You’re like an island that no one can breach.” I flinch at the description and shrug nonchalantly, hiding how I really feel. It hurts that she sees me that way, but I don’t let her see it. I perfected this mask a long time ago, having learned that I couldn't rely on anyone but myself.
“Anyway, his name was Jaxon. He was friendly, funny, and sexy, and boy, he had moves that made my heart pound. But that was then, and this is now. I didn't even get his number, and it’s not like I plan on going back to the club. Even if I did, what are the chances I would see him again?”
“I could ask around? I’m sure someone knows who he is. A lot of my friends saw you two head downstairs. What did he say he did? Maybe we can find him through his work.”
I think about it, wracking my brain for any detail that might help. “You know, I don’t think either of us said what we did. I mean, we talked about me working with horses, but I didn’t tell him I was a vet. It just didn’t seem important at the time. Leave it be. If it was meant to be, it would’ve happened,” I tell her even though deep down I'm really disappointed that I forgot to get his number and that I’ve only got myself to blame. I think I subconsciously believed he couldn't possibly be interested, so I didn't make that effort to get his number.
After she drops the subject, we make quick work of putting all the clothes and shoes in the boxes. She carries them back out to the front yard before returning. Looking at the bed, I shudder to think what's underneath it. “You ready?” She hands me a dust mask and slips one on her face before nodding. We go around to the far side of the bed and flip the mattress off toward the door, our faces already stuck in grimaces behind our masks. A few cockroaches scurry for shelter, and the dust is about an inch thick, but apart from a few odd socks and an empty syringe, the only thing sitting under the bed is a shoebox.
“Huh? That was a bit anticlimactic. I was expecting all sorts of illicit things, maybe a sex toy or two,” Maxine muses, and I screw my nose up in disgust before smirking at her.
“I guess I was due for a little luck.” I step between the wooden slats and reach down to grab the shoebox. Putting it under my arm, I make my way carefully back toward the door blocked by the mattress.
“Come on, let’s shove this out of the way and get out of here. I’m just going to
pay someone to clean it out.”
I go out and tell the others my plans, and honestly, they all look relieved. Melinda is so happy to get out of here that she tells me to leave it to her. She’ll make some calls to get it done. The woman has a well-developed network and can usually get most tasks done with just a few quick calls, so I’m sure this will be no different. The guys leave everything where it is but grab the few boxes of clothes and tell us they’ll drop it in the dumpster on the way out of the park. Luke's eyes are on me the whole time, but I pretend not to see him, instead thanking Chuck and giving him a hug before he leaves along with the other two. Maxine, Melinda, and I hop into Max’s car and head home. I think they both realize I need some space because the drive back to the farm is silent, with only the radio playing quietly in the background.
I have so many thoughts running through my head and can’t even latch onto one. The shoebox is burning a hole in my lap with the need to open it, but if all it contains are the drugs and sex toys that Max was expecting, I’m going to lose my shit. Surely, there must be more to my mother than illegal activities and neglect. Surely, she once had something she cared about apart from where she was going to get her next fix, something like me. She must have once, right? There must be some kind of proof of this, and this shoebox is all that is left.
I guess I have more issues than I thought because her death is affecting me more than it should. Not liking the roads that these feelings might bring me down, I definitely add a possible return to therapy to my mental to-do list. Unexpectedly, a song on the radio draws my attention, and I lean forward, breaking out of my mental whirlwind. “I love this song. Can you turn it up?” Max presses a few buttons, and Sanctuary of Chaos’ latest song blasts through the radio, the lead singer’s husky, sultry voice singing of lost love and finding it again. The three of us sing along, belting out the words as we make our way home.
Abandoned Girl (Neighpalm Industries Collective, #1) Page 4
