Glass - 02
Page 22
We jerk apart, and there’s
LaTreya, hands on hips.
Okay, this one isn’t nanny
material. It’s up to the daddy
in question to assuage her ire.
But he sputters, helpless, so
I offer, “I’m just thanking him
for fixing my car. Okay, honey?”
No! It’s not okay. He’s my
daddy, and daddies are only
supposed to kiss mommies.
You’re not my mommy, so you
better not kiss him anymore!
She storms into the other room.
Brad smiles apologetically.
Sorry bout that. Jeez, she’s
more like her mother than I
imagined. Who knew such
a little girl could have such
a big temper—or opinions?
I’ve never really asked
about Angela before. This
seems like as good a time as
any. “Tell me about Angela.
What happened between
you? Why did she leave?”
He shakes his head. Not
much to say. We got married
and had kids, right out of high
school. One day she said she
needed some space. Guess
she found some she likes.
He Drops It
And so do I, but thinking
about leaving kids behind
has made me want to see
Hunter. I pick up the phone.
“Hey, Mom. My car’s on the
road again. I thought I’d
drop by this afternoon. Uh,
maybe around three?”
I’m meeting Grady at five,
Brendan a half hour later.
That should give me plenty of
time to reconnect with my baby.
Brad weighs out an ounce
into eight balls. I’m not exactly
sure how much they’ll want,
or how much they can pay.
He is rightly concerned.
Promise you’ll be extra careful.
An ounce is trafficking—
definitely heavy jail time.
“Hey, no worries. I’ll drive
like an old woman. The last
thing I want is to get popped.
I’m too busy to spend time in jail.”
Brad walks me to my car,
looks right and left before
bending down to kiss me.
Call if you’ll be late, okay?
I’m going to worry until
you get home. He’d probably
worry a lot more if he knew
just who I’d lined up to score.
The Roads Are Dry
The car’s running great, and I feel no
sense of fear, despite the large quantity
of fine Mexican methamphetamine
beneath the front seat. It’s a forty-
minute drive home, at the speed limit,
and I have to admit getting away
from Red Rock, Brad, and the girls feels
like freedom. Guess I’m finding space I like.
On a lark, I hit Trey’s number on my speed
dial. I about drop the phone when he actually
answers, and on the second ring. Hey, you.
Must be ESP. I was just thinking about you.
My first thought is, He’s thinking about
me! [My first thought is, Yeah, right.]
We talk for ten minutes and every doubt
about what he feels for me dissolves.
There are a few uncomfortable moments,
like when he asks, So, what’s up with Brad?
The Bree in me has a ready smart-ass answer,
which I quickly squelch in favor of telling him
Brad fixed my car. [Oh, he fixed more than
that, didn’t he?] But Trey’s next query, about
“availability,” elicits an “Oh, duh” moment.
When I tell him, “No problem,” he says,
Cool. I’m thinking about a quick trip over
the mountain. You’ll be around, won’t you?
Well, where else would I be, especially with
him coming? My heart hammers, blood
pumping wildly until I pull into Mom’s driveway
and realize he’s coming more for glass than for me.
That’s What’s on My Mind
When Scott opens the door.
Hello, Kristina. Cool as sleet.
He gives me a noticeable up-
down-and-sideways, and if he’s
half as savvy as he thinks he is,
he has to know the score.
Regardless, he steps aside, lets
me in. Jake comes out of the
kitchen, carrying Hunter. How
long since I’ve seen him? Two
months—just after Christmas—
and he’s grown. Changed.
His hair falls in long dark waves,
almost to the bottom of his neck.
His coos and gurgles sound
suspiciously like words: M-m-m-a.
When he spots me, he smiles, and
beyond his lips are two little teeth.
I reach for him and he draws
back, seeking safety in Jake’s
arms. Anger flares, but only
briefly. After all, thanks to Mom,
he knows Jake better, trusts
Jake more than he trusts me.
Your mother had to run into Reno,
says Scott. Jake, why don’t you
put Hunter in his walker? I
follow them into the family room.
Comfortable in his baby bumper
car, Hunter rises up on his tiptoes.
He scoots across the hardwood,
laughing. Finds the TV, punches
at buttons without success.
He’s determined. Determined,
like the person he so resembles,
the one I’ll see much too soon.
Being Here
At home
seems kind
of surreal. Okay,
maybe that’s partly
because I’m two-days
buzzed, brain a little fuzzy.
Beyond that, I know the room
upstairs still has purple butterflies,
fluttering on mauve walls. [Are you
sure? Maybe it’s an office, with turquoise
angelfish on blue walls.] No, I don’t think so.
Being here with Hunter is weird too. Kind of a
synthetic state of mother- hood, not so different from
being a nanny, because I know no matter what I do,
no matter how fucked up I am or become, he’s not
really my responsibility. Okay, morally, Hunter is
my responsibility. But Mom took it upon herself
to usurp the mommy role, so great. She taught me a
lesson. But who’s really getting hurt here? Not me.
[Huh. Really? Well, you sure could have fooled me.]
I Leave Without Seeing Mom
And that’s fine by me. Nothing
to say to her, anyway.
Nothing.
Next stop, Grade E. We set up
the meet at his house.
Not far.
He opens the door and his eyes
practically pop
clear out
of his skull. Wow. You look
great. See? What
did I tell you?
Guys like girls thin. “Uh, can
I come in?” He steps
out of my way,
ushers me back to his bedroom.
Mom won’t be home
till later,
so we’re cool. We sit on his bed,
and that makes me
slightly uncomfortable.
When I open the baggie,
give him a taste, he
just about
goes ape shit. That’s what
I’m talking about.
Where
did this come from? Local?
He’s right where
I need him to be.
So I say, “I can get more.
But it isn’t cheap.”
He makes a buy.
A half ounce. And he says,
I’ll be calling for more.
Perfect
I made a nice little profit,
plan to make a bigger
profit at my next stop.
Brendan and I hook
up around back
at the Sev.
Can’t do
the deal here.
Get in, he says, but
I insist “No, we’ll take
my car.” It’s bigger. Safer.
And, behind the wheel, I’ve got
the power. We drive in silence
a mile or so up Virginia Grade.
Despite being gravel,
the road is icy, the
shoulders piled
with snow.
It will be
tough to turn
around, so I keep
driving until I find a place
where I can do that. I want to
be parked in the direction of quick
escape. Just in case. Finally Brendan
says, I was surprised you called.
Yeah, me too. “Water
under the bridge,” I
answer. What
else can I
say—I
want your cash?
But it’s really hard to
look at him, especially after
just being with my baby. His
baby. Our baby. God, that stings.
He Wants a Sample
I’m generous with that.
We smoke three bowls,
and as the ice does what
it’s supposed to do, his
eyes take on the glow
of the monster. Major
déjà vu. Have I made
an irreversible mistake?
Not bad, he says. You
fucking the guy you
got it from? There’s
the Brendan I know
and hate. The worst
part is, he’s right. “No,
he’s fucking me. So,
are you in or what?”
A slip of the tongue,
and he pounces on it.
It might be a little tight,
with the steering wheel
and all, but I’m game
if you are. He’s a nervy
bastard, I’ll give him that.
He smiles a Yeah, so?
Stay cool. He brought
money. “Thanks for
the offer, but I’ve got
someone waiting.”
Then he says something
completely unexpected.
I saw your mom with your
baby the other day.
I knew it was your mom
because she looks like you.
I knew it was your baby
because he looks…
He can’t know. I won’t
let him. I’ll deny it until
the day I die—or he does.
I hold my breath.
…like you, too.
Too Close for Comfort
Time to go before we get any closer.
“So, how much do you want?
Uh, how much ice do you want?”
He smiles. I’ll take a ball,
if you’ll front it to me.
Okay, now I’m just pissed. “Sorry,
cash and carry. Godammit, I
ain’t the Bank of America.”
I’m just a little short and I
don’t get paid until Friday.
“So why did you say you were
interested? It’s not like we’re friends.
You expect me to trust you?”
Why not? We were friends once, weren’t
we? He dares put a hand on my knee.
[Stay calm. He could bust you.] Calmly
I push his hand off my knee. “How
much money do you have on you?”
Seventy or eighty dollars. Is that
enough for a down payment?
“On a gram. But all I have weighed
out are eight balls, and they’re three
fifty.” I can’t afford stupidity.
He counts the contents of his wallet.
Eighty-six dollars. The rest on Friday?
If he actually calls with the money,
I’ll have to see him twice in one week.
He’ll probably rip me off. So why
do I say okay?
At Least He Didn’t Try
To steal the stuff.
[Give him time.]
At least he didn’t try
to rape me.
[Ditto.]
At least he didn’t decide
Hunter was his baby.
[Double ditto.]
Sometimes the little things
in life mean the most.
[Everything in your
life is little.]
Would you get the fuck
out of here? I can’t double-
think everything.
[Split personalities
are indeed a bitch.]
Am I totally schizo?
[Close. But there’s
a bigger question.]
Oh, yeah?
Like what?
[Which half is the real you?]
Wired (Weird) Out of My Tree
I won’t eat tonight.
Won’t sleep tonight.
Won’t want to deal
with inane questions,
prime-time TV, or Barbie.
Luckily, Brad has fed
the girls, bathed the girls,
and they’re playing
quietly in their room.
Perfect.
What I’m focused on
now is Trey, and when
[if] he’ll arrive. I sit in
my room, waiting.
Smoking.
Waiting.
Toking.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Finally, There’s a Knock
“Come in,” I call softly.
(The girls must be asleep
by now—almost midnight.)
My heart stutters. Crow
hops. Bucks wildly. But
it isn’t Trey. [Told you.]
Brad’s head pops through
the door. You’ve been awfully
quiet. Everything go okay?
I’m disappointed. But at
least I’m not alone. “Like
clockwork. Come on in.”
We do what you do when
you’re wasting an evening,
playing with the monster.
Finally, the clock betrays
that it’s well after two A.M.
Trey isn’t coming after all.
Guess I should at least
pretend to sleep. Brad stands,
pauses by the door.
Choices. Choices. This
choice is all mine to make.
“Want some company?”
Long About the Time
The sun shows its face, I am spent,
woozy, not quite asleep. Brad has
managed to slip into dreams and I
listen to his shallow breathing.
It’s hypnotic, and I steal lower
and lower toward the nowhere
place between consciousness
and blessed sleep. Somewhere
there’s a noise. A door closes.
Footsteps? On the stairs? I can’t
move. I’m weighted, shackled.
I should. I must. But I’m close
to oblivion. My door creaks open.
The long, silent pause tells me
it isn’t one of the girls. Footsteps
across the floor. I’m afraid.
Rooted. Not even the sound of
fabric falling against the carpeting
convinces me to move. Somehow,
this person is familiar.
Behind me, the sheets part.
Move over, Trey whispers, and
I do and it makes no difference
that Brad is semisoundly sleeping
beside us. Trey pulls me to him
and I stiffen, terrified of what he
must be thinking. It’s okay, he
whispers, and we’re making love.
Two Guys, One Bed
It’s really too weird.
[Yeah, but kind of nice.]
What has happened to my
morals,
my sense of right, wrong?
[Way overrated.] Shit, I’m
a one-woman Sodom and
Gomorrah, awaiting
transformation.
I hope Trey [and/or Brad]
likes salt, ’cause I’ll soon
be a regular pillar, in
exchange for this brand of
sin.
Trey definitely must like
salt. It’s bad enough that I
felt like it was okay to be
jam between slices of
bread.
But why doesn’t Trey care
about finding me in bed
with Brad? His cousin, yet.