Drew makes more worried sounds. “Please don’t let that be it; please don’t let that be it.” I glance back at her; she’s closed her eyes and clasped her hands in prayer.
Mom laughs. “Our trailer is behind Aunt Leah’s house, sweetie. She didn’t mention a fighting cage, either.” We take a roller coaster dip down a steep hill and see twin gates with bright orange flowers all over them. “I’m pretty sure this is her driveway. She told me to look for entry gates with trumpet creeper vine on it.” We pull in, and the moving truck follows us down the winding driveway to a small, white, Victorian house with a wraparound porch and a dull gray aluminum roof. A big black-and-white mutt with a spot on its head and a smaller brown and white terrier come trotting out to us. They’re barking but wagging their tails at the same time.
Drew shouts gleefully, “She’s got dogggggs!”
Leah’s seated on the top porch step. She leaps up and skitters down the stairs, waving and smiling.
“Aunt Leah’s wearing a tank top again,” Drew says in her know-it-all voice. “Remember when Aunt Judy said—”
Mom cuts her off. “Don’t talk about that!” She pulls in next to Leah’s yellow VW bug and turns to Drew. “It’s very generous of Aunt Leah and Ryan to allow us to live here while I figure things out. It would be unkind to repeat what you heard at the Fourth of July picnic. Do you understand what I’m saying, sweetheart?”
Leah yanks open Mom’s door before Drew can answer. “I’m so glad you decided to come!” Mom gets out of the car. Leah wraps her beefy arms around her and squeezes tight.
“She’s covering Mom in her tattoos!” Drew hisses from the back seat.
I sigh. “Shut up, Drew.” We step out of the car. The late summer heat feels thick and damp—the way it feels in Northside when a storm’s about to hit—but there’s not a cloud in the sky. The dogs lick Drew from head to toe, like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for her to arrive.
Leah smiles. “Looks like Charley and Zeeke made a new friend.”
The moving truck driver approaches us. “You want us to start unloading? I can put the truck right up against the front porch.”
“Not this house—there’s a trailer behind it.” Mom looks to Leah. “Right?”
Leah nods. “Yeah, see the dirt path to the right of the house? You should be able to pull the truck in just fine…If that truck’s full, though…”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
Leah shrugs. “The trailer’s not that big. Don’t know if all your stuff will fit in there.”
The driver frowns. “I doubt there’s enough room to turn the truck around back there. We may have to unload it all in front of the house, then charge you extra to carry it to the trailer.” He takes off around the corner without waiting for a response.
Mom sounds tired. “Let’s go have a look, shall we?”
We follow the dirt path—it’s just tire tracks worn into the grass—to the mobile home, which looks kind of like a peanut butter sandwich, with its tan-colored siding between pale trim on the top and bottom. There’s one large square aluminum window to the left of the off-white plastic front door, and three narrow horizontal windows spread out evenly along the length of the trailer.
“Once you said you wanted to live here, I opened the windows to air it out.” Leah leads us up rotting wooden steps to the front door of the trailer. “I can get my friend Buzz to build some new steps. I just didn’t have time before you—”
Mom cuts her off. “It’s fine. We’re grateful to have a place to stay.”
Leah holds the door open for us to walk in ahead of her. Black wasps swoop at our heads; Drew shrieks and swats at them madly. Leah says calmly, “They’re just mud daubers, hon. They don’t sting. There’s a can of bug spray under the kitchen sink. I sure thought I’d killed them all.”
A mud dauber lands on the doorjamb by Leah’s head, and she smacks it with her hand. She wipes her palm on her shorts and leads us into the living area. “The trailer’s twenty-two years old. I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s in pretty good shape to be that age. Mark and I bought it used when we got married. The Victorian that I live in is part of a mansion built in 1895 in Gladewater. It belonged to a doctor, and when he died, his family couldn’t agree who’d get the house, so they broke it into four pieces and sold it off at auction. We bought one part and had it moved to the spot it is now, and we lived in the trailer while we remodeled the house. My tenant moved out last month, and I was about to advertise it for rent when Dale told me about Reese being a selfish prick.”
Mom freezes. At first I think she’s going to go off on Aunt Leah for her language, but she doesn’t even seem to hear that part. “I didn’t realize that it’s rental property, Leah. The movers are taking just about all the money I’ve got left. I’ve got to find a job, and…” She shakes her head and fixes her gaze on the kitchen counter.
“Aw, hon, don’t you worry about that. Let’s get you on your feet first; then we’ll figure it out. I mean, it would be good if you can at least cover your own utilities, but I’m not worrying about a thing.” She puts a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “I know what it’s like to have your life blown apart. Makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning when you’re trying to figure out why the sun’s bothering to rise.”
I remember how the Fourth of July picnic ended, and I’m amazed that Leah can be so nice to us. I guess she’s forgotten about it.
Mom’s eyes fill with tears and she nods, but says nothing.
Drew calls from the far end of the trailer, “I want this room!”
We move single file down the hall and stand in the doorway of a bedroom that takes up the entire end of the trailer. Leah laughs, “Well, honey, this is the master bedroom, but that’s between you and your mama.”
There are two other bedrooms—a tiny one next to the master, and a nearly-as-tiny one at the opposite end of the trailer. I get that one.
Sure enough, the movers can’t fit all our furniture into the trailer. My new room is so much smaller than the one in Northside that I have to walk sideways between my dresser and bed. The window blinds are bent and broken off in places, but Leah assures me that the only creatures who might see in are the deer and wildlife that live in the woods surrounding us.
We push the dining room table against a wall in the kitchen so that we have room to turn around. The den—which is really just an open space on the other side of the long bar in the kitchen—will only hold the TV, sofa, and one armchair. We leave our end tables, coffee table, two of the kitchen chairs, Dad’s recliner, and the other armchair in Leah’s front yard.
Mom pays the driver and he slowly zigzags the truck up the driveway. The rest of us practically collapse on our furniture under the pounding rays of the midday sun. Mom trudges over and hands us each a cold water bottle, then perches on an armrest.
Leah throws an arm over her eyes. “Whew! Sure would have been nice if Ryan had been here to help, too—but I needed him to hold down the fort at Sugar’s.”
“What’s Sugar’s?” I ask.
“That’s my bakery. It’s grown into a café now, too. Started out making birthday and wedding cakes, but now we’ve added breakfast and lunch service, too. I’m looking for part-time help, Colby, if you’re interested.”
Drew leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “I’m hungry…and hot! Could we go to Sugar’s and get some food?”
Mom sounds tired. “Drew…Aunt Leah’s already done so much for us.” She takes a long drink of water. “We’ll fend for ourselves. Thanks, though.”
Leah rolls the icy bottle over her neck, unscrews the lid, and dribbles water on her forehead. “No, Drew has a great idea. You’ve got to get the grand tour of Piney Creek sometime. It’ll take maybe five minutes to see our booming metropolis; then we’ll head to Sugar’s and you can eat. Let’s go!”
Aunt Leah’s not joking. Piney Creek is so tiny that kindergarten through twelfth grades are in the same building. Besides the sch
ool, there’s a post office, pharmacy, gas station, grocery store, and four churches that are all on the same street. One of the churches, First Baptist Piney Creek, has a giant steeple that casts a shadow over the other buildings.
Leah barely slows down for us to read the signs. “That’s Church Street, for obvious reasons. I don’t attend; I’ve had enough holier-than-thou bullshit crammed down my throat to last a lifetime, but feel free to partake in what they’re selling, if that’s what you want to do.”
She gestures to the right as she turns left. “When people talk about going to town, they mean Cedar Points, which is on the other side of the lake. You just follow this road to get there.” She waves at a lady who passes us, then gestures at a metal building. “Piney Creek’s police and fire department are there, and that red truck under the carport is supposed to be the fire chief’s, but he quit last month. He got a job pumping out septic tanks. Pays better.”
She slows as she comes up on a little yellow house with blue and white checked curtains in a large window and a bench by the front door. The gravel parking lot is nearly full, and there’s a steady stream of people in and out.
“This is Sugar’s. The house was built in the 1920s. I converted it to a bakery with a dining area.”
We park and go in. Ryan’s laughing and talking to a customer, but when he looks up and sees us, a curtain falls. He turns away.
Leah pulls a couple of cardboard menus off the wall and presses them at us. “I’m going to help Ryan with the end of the lunch rush; when you’re ready to order, just come on up. It’s on the house.”
Mom starts to protest, but Leah’s not listening. She’s already pulling an apron over her head and joining Ryan at the front counter.
There’s a three-tier wedding cake on a rolling cart near the kitchen entrance. I notice Mom staring at the bride and groom figurines. Her chin is quivering. Drew thumbs through a photo album of birthday cakes. The whole place smells like cake icing; I think about my dad and our tradition of baking and decorating our family birthday cakes together. He never asked Rachel or Drew for help. Just me.
The air is heavy, and even though an oscillating fan in the corner is set on high, it’s no match for the heat from the kitchen. The electric breeze coats our sweaty bodies in sweetness.
A glass display case next to us holds fudge slabs and cake ball lollipops. I run my hand over my mouth, surprised the drool isn’t running off my chin. If nobody else was here, I know I could eat it all without thinking twice.
I tap the photo album in Drew’s hands. “I thought you were starving.”
She’s preoccupied. “Oh, yeah…I forgot.”
I snap, “How on earth do you forget being hungry?” I don’t know why, but her lack of interest in eating makes me furious.
The crowd clears out, and we approach the counter in front of the kitchen.
“What can I get you?” Ryan’s voice is flat. He doesn’t acknowledge that he knows us.
“Hi, Ryan, how are you?” Mom’s got her smile in place, but Ryan’s not buying it.
“We’re out of chicken salad. If that’s what you want…we’re out.” He drags his pen down the center of his notepad repeatedly until it tears the paper.
“Oh…okay…” Mom turns the cardboard menu over and over, as if the items have changed since she studied it when we were seated at the table by the front door.
“Your face doesn’t look as weird anymore.” Drew’s on her tiptoes, trying to get a better look at Ryan over the display case.
“Don’t lean on the glass,” he snaps. He abruptly turns, nearly bumping into the pregnant woman behind him. “I’m taking my break.”
She steps up to take his place, eases herself onto a stool, and exclaims, “Whew! It’s a scorcher!”
Mom fans herself with a menu. “You’ve got that right. Hi…I’m Sonya, Leah’s sister-in-law.”
The lady grunts as she leans over the counter and shakes Mom’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dulcie. Leah told me y’all were moving into her trailer.”
“Yes, we’ve got everything moved in that’s going to fit. Just a matter of unpacking, now. When’s your baby due? My first child was born in the summer. It was eighteen years ago, but I still remember how miserable I was.”
“He’s due any minute. I’m a little worried because Leah hasn’t found anybody to take my place yet, and I’m going to be staying home after I have him.” She picks up a water bottle, takes a sip, and runs her eyes over Drew and me. “Did y’all decide what you want to eat?”
Mom grabs my arm and pulls me forward. “Colby can help out. Leah already told her about the job. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Colby?”
My mind is screaming, “No! There’s no way I can be around this stuff; I’ll eat every second that I’m here!” But I can’t say that because nobody knows how much I fear and crave sweets at the same time. It’s like the two people inside of me are fighting to control what I eat, and the one thing they have in common is hatred for me—for what I look like and how it feels to be in my body; for my inability to stop once I start.
But how can I refuse to help out when Aunt Leah gave us a place to live when we had nowhere else to go? Mom says we owe her big time.
I nod. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’ve always wanted to work in a bakery.”
Chapter Eight
Mom, Drew, and I spend Saturday unpacking and settling in. We move Rachel’s belongings and our boxes of fancy dishes, books, photos, and winter clothes to the Victorian’s screened-in back porch. We’re able to move most of our extra furniture from the front yard into Leah’s small barn, but there’s no room for Dad’s oversized recliner.
“It’ll just have to stay where it is for now,” Mom says. “It’s not supposed to rain for a while anyway.” Just then, Leah’s dog, Charley—sopping wet and covered in sand—leaps onto the recliner, flips onto her back, and suns her belly.
I expect Mom to leave the shade of the screened-in porch to shoo the dog out of Dad’s chair, but instead she smirks at the sight. “Hmm. Well, if your dad ever comes down here to get his chair, at least it’ll be well-seasoned for him.”
The screened door slams behind Drew. “Daddy’s coming to see us?”
Mom grimaces, like she wouldn’t have made a smart-ass comment if she’d known my little sister was around. “Aw, honey, not that I know of.”
Drew frowns. “But he knows where we are, right? He’ll be able to find us if he wants to come get us?”
Mom runs her hand over Drew’s long blonde hair, stroking it. She sighs. “Sweetie, I don’t think Daddy’s going to be coming back. But we’ll be okay, we—”
Drew’s huge blue eyes fill with tears. “But—we’re Daddy’s package deal, Mama!”
I snap, “No, we were just dumb enough to believe it when he said it.”
Drew shoots me a look like I’m not making sense. “Mama, does Daddy know where we are or not? He needs to be able to find us—”
Mom blasts, “He’ll find out when he’s served with divorce papers, Drew Ann! As soon as I get enough money, I’m—”
“You’re getting divorced?” Drew’s voice is squeaky-high. “You’re…getting…divorced?” She bolts from the screened-in porch and races toward our trailer.
Mom sits hard onto a box of books and puts her head in her hands. Her phone rings; she pulls it out of her pocket and tries to answer it. “Missed call. It’s Rachel again.” She sighs. “Leah told me that if I drive up the hill and park next to the Goats for Sale sign at the end of the road, the phone will receive a signal. Guess that’s what I’ll do.” She shakes her head a few times and blinks. “What has my life come to?” She rises and heads for the door.
“Mom—”
She stops. “Yes?”
I’m struck by how much older she looks, even though her hair’s pulled back in a ponytail and, as always, she’s wearing full makeup. I want to tell her that everything’s going to be okay, but I can’t. I act like I forgot what I was going to say.
“Nothing.”
I dig through my dirty clothes pile and pull the plastic ceiling star that used to glow in the dark from my shorts’ pocket. I stand on my bed, use a piece of clear packing tape to stick the star to the ceiling, and cup my hand around it, hoping it’ll glow even a little bit. I bite my lower lip and pray, “God, if You’re really there; if You’re going to fix this shitstorm that is my life, make this star glow. Please.” I cup my hands around that star until my arms go numb.
It may have glowed; I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t see a thing through my tears.
Around 6:00 P.M., Ryan knocks on our door. He’s wearing the same scowl from the day before at Sugar’s. He stares so hard at a dent in the siding by the front window that I look at it, too. “Mom sent me over to tell y’all that she’s making burgers to celebrate you moving in, and they’ll be ready at seven.” He looks skyward and sighs. “She said to say, ‘Sorry for the late notice. We would have been home earlier, but we had to deliver a wedding cake.’”
I’m not hungry; I polished off the stuff in my snack stash when Mom was trying to get Drew to calm down about the divorce. But I can’t tell him that. “We haven’t eaten yet. So…thanks.” I glance at him; he still won’t look at me.
Ryan snaps, “Don’t thank me; if it were up to me…” He purses his lips, shakes his head, and mumbles, “So…come over at seven.” He reaches for the doorknob and pulls it closed.
Aunt Leah’s jaw drops at the sight of Drew’s swollen eyes and blotchy red face. “Oh, my goodness, honey, are you having a bad day?”
Big Fat Disaster Page 8
