The Finish

by Jade Eby

  They actually get along pretty well. Cracking jokes. He gets her dry sense of humor that usually goes over my head.

  She steps out of the dressing room. "I think this is the one then."

  I nod and bring it to the counter. I hand over Carter's credit card to the cashier. "Hey, want to call the cab so they'll be out front when we get done?"

  Mom nods and uses my phone to call them.

  When we're out of the store, she takes my arm and pulls me to the bench. "While we're here… I wanted to talk to you."

  I raise my eyebrows. "Um, okay. About what?"

  "I've tried to hold my tongue because you and Carter have done so much for me, but honey, he won't even let you have a car of your own. He keeps you on a leash like a dog. I know you don't want to hear this, but now that I'm sober, I'm seeing things for what they are. And this is not good for you."

  I look away from her. "You want to ruin this good day we're having? And he's really been much better since you've been here."

  "I'm not going to be here forever. You know once I'm working and earn enough money, I'm getting my own place."

  "And I'm so happy for you."

  "But this isn't about me. It's about you. I don't like seeing you like this."

  "Like what, Mom? I'm happy. Have you seen my life? I don't have to work, I get to stay home with you and cook which I adore doing. I love my life."

  I say these things with conviction, like maybe if I put them out in the world, it'll be enough to make me believe them.

  She looks at me with those damn concerned eyes. "You're just like me, you know. Telling yourself these big lies so maybe one day you'll think they're the truth. Your father did the same thing to me in a different way. He had this hold on me—"

  "Stop it. Please. We're not doing this. Come on, the cab is probably here."

  She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but closes it. She knows better. She won't bite the hand that feeds her. She's not that brave.

  * * *

  My mother tanks her interview. At least that's what she tells Carter and me.

  "I don't know what happened. I answered all the questions right and she seemed really interested and then at the end she said I wasn't what they were looking for. I thought the lady at the career center said they wouldn't hold my record against me."

  Carter laughs. "Everything those people say is a lie. Of course they'll hold your record against you."

  My mother's face completely drops.

  "You could always try sleeping with the boss of some company. Bet you'd get hired then," Carter says.

  I slug him in the arm. "Hey! She's trying to change her life around, not get herself into more trouble."

  He shrugs. "It was just a suggestion."

  "You'll have another interview, Mom. And you'll do great. Something will come along."

  "I guess."

  "Something better come along, you're not staying with us for the rest of your life," Carter says.

  I glare at Carter. "She knows that. She's doing the best she can."

  "I'm right here, you know. And trust me, I won't overstay my welcome."

  Carter seems satisfied with that answer.

  Mom slaps the table. "I got it! We should open a catering business, Tawny. You're so good at cooking and baking. You've been teaching me. We could totally do this."

  It's the most ridiculous idea to cross her lips. Ridiculous because it sounds like something I'd love to do. Ridiculous because it will never in a million years happen.

  Carter's face is a mixture of amusement and confusion. "You two? A catering business?" Then he bursts out in laughter. "Yeah…"

  Does he automatically assume we're too dumb to run a business or is it that he knows the risks are too great? That I could actually be successful and that would mean letting the reigns go. Lord knows that man loves his leash and reigns.

  "Why not?" I ask. "I mean, she has a point. I'm damn good at cooking. And I'd need help with setting up. But we could pull it off."

  Carter laughs harder. "Should I list all the reasons why that is a terrible idea?"

  "Sure," Mom interjects.

  "One, you two know nothing about business. Two, you have to have a lot of money to start a business like that. Money we don't have. Three, you'd need a van or some shit like that. Four —"

  "Okay, we get it. It was a bad idea," I say. He doesn't list the real reason he wouldn't want us to do it. Traveling. Being out of his sights. Men who might hit on me. A chance to get out of his grasp.

  When I catch my mother's gaze, I can see it in her eyes. She knows the truth as much as I do. I plead with her not to push the issue. To just leave it alone.

  "Yeah, you're right, Carter. Stupid idea. Sorry for suggesting it," she says, giving into him the way I so often do.

  "A for effort though, Shelly."

  She laughs for him again, but it's chock full of things she's not saying. I've discovered a lot about my mother these last few months and underneath it all - we're more alike than either of us like to admit.

  Timid. Scared. Worthless when it comes to doing the right thing.

  August - 2007

  Empty bottles of booze litter the kitchen floor. Mom sits in the middle of the mess, crying. I shake her and she wobbles. I left her for an hour. One fucking hour.

  "Oh my God, Mom. Why would you do this?"

  "I can't do it anymore, Tawny. I thought it would be easy. No one will hire me. I don't want to live with my damn kid the rest of my life. I miss your father. I miss… drinking."

  "You were doing so good, why would you mess this up? Carter's going to be home any minute. He's going to throw you out. You know that?"

  She cries harder, snot bubbling from her nostrils. "I don't care. Throw me out. It's what I deserve. I'm a piece of shit."

  "Where did you get these bottles?"

  She points to a cupboard. "He hides them. Bet you didn't know that."

  Dammit. I didn't. I'm never in that cupboard.

  "Do you know how pissed he's going to be? This isn't just on you. He's going to blame me."

  She shakes and cries. I don't know what to do. I have no where to hide all these bottles. No time to clean up her mess.

  "Get up. We need to hide this shit. Now."

  "Let him see. He'll get rid of me. That's what you want anyway."

  I fall to my knees by her side. "How can you say that? These last few months have been some of the best, Mom. You changed."

  "Not enough. You can't change people, Tawny. No matter how hard you try. I'm broken. No one can fix me."

  "You can! You can fix you. You did it once. You're going to do it again. This is just a hiccup. C'mon, help me clean this up before Carter gets home."

  She puts her head in her hands. "I'm sorry. So sorry."

  "No, no. You can't do this to me now. Please, Mom. Get up."

  I try to pull her to her feet, but she's so heavy. I can't do it.

  "Just leave me."

  "No," I say again, trying to lift her up. She's like dead weight. My chest tightens at the sound of Carter's truck pulling into the driveway.

  I pull the trash can out and shove a bottle into it. And another. But it's not enough. She's still on the floor, drunk off her ass and the front door slams shut. Boots clap against the tile.

  "What the fuck is going on?"

  I clench my eyes close. Take a deep breath in. Then turn around to face him.

  "I left her alone for an hour. She found your secret stash. The one I didn't even know about, apparently."

  "Jesus Christ, Tawny. You had one job with her."

  "I can't be everywhere at once. I needed to do laundry and shower."

  He walks over to her, and pulls her up with one hand. One impossibly strong hand. "Get up, you piece of shit. How many times did we tell you this wasn't going to happen again?"

  She shakes her head. "I couldn't help it. I craved it. Needed it like a fix."

  "Because you're a fucking addict. I should've
never let you back here. Get out of my house Shelly."

  "No! She's not going anywhere. She'll sober up and she can go tomorrow. I'm not letting her out on the streets like this. She has no where to go."

  "Whose fault is that? If you'd been watching her, she wouldn't have gotten like this."

  "I messed up. This is my fault. Not hers."

  He lets go of her and she falls to the floor again. He walks up to me and puts his hand around my throat. "Stop making excuses for her. She's nothing but a shitty woman that fooled us into thinking she could be better. You're done with the excuses and I'm done with her. You hear me?"

  His grip on my throat increases. I choke but nod.

  "Good." He spins on his heels. "Get up. You're coming with me."

  She sits like a limp rag doll on the floor. He growls and picks her up. Walks to the front door with her cradled against him.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To get rid of the trash," he says, grabbing his keys off the counter.

  "Please, Carter, don't do this," I say. "Please."

  He doesn't listen and walks out the front door. I follow. He shoves her into the passenger seat of his truck and slams the door.

  I run to the passenger side and open it up. He yanks on my arm, pulling me backward. "Don't fuck with me right now. You know how you'll pay for it later."

  I can't let him do this. She messed up, but I know I can fix this. I can make it better. I can't let him take her away from me. I don't want to lose her again.

  Tears stream down my face and I grip his forearm. "If you love me, you won't do whatever you're going to do. Please."

  "Let. Go."

  "No." I stand my ground. I'm going to pay dearly for this but I don't have a choice.

  He shakes his arm loose and pushes me to the ground. I fall with a hard thump. He rushes to the driver's side. The locks click. Ignition turns. Truck rumbles.

  This is it. I know this is the last time I will see my mother if he has anything to say about it.

  He starts to pull out of the driveway and I get off my ass, rushing toward the truck. He guns the accelerator and I can't catch it. I can't get there in time to save my mother. I run harder, though his truck is already too far ahead of me. "No! Bring her back!" I say aloud.

  I stop running and watch his truck disappear down the road. I fall to the ground, tears streaming down my face. This is all my fault.

  She's gone for good and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing but pay the price for my neglect.

  I don't know how long I stay in the middle of the road. Two arms reach around me, pulling me up.

  "Get up dear. You'll get run over." Rose Williams. She can't help me. No one can.

  I repeat my mother's words. "I don't care. It's what I deserve."

  "Shh. Let's get you home."

  With her arms around me, she guides me back into my house. Sits me down on the couch. Tinkers with something in the kitchen. If she doesn't see the mess, it'd be impossible for her not to smell the stink of liquor permeating the entire house. I smell it now.

  She comes in and sits beside me. Hands over a mug of something. I sip it. Tea.

  "You need to go. He won't be happy when he comes home."

  "I don't rightly care, dear. You need to be taken care of."

  I shake my head. "I need you to leave. Please."

  "I'm not leaving. Not until I'm sure you're okay."

  I look at her, my vision slightly blurred. Her gray fuzzy hair is all I can latch onto. "I'm fine. Really."

  Her hand covers mine. "You don't expect me to believe that after what I just witnessed. No. I think I will stay put."

  "He might hurt you, too," I whisper.

  I'm giving all my secrets away.

  "He can't hurt me as much as he's hurt you, darling. Trust me. Walter is watching out the window. I'll be fine."

  I frown. "You don't get it. He doesn't care who watches anymore, if you make him mad enough, he'll come after you too."

  She rubs circles into my hand. "Lay your head down, child. Close your eyes. Everything will be just fine."

  She won't leave. No matter how much I warn her, she won't budge. I lay my head on her lap and let her brush her fingers through my hair until everything becomes too heavy to stay awake for.

  November - 2007

  "If they can't help you, I don't know what will," Carter says, pulling into the doctor's office.

  I shrug.

  "Jesus, Tawny. Use your words. Don't just sit there shrugging all the time."

  I look out the window at the brown and black cement building. It looks more like a prison than a medical facility. "What do you want me to say?"

  "I don't know. Something. Anything. You're a zombie, walking around all day. I can't stand it."

  It's his fault. He would know that if he really looked at the trajectory of things. Losing babies. Losing my mother. Losing my will to live. It all follows such a fucking simple pattern but he doesn't see it because he doesn't think anything is wrong.

  No, that's not true. He thinks I'm what's wrong.

  I open the car door and he yells out the window, "What time will you be done?"

  Without bothering to give him a verbal answer, I shrug my shoulders.

  He can get pissy all he wants. It doesn't change a damn thing.

  Inside the waiting room is noisy and alive with the chatter of children and parents and sick people all waiting their turn to see the doctor for five minutes. I check in a take a seat in the far corner. I close my eyes and lean my ahead against the wall.

  Why does everything remind me of what I don't have?

  * * *

  "Tawny?"

  The doctor is an older, balding guy with a drooping beer gut but soft eyes. He seems decent enough.

  I nod.

  "And it looks like we're here to see you today because of?"

  "Well… um… I… need some help. I've been in this funk for like six months."

  He scribbles something down on his notepad. "Depression?"

  I shrug. "I don't know. I just feel… lost. And sad. Everyday seems to be harder than the last."

  "Was there anything that set this off?"

  Dead babies? A husband that hits me? A missing mother? Do any of those count? Of course I don't say this.

  "I've had two miscarriages. And my mother recently left the picture. And my husband…" I stop before I give too much away. "We've been fighting a lot."

  The doctor sets down his pen and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "That is quite a bit. Have you been talking to a therapist at all?"

  I shake my head. "No… that's not really… I mean, can't I just get something to stop the endless cycle of wanting to stay in bed?"

  Doctor Moses (so reads his nametag) looks at me with pity. Like 'poor girl is crazy and she just wants meds.' I wish I could tell him the truth. The real truth. That I wanted my husband to kill me already so I wouldn't have to wonder when it would happen. Would that catch his attention? Would he even care?

  But I lie. I tell him again that I'm depressed. Anxious. In misery because I have dead babies and a hole the size of Texas inside of me.

  So he gives me what I want: to feel nothing.

  Chapter 6

  February - 2008

  I walk around my house in a fog most days. Prescription drugs are glorious. They allow me to get through the day and forget who I am. Where I am. Just numbness.

  Beautiful, impervious numbness.

  If Carter notices, he doesn't say anything. I think he likes me this way. I barely feel anymore. And where there's no feeling, there's no fighting. At least I think that's the way it is.

  It's hard to think sometimes.

  I submerge my hands into the hot sink water. Wash the same dish over and over again.

  "Are you listening?"

  "Mhmm."

  "Then what did I just say?" Carter asks.

  "Something about work." I was listening. Selectively. Letting it pass through me like the sound o
f rain.

  "Look at me," he says.

  I turn around, the soapy water dripping onto the floor.

  "I said they're going to pay me triple for this job."

  "That's great."

  "But I have to leave for a month or two. I don't like that."

  I nod. "Me either. But the money…"

  He sighs. "Yeah, the money is hard to turn down. And the promotion. It'll be good for us."

  "That's true."

  "So you think I should take it?"

  I try to smile, but I'm not sure what comes through. "It's a big opportunity. I think if you want to take it, you should."

  He nods. "Yeah. You're right."

  I turn around and go back to washing the dishes.

  "You look tense," he says, coming up behind me. Puts his hands on my shoulders and starts to massage my shoulders.

  "Just tired," I say. I'm always tired, now. Perpetually fatigued.

  "Why don't you leave the dishes? Come to bed with me," he says, spinning me around to face him.

  "Okay," I whisper.

  He grips my hand and guides me toward the bedroom. He lays me on the bed gently. Unbuttons my jeans. Takes them off. Then my panties. He asks me to take off my shirt. I do. Unclip my bra and toss it to the side.

  He takes off his shirt. Jeans. Strips down to nothing.

  He climbs on top of me. His lips meet the flesh of my neck. His breath tickles the flesh as he moves to my mouth. He kisses me deeply. Lets his tongue part my lips. My mouth moves instinctually. It's like I'm here - but not. I can feel it all but I'm gone. Hovering above my body, watching it all in slow motion.

  He enters me and moans. "Jesus. You're tight tonight."

  I kiss him to shut him up. It's better when he doesn't talk. I can forget more easily. He thrusts into me. His hands sweeping through my hair. I put my face into the crook of his neck. I should be relishing our lovemaking. The slowness and build up of it all but I really want it to be over.