“Can you send me a test text? I’m not sure how reliable this thing is. She might have tried to call and I’m just not getting it.”
He shifted in the chair and pulled his phone from his back pocket. He thumbed through a few things and then my phone buzzed. “Test Test” the screen said.
I frowned. “Would you mind calling? I’m not sure if she’s into texting. You know that generation,” I said, like I was all cutting-edge myself.
He pushed a couple more buttons. My phone buzzed.
I hit the green button.
“Hello?” Frank said. “You there?”
I was literally ten feet from him. But I put the phone to my ear anyway. “Yeah, I’m here. Thanks.”
I hung up and checked the clock again. Six-thirty. Mom had never been the most punctual person. In fact, I thought as I rose and began pacing again, I shouldn’t be surprised if she blew the whole thing off entirely. She wasn’t exactly a person of her word.
I was getting mad again. I decided I needed to get up and think about something else. I took a fork and ran it through the squash, somewhat heartened when it came away looking like the spaghetti noodles it was supposed to. I turned the oven on as low as it would go, then scooped out the squash and plopped it into a casserole dish with a lid, and slid the whole thing into the oven, hoping it would just stay warm and not go to complete crap. I took the beans off the burner and did the same thing with them, and covered the chopped onions and cilantro with plastic wrap and stuck them in the fridge.
I moved to the sofa and stared at the television. It was now six-forty-five.
I got up, opened the oven and lifted the lid on the squash. It seemed fine. I thought about how gummy and gross real spaghetti got when it was overcooked, and hoped spaghetti squash wasn’t subject to the same frailties. So far it looked okay.
I sat back down and tucked my legs under me. I stared at the TV and thought about what excuses she would make. Car trouble was always a ready standby, as was getting lost. One time she’d tried to pull off getting stuck in traffic, but that wasn’t something that happened often in Lubbock and never in Idalou.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I ordered Frank, gesturing toward the TV.
“You want to watch something else?” He held the remote out.
“No, I want to watch this. Tell me what’s going on. Who’s that lady? And why is she letting the maid lecture her like that?”
“That maid is her sister. Well, actually, she’s her mother, but the rich lady thinks she’s her sister.”
I nodded. A family at least as screwed up as my own.
“What’s she saying?”
Frank launched into a translation that left me completely behind. From what I gathered, the woman and the maid were pulling one over on the rich woman, and the rich woman was really in love with her husband’s son, but they needed the old man to believe that she hated the son for some reason I didn’t quite catch, but it had something to do with a milk allergy. Or maybe a large inheritance — Frank, whose accent was think anyway, was talking pretty fast and the action was still going down on screen. There were lots of harsh words fired rapidly through clenched teeth from the maid and way too much wringing of hands from the rich woman.
Then a hot older guy walked in, wearing a silver suit that matched his hair. From the way the woman acted (reluctantly, stiffly affectionate) he was the husband, and from the music (ominous) he was not a nice guy.
The scene switched to two teenage beautiful people who were working a carnival booth. The girl was flirting with everything she had but she wasn’t hooking the guy, and it reminded me uncomfortably of me and Tony. Then the show went to a commercial, which was in English and I could keep up with that just fine.
“You think she’s going to show?” Frank asked.
“The show’s back on,” I said. “Who’s that guy?”
Frank kept explaining and I kept listening with everything I was worth, trying to keep up. By the next commercial break, we had seemed to come to some tacit agreement that we wouldn’t bring up the subject of my mother or how we were waiting for her. We just sat and watched, and sat and watched some more, until that show became another one and I thought I might be picking up some actual working Spanish.
Then I heard a low rumble.
“Is that thunder?” I asked, looking up.
“That was my stomach,” Frank said, looking a little sheepish.
I checked my phone again. It was almost eight.
“Okay, that’s enough. We’re eating without her.” I stood slowly, my legs sore and cramped from sitting so still for too long.
“We can wait, it’s no big deal.”
“No, we’ve waited long enough. I’m starving, you’re starving.” I picked up my phone and checked the messages again, just in case, but there was nothing.
“Windy, how long should we wait on a late guest before we go ahead and eat?”
Windy was silent for a minute. Then she said, “Honey, you’ve asked me a question I’m afraid I can’t answer in a couple of seconds. The good news is, this goes straight to my personal email, and I’ll be happy to do some research and get back to you as soon as I can. I hope that’s okay.”
Frank and I both looked at the phone, then at each other.
“That’s cool,” he said.
I nodded. “It is. I didn’t know she did that.”
We were finishing our second taco when I saw headlights in the driveway and Stump started to growl.
Mom rapped on the door a few seconds later.
I opened the door for her, plastering a smile on my face. “Mom,” I said, giving her a hug, lifting my chin so as not to get a face full of the fake fur vest she wore.
I got Mom’s bags settled in my room — I would give her my bed and take the sofa — and went to the living room to find Mom making polite conversation with Frank, her smile fixed on her face much like mine must have been a few minutes earlier. I picked up the plates and was carrying them to the kitchen when my phone dinged.
Windy, loudly enough for all to hear, said, “Honey, if someone is rude enough to keep you waiting after you’ve invited them to dinner, eat without them!”
Frank and I looked at each other.
“Good,” Frank said, satisfied that we’d made the right call.
I turned back to the kitchen, avoiding looking at Mom.
After the dishes were done, I settled onto the sofa beside Mom. Stump backed up to me so I could pick her up. I lifted her and she got settled just as the news came on.
“Another robbery in the High Point area today, and this one is getting attention for the way it stands out from the others,” Trisha said. “Good evening, and thank you for joining us.” The opening music swelled, and the screen flashed to ‘candid’ shots of the Channel 11 news team — Trisha looking at some papers with intense focus, Rick the sportscaster running, in his shirt and tie, with his arms outstretched, the Red Raider football field in the background, like he was catching a football, and Carlos the baby-faced weather man talking to a group of kindergartners at their school.
“That girl looks familiar,” Mom said.
“That’s Trisha Thompson. We used to be best friends.”
“Oh yeah,” Mom said. “Are you sure that’s her?”
“Positive, Mom.”
“She certainly has put on the weight, hasn’t she?” She looked at me with a grin. “I guess that must make you feel a little bit better.”
I stared blankly, like I didn’t catch on that she thought I should feel bad about my own weight gain. As if I hadn’t been happy to see that Trisha had also gained weight when I first ran into her again, about a year ago.
The news was coming back on, so I turned back to the screen and tried to focus. There might be something that Viv and I could use.
“Police are investigating yet another robbery in the High Point area. That makes the third this month, and the twelfth in the last two and a half months. This one, however, is standing apart for the level of vio
lence involved.”
The screen switched to a bald guy with glasses wearing an LPD uniform. “Officers responded to a call at 6:38 p.m., and arrived on the scene to find one robbery victim on the ground, with an apparent blow to the head. Paramedics responded and the subject was taken to the hospital with serious injuries. The victim was an employee at the business. At this time we do not have any information on his condition. Evidence inside the business indicates that it was robbed. We are working with the owners now to determine what was taken.”
The scene switched to a reporter who stood outside the Police Department. Patrice and Wayne, as you heard Officer Morris say, there is no information yet as to the condition of this robbery victim, but we do know that he is a male, around twenty-five to thirty years of age. Early reports indicate he was hit over the head with something like a baseball bat.”
“Keelee, are we correct that this is the first time violence like this has been seen against the victims in these robberies?”
Keelee nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, Wayne. Up until now, the robberies have been fairly low-key affairs — the victims have all told of a gang of men clad in black, with black face masks, all converging on the place at once, with a lot of yelling and a show of force. In every case except this one, the perpetrators leave just as quickly with what money they’re able to collect, without hurting anyone.”
“Do police have any idea why this time was different?”
“No clue,” Keelee said. Then blinked, apparently realizing how bad that sounded. “I mean, they haven’t said — they might have a clue. I mean, I’m sure they do have clues, it’s just — ”
“I’m sure they have lots of clues, they just don’t always share those with the news media, of course,” Wayne said with a laugh. Wayne was a pro.
“Of course. That’s what I meant.” Keelee held her microphone with both hands and looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole.
“Thanks, Keelee,” Trisha said.
Keelee nodded, blinking rapidly.
The little window with Keelee in it popped off and the scene shifted to just the two anchors. “We will continue to follow this story and bring you all the latest updates right here on KBST, and also on KBST.com as soon as we have them.”
“Poor kid,” Mom said. “She messed up.”
My phone rang.
“Did you hear that?” Viv said, as soon as I picked up. “Things are heating up.”
“I did hear that. That means something.” I was beginning to think like a detective, I thought with a little thrill. Of course, Wayne, Keelee and Tri-Patrice had all just been making a big deal out of how unusual it was, so maybe I wasn’t as quick on the draw as I would like to believe.
“It’s significant,” Viv agreed. “Let’s meet tomorrow after work and go interview this guy.”
“Yes, let’s…” I looked over at Mom. We would probably need to do some mother-daughter bonding stuff tomorrow, like a chick flick and dinner at Applebee’s or something. “Actually, tomorrow might not be good. Maybe Monday after work?”
“Monday? That’s three days away. By Monday the whole thing could be over. Come on, now, let’s don’t let the police get all the glory.”
But Mom. I kept thinking about what Les said. If this weekend was some kind of divine appointment for us to make peace with our past, I didn’t want to be the one who messed it up.
“Sorry, I have plans already. We’ll have to do it later.”
“What plans? Tony? Bring him with us. It’ll be good to have him around for muscle. Maybe he can get more information than we can.”
“Not Tony. My mom is in town, remember? We have plans tomorrow.” I covered the phone with my hand and turned to Mom. “We’ll make plans, I mean.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” Viv snorted. “How’s that going?”
“Great,” I said.
“She’s right there, huh?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
Viv sighed. “Okay, well, I hope you don’t mind if I do a little digging on my own and try to move the case forward.”
“You do that.” It was unlikely Viv would gather anything useful, but she enjoyed trying.
I hung up and smiled at Mom. “Maybe we could go see that new Julia Roberts movie tomorrow night. Get dinner somewhere?”
“Let’s make it lunch and a matinee. I planned to meet Susan tomorrow night. She wants to hear all about Gerry.”
“Oh, well…I work during the day on Saturday. It’s all I can do to squeeze in a quick takeout lunch.” My temper flared at the knowledge that she’d invited Susan into our mother-daughter-only weekend, but I tried to keep that out of my voice.
“But you came to my brunch last Saturday.”
“I know, I arranged for the day off. The first Saturday off I’ve had in two years. It’s kind of a big deal, actually, to get a Saturday off. I can’t ask for another one a week later. With no notice.”
Mom frowned. “Well. I guess it’s all my fault then.”
I took a deep breath and said “love never fails” three times fast in my head. “Nothing is anyone’s fault, but maybe you and Susan could spend the day together tomorrow while I’m at work, then you and I could go out tomorrow night.”
“I’ll have to see if that works for her. She’s pretty busy.”
“Okay, well…we’ll see how it goes.” I faked a yawn and stretched. “But now, I need to hit the hay. Saturdays are busy and I have to be there early. I’ll show you where everything is in the bathroom.”
Mom was still asleep when Doreen picked me up for work the next morning. I wasn’t sure if Frank would be over during the day, or how Stump would fare alone with Mom, so I carted her off with me.
I got a text from Mom around noon. “Spending the day with Susan, I’ll see you at your place for our Girls Night Out!”
I rushed home after work so I could take a shower before the movie started. I was surprised to see Mom’s car not in the driveway, and thought for a second that maybe I’d mixed up our plans and I was supposed to meet her at the restaurant. But no, I checked my phone and she’d said “at your place.”
I let Stump run around the yard and sniff the grass for a minute. She’d come in when she got through.
Frank sat in the recliner.
“Did my mom say what time she’d be back?”
“Nope.” Not taking his eyes off the TV.
With Frank, it paid to be specific, though. “Did she say anything?”
He appeared to be thinking. “Yeah, she asked where you keep the fabric softener. And she asked what I was doing here.”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t know and I’m watching TV.”
I nodded. “I’m going to take a shower. Will you listen for Stump and let her in, please?”
I was halfway down the hallway when what he’d said about the fabric softener registered. “Was she doing laundry?”
“Nope.”
“Why was she asking about fabric softener?”
He shrugged. “Maybe she wanted to do laundry? But the machine was broken. Remember?”
I remembered. I went back down the hall and opened the lid.
Full of water.
“Did she happen to carry out a basket of wet clothes?” I called back to the living room.
“Maybe, yeah.”
I nodded. “Okay, well.” Immediately I became filled with dread. She would be mad because she’d tried to do laundry and I’d let her down with my broken machine. A mad Mom was a scary Mom. This night was going to be difficult.
I closed the lid on the washing machine. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I sped through the shower, determined to do as the scripture had been instructing me. I trusted in the Lord. I did not lean on my own understanding. Every time I caught myself mentally rehearsing an evening full of conflict and drama, I reminded myself to cast my anxieties on God. I didn’t lean on my own understanding of my relationship with my Mom, which was always full of co
nflict and drama.
I dried my hair and put on a little bit of makeup, then pulled on jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt with a ballerina neck. I stood too long in front of the mirror, wondering if Mom would think I looked alright. Her new life with her new high falutin’ family came with a new wardrobe and a totally different sense of style. I rifled through my closet, looking for anything that could be considered the least bit trendy. I had three things pulled out on the bed and was buttoning up a white men’s shirt when I realized how much time had passed.
I went into the hallway and looked toward the living room. She still wasn’t here. We were going to have to hurry to get dinner before the movie.
“You’re sure she said she would be back? I wasn’t supposed to meet her there?” I asked Frank.
“You were?” He looked up from the movie.
“I was?”
He looked confused.
I took a deep breath. “I mean, I’m asking you. Did she say she would be back, or that I was supposed to meet her at the restaurant?”
“Oh, she said she was coming back. She said, “Tell Salem I’ll be back for dinner.”
I checked my phone. No new texts from Mom.
With a groan of frustration, I texted her. “I’m home from work and ready to go.” I waited a second. No response. “Are you meeting me back here, or should I just join you at the restaurant?”
Nothing.
I pulled on the ankle boots Viv had given me for my birthday. They were cute and dressed up my jeans enough that I felt a little bit better about how I looked. I went back to my bathroom and dug through the closet, finding a chunky necklace of turquoise that I’d had for a long time. I fastened it and fluffed my hair. At the risk of sounding like a lunatic, I didn’t completely hate the way I looked.
I walked down the hallway, then back to my room. I checked the mirror again. Nope, still didn’t hate it.
I checked my phone. No new texts, and time was really running out to get dinner before the movie.
My phone dinged while it was in my hand, and I jumped, almost dropping it.
I checked the text. It wasn’t from Mom, it was from Viv.
“You’re not going to believe who that last robbery victim was. The one who got beat up with the baseball bat?”
Caught in the Crotchfire Page 24
