by B. B. Hamel
“What’s up?” he asks me finally.
“Nothing,” I say to him. “I’m just thinking about my mom.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s a problem.”
“What can we do about it?”
“Honestly?” He meets my gaze. “You need to convince her to come stay at my motel. We can get her a room nearby, and that way I can keep an eye on her.”
I nod a little. “That would be good.”
“Think she’d do it?”
“No,” I admit. “I don’t.”
He sighs. “This is pretty common. People don’t want to do what’s best for them if it’s slightly inconvenient. I bet your mom knows she should listen, but she just… won’t.”
“I need to try anyway, right?”
“Probably,” he admits. “But you can’t get frustrated if it doesn’t work.”
We lapse into silence as our food comes. I know he’s right. I can’t let my mom get hurt just because of what I’m doing.
When we finish up, he drops me off at my car. “I’ll be back later,” I say to him.
“Good luck.” He sighs and kisses me. “Don’t take it personally, okay?”
“Take what?”
“If your mom refuses to come. It’s not you, it’s just… people don’t make the best choices.”
“I won’t.” I can’t help but smile. He’s so worried about how I’ll feel, it’s actually pretty sweet. “See you soon.”
I get in my car and head out. I stop off at my apartment to get changed before driving back out to my mom’s place. I park the car out front and knock on the door.
She answers, grumbling at me. I recognize the way she’s frowning and smoking furiously. I’m guessing she’s hungover, probably got too drunk last night. I hate to imagine her sucking down bottles of wine, afraid that someone’s going to come and hurt her, all because of me.
“How’s it going?” I ask her.
“Fine,” she says, sitting down. “Just not feeling that great.”
I make a mental note that she’s not drinking yet, which is a good sign. Usually, she’d have broken out the vodka already, trying to cure her hangover.
“Listen, I want to talk to you,” I say.
She grumbles. “I figured that’s why you’re here.”
“I talked with Wyatt. Look, Mom, we’re not stopping.”
I sit down across from her and for a second, I think she’s going to be angry. I notice a flash of something come across her face, and I think it’s anger.
Instead, I realize that it’s something else completely. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, and I’m left a little off balance.
“Okay,” she says. “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do. You’re trying to help your brother.”
“Just, last night you seemed to think…”
She holds up her hand, cigarette between her lips. “Don’t,” she says.
“What?” I look at her, surprised.
“I wasn’t myself last night.”
I blink and slowly realize that she was drunker than I realized when she came over. “Mom,” I say softly.
“I know,” she answers. “Okay? I understand. I need to quit. But I can’t. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“No,” I say, but at the same time, it is. She’s never admitted to having a problem before, never so much as admitted to having a hangover. Of course, I can tell, but she always played it off and pretended to be okay.
This is a step in the right direction, at the very least.
“Come back with me,” I say to her softly.
“Where? Your place?” She shrugs. “Can’t be better than here.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Back to the motel where Wyatt’s staying.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“He can watch over you,” I saw.
“I don’t need minding by some kid.”
“He’s not a kid. He’s a police detective. And you do need protection.”
She grumbles again, finishing her cigarette. She stubs it out, grabs her pack, and lights another.
“Say I went,” she says finally. “How would that work? You know I can’t afford it.”
“I’ll help out,” I say. “I can pay for it.”
“Can you afford it?”
I nod. “I can make it work.”
She watches me silently for a long minute. “Why are you doing all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your brother… he wasn’t good. You know that?”
I sit back, surprised. “What?”
“He was rotten.” She says the words like they burn her tongue. “I’ve known it for a while. Rotten down to the core.”
“He was my brother,” I say softly.
“He did awful things. Stole from us, said terrible things.”
“Still,” I say. “He was family.”
“He was my son.” She stares at me hard. “I loved that boy with everything, but he was rotten. Why do you want to risk so much for him when he’s gone?”
I watch her quietly for a second. I can’t pretend like I haven’t wondered that myself. I don’t know why I’ve tried so hard to figure this out, when I don’t think he would have done the same for me. I think he would have gotten high and forgotten all about me if he could.
But I’m not Atticus. And I’m not my mother. I can be better than they are. I can do something more.
I can’t say that to her, though on some level I think she already understands it.
“He’s my brother,” I say to her. “It’s what you do.”
She’s silent and nods. I think she understands that I couldn’t say the truth.
“I’ll go,” she says finally.
I let out a breath. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I’ll get my things. Meet you out front.”
I watch as she shuffles from the kitchen. I feel relieved, but also something else.
I’m afraid for her. She seems so worn down, so broken, and saying that about Atticus… I think that wears heavy on her, that she thinks it. She’s not wrong, but it must hurt a lot to think that about her own child.
She meets me out by the car, a bag dragging behind her. I load it into the trunk and we’re off, driving back to Wyatt and the motel. We get there not long later and she goes down to ask for a room as close to Wyatt’s as possible.
Meanwhile, I head upstairs. I go to his room and knock, but there’s no answer.
I knock again and wait. But nothing at all. I try calling, but don’t get an answer.
I start to panic. I call again, and this time I can hear his phone ringing from inside the room, faintly but audible. I start to bang on his door.
“Wyatt!” I yell. “Wyatt!”
Pure panic takes over. I don’t think or know what I’m doing as I pound on that door. I keep imagining him broken, stabbed, shot, killed, hurt, lying in there alone and bleeding. I don’t know what I’d do if he were hurt or worse. I think I’d crumble, destroyed and broken, and I had no clue I felt that way.
I’m overwhelmed by my feelings for him. I bang on the door harder, screaming his name. I must look insane. I’ve lost all control, and all I need is to see him again, feel him again.
“Cora!” I hear the voice, but it doesn’t register. “Cora!”
I turn slowly, and he’s there, holding a pizza box.
I drop to my knees and start crying like an idiot. Relief floods me so strongly that I can’t stand. He runs over and puts the box down before pulling me against him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me. “Are you okay?”
“I thought… you weren’t answering…”
“Shit,” he says, understand. “I’m so sorry. I just thought we could have some pizza, if your mom came.”
“It’s not your fault.” He hugs me tight, and I feel so stupid. It takes a little bit, but eventually I get myself together.
We don’t talk about it. He doe
sn’t mention the way I reacted, and I don’t bring it up again. But when we go to get my mom settled in, I notice the way he’s looking at me.
It’s partially fear. And I don’t blame him. I’m afraid of myself, of the way I responded like it was the end of the world. I’m emotional, pushed to the brink, and I’m afraid of how I feel about him.
20
Wyatt
With Cora’s mom safely in the motel only a few doors down from my room, I can tell she’s feeling a little better.
Although that reaction when she came to my room and found me missing… that was tough to see. I haven’t said anything about it, because I think she’s embarrassed, but I understand. This is a high-stress situation. She’s afraid the Niners are going to come after us and try to physically harm me.
I can’t blame her. She’s probably right. Frankly, I’m surprised that I haven’t seen more reprisals from them so far. I’m honestly starting to think that they’re not as scary as everyone seems to think they are. Maybe they’ve gotten soft ever since they took over this town. Nobody’s around to push back at them. It’s not really surprising, since they’re operating out here in the middle of nowhere in a small town. In the city, they’d have to stay violent, but maybe out here they can get away with being a little soft.
Still, it’s good to have Cora’s mom here. Cora herself takes the empty room next to mine, and now it feels like we’re one big happy family, except her mother refuses to spend any time with me, and basically just sits in her room smoking cigarettes and drinking.
“How’s she holding up?” I ask Cora the next day. She shrugs a little bit.
“Okay, I think.” We’re sitting in the Great American and I have my laptop on the table top. Fortunately they have free WiFi here, which is a real lifesaver. The WiFi at the motel is horrifyingly slow, so it’s basically not useable, and I’m sick of using all my data.
“At least she’s safe, right?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I guess.” She bites her lip. “She said something weird yesterday.”
“Weird?” I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Not weird. Just… she admitted to having a drinking problem.”
“Huh. That’s good, right?”
“Yeah, it’s just, she’s never done that before. But she’s still drinking.”
“Did you think she would change overnight?” I ask softly.
She sighs. “I know you’re right. Still, I want to help her.”
“You can. Just give it time, she’ll come around. When all this is over, she’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” She looks back down at her coffee, and I can tell she wants to say something else, but she swallows it and goes back to eating.
I decide not to press her. Addiction and her family are two difficult and painful topics for her. Atticus was killed because of his addiction, and now she’s worried her mom is going to go down a similar path, although much more slowly. I can see it in her expression, but she’s burying it, keeping it all inside.
Just like her mother, Cora needs time. I won’t push. She’ll come to me for help if she needs it.
I glance back to my computer and notice that I have a new friend request. Curious, I click it, and the face of a guy I remember from school looks back at me.
I grin a little bit. Reggie was a friend back in the day, although we lost touch when I went to school. He was a dorky guy, hung around Mitch a lot too back then. I have no clue what happened to him, so I accept his request.
Just a few minutes later, a message from him pops up. “Hey, man!”
“Hey, Reggie,” I type back. “What’s up? Long time no see.”
“You got that right. I heard you were back in town, man.”
“Yeah, sure am.” I sip my coffee, assuming that Mitch told him. “How are things with you?”
“Things are good. Why don’t we hang out and catch up?”
I hesitate. I’ve been avoiding meetings like this. Not that I have anything against my old friends, it’s just that I haven’t wanted to get too tangled up in the damn local politics. Still, I’m here for at least another week, so I might as well give it a try.
And I liked Reggie. He was quiet, a little pudgy, wore glasses. The kind of kid that people would have picked on, but fortunately he was also really kind and pretty funny, so most people liked him. Part of me is a little surprised that he’s still living in Mason. He’s one of the guys I would have guessed got out, but apparently not.
“Yeah, okay,” I type back to him. “Where and when? I’m not in town for too long.”
“How about today then? I got nothing going on.”
I glance up at Cora. She’s busy staring off into space, idly eating her breakfast.
“Okay, I can do that,” I type back. “Meet me at the Great American for lunch?”
“That’d be great, except I don’t have a ride out there. I know it’s a little weird but would you mind picking me up?”
I hesitate a second. “From where?” I ask him.
“My place,” he says. “I’m in a dumpy little trailer out by the 309.”
“Sure,” I say, not happy about this, but whatever. “I’ll get you around one.” I send him my number and tell him to text me the address. My phone buzzes a minute later.
“What’s that?” Cora asks me.
“Remember Reggie Wheeler?”
“Sure,” she says. “My brother said he was a big dork, but he always seemed nice to me.”
I laugh a little. “Yeah, Atticus didn’t get along with him back then.”
“You hanging out with him?”
I nod. “Yeah, just for a bit this afternoon. Want to come?”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay.”
“You sure? We’re just having lunch right here.”
“I’m sure. I’ll see how my mom’s doing.”
“That works for me,” I say, and we change the subject, talking about logistical stuff. Now that I’m staying in Mason longer, I need to buy more clothes, more toiletries, those sort of things. We make plans to go to Wal-Mart after I drop Reggie back off at his place after lunch.
We head back to the motel after that. I drop off my computer and kill a little time taking a quick shower. I keep imagining what Cora’s doing over in her room, but I have to keep pushing those thoughts away. Having her so close complicates things a lot, although her mom kind of tempers all that.
I want to go next door and taste Cora, the way I’ve been craving her ever since she moved into this motel with her mom, but I know I shouldn’t. I have to head out and pick up Reggie, and plus, her mom is only a couple doors down. She’s not right next door, thankfully, but still. I don’t want to push something on Cora that she might not be comfortable with.
So instead of doing what my whole body craves, I get dressed and head out in my crappy rental.
Reggie lives in one of many trailer parks. This one’s tucked into a neighborhood with a stream on one side and the 309 Bypass on the other. It’s probably noisy as hell, but most folks don’t always get to choose where they live, and as far as parks go, this one’s not half bad.
Although I’m surprised Reggie ended up here. He was always a good student and a nice kid, always seemed like the type to get out of Mason and escape these endless trailers.
I park my car near a small trailer at the end of a little street. It’s in decent shape, and although small, it looks pretty sturdy. I’ve seen much worse, and clearly Reggie keeps his place nice, which is respectable. I feel bad, judging him for living in a trailer. A lot of good folks live in trailers, and I can already tell that my time living in the city has shifted my perspective and maybe made me more judgmental.
As I climb out of the car, I make a mental note not to let my prejudices get in the way. I have to remember that I came from this town, too. There’s nothing wrong with living in a trailer, and there’s a lot wrong with judging people like an asshole.
I head up to the door and knock. Reggie answ
ers a minute later, grinning that old grin I remember, though he’s definitely grown up.
“Reggie,” I say as he opens the door. “How are you, man?”
“I’m great!” He ignores my handshake and wraps me in a huge hug, lifting me up off the ground. I’m a big man, muscular and heavy, and Reggie’s at least my size, if not a little taller. He used to be shorter and pudgier, but clearly the kid hit a growth spurt later in life, because he’s enormous now.
He lets me go and I laugh. “Holy shit, look at you.”
He grins and shrugs. “Guess you haven’t seen me in a while.” He flexes a little bit, “Not the nerd you remember, huh?”
“Not at all.” He’s dressed in jeans and a tight shirt. He steps out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Let’s roll.”
We go over to my car and climb inside. Reggie leans back, a smile on his face.
“Look at you, Wyatt Reap, come home.”
“Came here for Atticus,” I say to him.
Reggie nods. “Shame about that.”
I’m surprised to note that he does actually seem unhappy. “I thought you hated Atticus?”
He shrugs. “We made up after school. You know high school ends, right?”
I laugh softly. “I guess so.” We head out and I can’t help but feel a little surprised. Reggie really hated Atticus back then, and Atticus didn’t exactly hold back in his incessant mockery of him. It didn’t seem like the kind of relationship that can be repaired.
Then again, Reggie’s enormous now, so I guess anything’s possible.
We head back toward the Great American. It’s a ten-minute drive, more or less a straight shot, and we chat for the first few minutes, just catching up.
Suddenly Reggie leans forward. “Shit, man!” he says. “Can we pull off here?”
“What?” I ask him.
“Right there, turn right,” he says, pointing ahead.
Although it’s not the way toward the Great American, I follow his directions. “Where are we going?” I ask him.
“I just need to pick something up. It’s not a big deal, it’ll just take a second.”
