My focus now was on my mom’s things, not Frank. I removed each article of clothing, refolded it neatly, and added it to the growing stack on the table. At the bottom of the suitcase lay a pocket-sized spiral notebook. Its pages were warped and water-stained as if it’d taken an unintentional swim at some point.
“What’s that?” Frank asked.
I didn’t know. I’d helped her pack and repack many times over the years but never ran across the notebook. I opened it. The scribbles were almost illegible. Names, phone numbers, but also nonsensical phrases. Had she been writing poetry or was she just rambling during a high?
I handed it to Frank. He flipped through the pages slowly, rubbing his beard from time to time. “I don’t understand … seems like gibberish.” He handed it back to me.
What she’d written on the notebook’s cover caught my attention:
Ask Dora. She’ll know what to do.
Know what to do? About what? I placed the notebook in my backpack and made a mental note to ask Dora what Mom could’ve meant.
“I’ll bring the suitcase and clothes to the thrift store later this week,” I said. “I don’t need any of these things to remember Mom.”
Frank gingerly placed all the clothes back in the case and closed it. “I can do it.”
“I want to.” I snatched the suitcase from the table and placed it in my room before returning.
“And this?” Frank pointed to the tackle box.
“Makeup, fingernail polish. We can toss it.”
“Don’t you want to look?”
“Not really.”
We stood looking at each other. “Well, do you mind if I do?”
“Be my guest.”
I leaned up against the kitchen counter and chewed on a hangnail while Frank rummaged through the contents.
“There’s jewelry.”
“It’s not real,” I said. “Completely worthless.”
Frank turned away from the tackle box. “You’re upset. What’s up?”
I shrugged.
“Not an answer,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Do we have to do this?” My tears were searing. I hated the police for bringing back these pieces of my mother’s short life and the memories that the cheap cosmetics brought up for me.
“I’m only trying to help.” Frank moved toward me, but I pushed him back.
“I don’t need help. I need to be left alone.”
“That’s the last thing you need.” He easily restrained my arms and pressed me against his chest. I buried my face in the soft nap of his flannel shirt that smelled of sun and sweat. Between sobs, I cursed the afternoons I painted Mom’s face, giving her a vulgar new identity that made it easier to sell her body for grocery money.
“You both made choices so you could survive,” Frank whispered. “You did the best you could.”
I wanted to remember Mom teaching me to ride a bike or frosting sugar cookies at Christmas or helping me pick out school supplies, but those memories belonged to other daughters and mothers. They’d never be mine.
Frank used the cuff of his sleeve to wipe my face. “Why don’t you lie down for a while before dinner?”
“Yep. Sorry. You’d think I’d be done with tears by now.” I blew strands of hair out of my eyes.
“Arlie, we’re never done with tears. We can just hope laughter balances them out over time.”
Even though I said I didn’t want the tackle box, I closed it and took it with me to my room. There I opened it and took great care to sort the items in the trays: eye shadows, lipsticks, eyeliners, various colors of mascara. Without thinking, I dumped it all back on the bed and started making piles of different color combinations that would work together. Each pile had an eye-shadow trio and liner, with lipstick, nail polish, and coordinating blush.
I’d painted Mom’s face and nails with these palettes time and time again. Each time, I’d wait anxiously for her reaction. Her smile was always my reward. Sometimes, she encouraged me to try wild combinations, but I took my job seriously and wanted her to look nice.
When I was much younger, I believed her when she said I could be a makeup artist for celebrities and movie stars when I grew up. That’s when I still believed anything she told me.
I leaned in the doorway, watching Frank chop onions. Even standing a couple of feet away didn’t protect me from their pungency. My eyes watered, but I didn’t mind. Now that my taste buds cooperated, I looked forward to trying different spices and flavors.
“Wait until I add the garlic.” Frank winked and added the onions to a pan of sautéed Italian sausage.
“It smells so good. What have I been missing?”
“I can’t even begin to tell you. I’m a little jealous though. Every food you try will be a new experience.”
“Don’t be too jealous,” I said. “I’ll become a food snob and expect everything to taste phenomenal. You won’t be able to stand the pressure.”
Frank and I laughed. It amazed me that we could experience such pain going through Mom’s belongings, then two hours later such lightheartedness. Our brains were friggin’ remarkable.
“I expect you to start cooking some meals now. I don’t mind if you experiment. Might be fun to see what you come up with.”
While Frank worked on the sauce, I filled a pot with water and put it on the stove to boil. I’d break it to him later that my idea of cooking was anything that could be heated up in a motel microwave.
The cramped kitchenette didn’t hinder us as we pulled together a simple meal of Italian sausage with whole wheat pasta and garlic bread. I consciously breathed in the aromas, noticing that they came together perfectly. We spoke only a handful of words as we ate. Mostly I just grunted with my mouth full. I was going to need larger jeans before long.
“I guess I should’ve made a double batch,” Frank teased. “With enough time and training, you could qualify for competitive eating.”
I threw my paper napkin at him, but it drifted harmlessly to the table. “I’m sure I’ll slow down … some day.”
The rest of the evening passed quickly. Frank read the paper and I watched a TV show on my laptop. Despite the number of times he looked over my shoulder, he wasn’t convinced he should buy us a television. As the episode neared its end, I jumped up and headed back to my room.
“Hey! I want to know what happens,” Frank called out.
I smiled and shut my door. The odds of getting a TV were looking better and better.
Back in my room, I pulled out Mom’s spiral notebook and reread its contents. Nothing made sense except the phone numbers. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what she wrote, but I did wonder what she meant by “Dora will know what to do.” I wrapped a rubber band around the notebook and tucked it under my mattress. I was too tired to figure out anything.
When my phone beeped, I lunged for my backpack to retrieve it. Since Mo had lost her iPhone, it had to be Cody.
Urgant. Need to meet you in the a.m. Dennys. Back tabel. 7:30.
Weird. The message was from Mo, but Mo had never misspelled a word in her life. Even in texts.
Glad you found your phone. What’s so important? I texted back.
Talk in person. Just you.
Pick me up? I asked.
Can’t. Just meet there.
I texted xxoo, but she never texted back. I reread her message over and over, and grew more anxious with each reading. Mo had seemed fine earlier at school. Maybe a little pissed that her mom had scolded her for losing her phone, but now that she’d found it, they couldn’t still be fighting. And why would she ask me to come alone? Who else would I bring?
I dialed her number, but it went to voice mail.
Something was very wrong. I had to see her. Tonight. I went to the living room to ask Frank to drive me, but he was already fast asleep, the newspaper blanketing his belly.
It would have to wait until morning after all.
CHAPTER 26
Even though I sprinted to th
e bus stop, I barely caught the trolley that would take me downtown. Out of breath, I used the short ride to calm my aching lungs. I couldn’t shake the bad feeling that Mo was in trouble. Nothing about her message last night made sense.
Once the trolley stopped, I pushed past the other passengers and hurried into the restaurant. Sherri, the hostess, recognized me as soon as I walked in.
“Hey, Arl. Where’s your best girlfriend? Better yet, why are you here on a school day?” She looked at her watch and then at the large clock on the wall.
“Mo’s meeting me. She should be here by now. In the back.”
I craned my head around the diners seated at the counter but couldn’t see the far corner of the restaurant.
“The only one back there is some creepy guy who won’t take off his sunglasses. Asshole. Let me find you girls another table.”
Some creepy guy. My confusion over last night’s texts began to lift.
“Hon? You don’t look well.” Sherri put a motherly hand to my forehead.
“I’m … I’ll be okay. I think I know that guy. Let me see what’s up.” I did a crappy job of steadying my voice, but Sherri seemed to believe my lie.
“Shall I bring you some coffee then?”
“No. No, I’ll wait for the waitress. Thanks though.”
Sherri went about her job, but my sneakers stayed glued to the floor. This couldn’t be happening. Why would Lloyd want to meet me in a public place? Only when Sherri looked back at me with worried eyes did I finally move.
I’d never taken so long to walk such a short distance. I assessed everything in my sight as a possible weapon: a pitcher of ice water, a tray of dirty dishes, the fire extinguisher on the wall, but it was a child’s guessing game. I wouldn’t be using a weapon. Not here. Not today.
A man with long, black hair and a baseball cap sat with his back to the wall. He wore aviator sunglasses as if the interior lighting blinded him. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt his stare. When I reached his table, I stood waiting for my stepfather to speak.
“Been a while, Arlie.”
None of the other diners looked familiar, but I scanned the crowded room anyway. Wouldn’t someone think it odd for a schoolkid to be having breakfast with this sleazebag?
“Waiting for someone?” he asked.
“No. Just wondering why you picked this place. You could be recognized.”
“Only you and your uncle know what I look like, and the police haven’t been trying very hard. Sit down. You’re attracting attention.”
I obeyed his order, just as I had done as a child. Although I tried to steady my shaking hands, the sweaty water glass almost slipped through my fingers. No amount of water could quench the dryness in my throat.
“How did you get Mo’s phone?”
“Is that so important?”
It was important to me. He’d obviously been following her. Following us. He’d gotten close enough to steal her phone.
“Stay away from her.”
Lloyd laughed. I’d erased that sound from my memory, but now I remembered how it made my skin crawl. His laughter was revolting, never joyful.
“Always giving orders. You were a pain in the ass then, and you’re still a pain in the ass. Your mom was too easy on you.”
My heartbeat slowed considerably. I felt weirdly at ease, almost grounded. I finally had what I wanted: the chance to face Lloyd.
“You killed her.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” He scoffed at my accusation. “She was a drug addict. Stupidity killed her.”
He removed the aviator sunglasses, revealing spiderweb wrinkles that circled both vacant eyes and inched down his cheeks. His face was tan and leathery but had no burn marks.
“I don’t … I don’t believe you,” I said.
His sigh conveyed a fatigue that extended beyond his worn-out body. “How could I kill her? I hadn’t seen her in years. Thought she took you to Texas. She had family there.”
Lloyd must have known about Frank then. I didn’t understand why Mom couldn’t have told me if she shared those things with him.
“Then how did you know she died? That I was in Durango?”
“Some guy your mother knew here ended up in Albuquerque. He talked about a woman who OD’d and left behind a daughter. A teenager with a burned face. Figured it had to be you.”
This couldn’t be. My brain tried to wrap itself around his denials. I needed for him to be responsible for taking both Rosa and Mom from me.
“You know, you could’ve tracked me down when she died,” he said. “I would’ve come to the funeral.”
“Seriously? You think I’d seek you out on purpose?”
“I loved your mom,” he said. “And she loved me.”
“She was afraid of you.”
“I took care of her,” he said. “Both of you.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to rewrite history.” I glanced at the wall clock. It’d be another thirty minutes before Mo realized I wasn’t in school. She didn’t have her phone so she couldn’t text or call. I hoped she’d just wait to hear from me instead of checking with the school secretary or, worse, Frank.
“Hon?” The waitress had to tap my shoulder to get my attention. “I asked if you wanted coffee.”
“Um … yeah. Thanks.”
She topped off Lloyd’s mug before filling mine. She said she’d be back to get our order in a minute.
I leaned in, my eyes trained on Lloyd’s face and neck. “Why aren’t you burned?”
“My scalp and back and legs were burned. Nothing that shows,” he said. “My hair never grew back. Too much scar tissue.”
I hadn’t noticed before how unnatural his hair looked: matte black with no highlights, just like a doll’s. His ball cap held a cheap wig in place. Judging by its length, it was a woman’s wig. Still vain about his appearance. I remembered Mom washing his hair in the kitchen sink and then untangling the long, black strands outside on the front steps while he sat between her legs. I’d always been jealous of those times he had with her.
“I’m sorry about your face, but you’re still a looker,” he said.
He took a sip of coffee. His hands were aged and rough for a guy in his forties. He looked ancient compared to Frank, who was about the same age.
“You’re the reason I have this face,” I said.
“It wasn’t my fault. Dumb-ass pendejos messed up the cook, and you and I ended up paying the price.”
“We’re not in this together.” We shared nothing now that Mom was gone.
“It was a goddamned accident, but Sarah wouldn’t forgive me,” he continued, lost in his own thoughts. “I saw it in her eyes. She blamed me.”
“You saw her again after the explosion?”
“Who do you think took care of me? Couldn’t risk the police finding me. She knew the state would take care of you.”
My head swam. Mom didn’t visit me while I was in rehab, but she’d gone back to the man responsible for hurting me and killing Rosa.
“You’re lying.” I clenched my teeth. Don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
“Believe what you want. I asked her to get you out of foster care. I said we could start over. Anywhere she’d like.”
I looked around the room at the normal families having breakfast. Mine had been a twisted, drug-tinged version. It didn’t matter that Mom was dead or if Lloyd disappeared forever. I’d never be able to erase the past or move on from it.
“Everything all right over here?” Sherri was suddenly at my side, one hand on my shoulder. “I can get the manager to ask this guy to leave if he’s bothering you.”
Lloyd ignored Sherri and stared at me instead. “I’m Arlie’s father. Haven’t seen her in a while. We’re just catching up.”
“Is that true?” she asked.
“Yes, this is my stepdad.”
“All righty, honey. I just want to be sure you’re okay. Does your uncle know you’re here?”
“Yes, I told Frank whe
re I’d be,” I said. “Why don’t you tell our waitress we’ll have two Grand Slams?”
Sherri had been around long enough to recognize a meth head. His fractured, yellowing teeth and inflamed gums, his jerky movements. Just like Mom’s. She turned around with some hesitation but left us alone.
Lloyd pulled at his collar, exposing even more of the tattoo. He noticed me staring before I could look away.
“It says ‘Advertencia,’” he said.
“‘Warning’ or ‘beware,’” I mumbled.
“That’s right, cariña. You know your Spanish.”
I wish Mom had heeded that warning before hooking up with him. So much could have been different.
“You’re not here to reminisce. Tell me what you really want,” I said.
“At first, I was just curious.”
“About?”
“About where you ended up after your mom died,” he said.
“Well, now you know. There’s nothing left to see.”
A barely perceptible smile told me there was more to his appearance in Durango than just making sure I was all right.
“I decided you might be able to help settle a debt your mom owes me,” he said.
“What debt?”
Lloyd explained that she’d run through most of his money during the year after the accident. He suspected she used the money to pay some of my hospital bills and then to buy the beat-up Subaru she used to get us out of Albuquerque.
“We had nothing, you asshole. She left nothing behind,” I said.
“Oh, I know,” he said. “But I got to thinking … your brand-new daddy must have money if he’s building you that fairy-tale house.”
“You’re insane. Why would my uncle give you a dime?”
“He wouldn’t, but you will to keep him safe. To keep your little friend safe. And then I’ll be out of your lives for good.”
Lloyd’s expression turned from one of menace to panic in an instant. He stared at the entry to the restaurant so I turned to look. A police car had parked in front. Two officers entered the restaurant and stopped to chat briefly with Sherri.
“Stop staring at them.” Lloyd grew even more agitated and more conspicuous than my stares. He reached one hand behind his back. I feared he had a gun tucked in his waistband underneath his shirt.
Burn Girl Page 17
