Redeem

by Janice M. Whiteaker

  “Beth.”

  Her eyes darted back to Thomas. There was no good way to explain her momentary and complete distraction so she decided not to even try. Instead, she smiled and held out the plastic clamshell tray of cupcakes she bought at the bakery. “I brought you sweets.”

  Thomas reached the steps and eyed her gift. “You didn’t have to buy me cupcakes.”

  “Well they wouldn’t be much of a thank you if I made them.” She laughed but it came out more as a squeaky giggle. Clearing her throat, Beth tried to ignore Don. She wasn’t used to him being this close and to say it was flustering her would be a gross understatement.

  Thomas cocked his head to one side as he reached for the chocolate cakes she shoved his direction. “Well, I appreciate it, but I’m not sure exactly what I’m being thanked for.”

  Beth shifted on her feet and forced her eyes to stay on Thomas instead of dragging to his side as they desperately wanted to focus on the area where his farmhand stood. “You don’t have to keep shoveling my driveway. I appreciate it, but you really don’t have to.”

  The confusion on Thomas’ face grew more pronounced.

  “Beth, I’m sorry to tell you and I feel like a heel for having to say it, but I’ve never shoveled your driveway.”

  TWO

  The front tires spun out in the packed down snow as Don turned into the trailer park, spitting chunks of frozen sludge along the sides and up under his beat up sedan. Lot rent in this kind of place didn’t include snow removal. Or street lights. Or much of anything for that matter.

  The darkness of the evening was cut only by the dim lights glowing through windows tinted amber with smoke scum as he drove slowly down the rows of beaten and battered mobile homes. The car slowly skidded toward the curb and he eased off the gas, waiting for the treads to find something to grab, gripping the wheel as he swore at the whole situation. At his whole damned life.

  It took a few more minutes of careful navigation before Don finally pulled up to the green and white single-wide he’d called home the first sixteen years of his life. Parking in the gravel section to the side of the paved driveway, he shut off the engine and trudged into the cold.

  Ladonna’s car sat on the concrete beside his and was dusted with the tiny sprinkling of snow that fell just after the sun went down. Grabbing the broom from under the metal awning, Don quickly dusted the feathery flakes off his former neighbor’s car before replacing the broom and rounding his own car to pop the trunk.

  He heard a deadbolt flip and a second later the postage stamp sized drive was flooded with light. “Donnie?”

  “Just grabbing the groceries.” He hated that he was late. “You really didn’t have to stay.” Don rushed to lace the flimsy plastic handles over his wrists, snapping one in the process. “Shit.”

  “Oh honey I know I didn’t.” Ladonna was beside him, reaching in to grab the bag he’d broken in his haste. “I wanted to be here when you got home.”

  That wasn’t a good sign. “Everything okay?”

  His friend didn’t answer, leaning deeper into the shadowed trunk as she struggled to free the last bag. “What is this stuck on?” She pulled out the bag and the long handled object it was looped over, raising one eyebrow at him. “You always keep a snow shovel in your trunk?”

  He shrugged, acting nonchalant. “You never know.”

  Ladonna shook her head, the tiny snowflakes clinging to her intricately styled upsweep catching the light as she unhooked the bag and set the shovel back in place. “You go around shoveling little old ladies sidewalks while they aren’t looking?”

  Don closed the trunk as Ladonna stepped between their cars with her bags. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

  He heard her snort and start to chuckle ahead of him. She turned to him as she reached the two wooden steps that led to the door of his mother’s trailer. “You may have everyone else fooled.” She shifted her grip on the plastic bags to point a free finger his way. “Not me.” Ladonna swung the finger away and hooked it into the door handle, clicking open the aluminum storm door.

  Don followed Ladonna into the tiny living room and shut the door before dropping his bags onto the small scuffed dining table pressed close to the galley kitchen tucked at the front corner of the narrow building. “How is she today?”

  Ladonna picked through the bags until she found his mother’s prescriptions. “She’s just in the past today.” Her words were quiet and measured as she pulled at the staples securing the folded edge of the white pharmacy bag.

  Don nodded. It was hard hearing the sadness in his friend’s voice. Knowing it was sadness for him.

  “That’s just the way it is.” He tried to sound unbothered, wishing more than usual Ladonna would let one of her employees help him care for his mother. If he’d known the woman who was more of a mother to him than his own ever was, would have insisted on being the one here, he would have found another home health care company, even if it hurt Ladonna’s feelings.

  It would be worth it to not have her look at him with the pity he saw in so many faces. To finally have a friend who saw him as he was now, instead of what he’d managed to come from.

  “I think maybe I should stay and get her to bed tonight.” Ladonna flipped open a row of clear plastic lids across the bottom row of his mother’s monthly pill organizer and started dropping in the pills he’d brought home.

  “No.” He gently took the case from her hands. “It’s late.” He gave her a smile. “It’ll be fine.”

  Worry etched the smooth skin of her forehead.

  “I promise.” Don tugged her heavy winter coat free of the dining chair where it hung and held it up. “You go home. We’ll be fine.”

  Ladonna huffed out a tiny breath and pushed one arm into the coat. “This isn’t good for you. I don’t know why you won’t just let them place her.”

  To be honest, he didn’t know that answer either. The woman sitting in the next room hadn’t done much for him in life. Certainly not enough to warrant changing her diapers and feeding her by hand.

  But she was still his mother.

  “Maybe down the road, but now it’s working okay.” Through the week he had Ladonna to help and on the weekends his younger half-sisters took turns coming into town, to give him a break.

  Not that he took it.

  The girls were considerably younger than he was and had so much ahead of them. They didn’t need the burden of their mother’s care resting on their shoulders, even occasionally.

  “Uh-huh.” Ladonna wrapped him in a hug, squeezing him tight. She was barely fifteen years older than him, but mothered him from the first day they met when she moved into the other side of the double townhouse he used to call home. Before the bottom fell out of what little life he’d managed to eke out.

  He hugged her back. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulled back and looked at her. “Unless you want to send one of the aides. You know that’s always okay.”

  She patted his chest and rolled her dark brown eyes that perfectly matched the richness of her skin. “You took care of me, now I get to return the favor.” The soft pats became a sudden, sharper, almost smack against the pale khaki colored canvas coat he’d yet to remove. “As much as your stubborn ass will let me anyway.”

  Don watched as she backed slowly from the driveway, keeping his eyes on her car until it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Shutting the door he rested his head against the cool steel and took a minute to prepare himself.

  Not that there was anything or any amount of preparation that could make him ready to walk through that door when his mom was having a bad day. Another aspect of his life that simply was what it was.

  Like being alone.

  Like being the town ass.

  Like living up to every expectation his prick of a step-father had for him.

  Don shucked his coat and tossed it onto the small loveseat that took up half the room. Before he could find a reason to stall any longer, he opene
d the door to his mother’s room.

  “Hey mom.”

  The small flat screen he’d set up in the corner of the tiny room whispered quietly as a sitcom from his childhood flashed across the screen. His mother’s frail body sat in the compact recliner tucked in front of the television, covered by the electric blanket that kept her from shivering uncontrollably.

  Gradually, her sunken eyes moved his direction. When her icy blue gaze landed on his, any hope he’d had this would be a decent evening evaporated.

  “How are you feeling tonight?”

  Don crossed the room slowly, but it still wasn’t slow enough. As he came close, his mother flinched, ripping her hand from under the warmth of the blanket to shield her face as she hunkered deep into the chair.

  He stopped and took a few steps back. That’s how it always was. One step forward and many steps back. He held his hands up at shoulder height. “It’s okay.”

  She started to cry softly and began to rock. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

  He backed toward the door. As he stepped through the frame she started to scream.

  “Don’t hit Donnie!” She tried to stand, but the stroke she suffered a year ago stole her ability to support her weight along with her mind. His mother crumpled to the ground in a tangle of useless limbs and fleece blanket. “He’s a good boy, leave him alone Trent.”

  It wasn’t the first time his mother mistook him for his step-father and it wouldn’t be the last. Maybe eventually the sting of the comparison would lessen, but not today. Today it was a punch to the gut, even though he knew it was coming. It was why Ladonna wanted to stay. To spare him the pain of knowing he was enough like the man to confuse his own mother.

  Don took off the cap Maddie made him and set it on the small dresser just inside the door, hoping the pile of dark hair covering his skull would be enough to end the mistaken identity, but knowing it probably wouldn’t.

  “Nobody’s going to be hit mom.” The chances of his words registering with her were slim. Years of alcohol and drugs, capped off with a massive stroke left his fifty-year-old mother more like an Alzheimer’s patient than the victim of a brain bleed. “Everything is okay. It’s just time for bed.”

  Her tiny body shook as he carefully unwound her from the blanket and its wires. She tried to fight him, swinging her thin arms wildly as he gently lifted her from the ground and set her on the bed. By the time he’d changed her and tucked the electric blanket over her, she was laying limply against the mattress, exhausted from expending the little bit of fight she had in her.

  Her eyes were closed before he shut the light off, leaving only the glow from the TV to illuminate the sad state of his mother’s life.

  And his.

  Don pulled the door shut and quietly put away the groceries lined across the table. The size of the kitchen made it easy. All it took was a quick turn to go from one side to the other. The small size of the space also helped when he decided to give up his high end apartment across town and move in here. The state of the trailer was a shock to say the least. He hadn’t been inside in the six years since he and his mother’s last husband had an eventful falling out across the front lawn.

  It took every bit of the six weeks his mother was in the hospital and rehabilitation center to get it into what he would consider a livable state. Years of grime and infestation, the result of being inhabited by a neglectful addict and her string of husbands, had to be scrubbed and sprayed away. By the time he was done, the tiny trailer looked and smelled better than it had in his lifetime. Unfortunately, that still wasn’t saying much.

  Don poured a can of soup into a small pot he’d placed on the electric range and switched on the heat, dropping two pieces of bread into the toaster on his way to the fridge for a beer. He opened the door and pulled out a chilly amber bottle then paused, remembering the panic in his mother’s eyes when she looked at him. He grabbed another.

  After buttering his toast and dumping his dinner in a bowl, Don sat down at the small dinette with his food and his beer. He scanned the weather on his phone as he polished off the first drink. When it was clear the snow was going to hold off and he’d be spending the evening in, the cap came off the second bottle.

  He’d finished eating and was just tearing open the first in the stack of mail that came today when his cell started to ring. He grinned at the smiling face pictured on the screen and connected the call. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  His youngest sister gave a frustrated groan. “I don’t know why you like this stuff. It makes me want to stab my eyeballs out with a blunt object.”

  He leaned back in his seat, still grinning, enjoying the lighthearted distraction she always managed to provide just when he needed it. “Would that still be considered a stab? I would think it would be more of a poke.”

  “Gouge. Calculus makes me wish to gouge out my eyeballs.” Tara giggled into the phone then gave the kind of dramatic sigh only an eighteen-year-old girl could pull off. “I need help.”

  It took a half hour and an abundance of frustration on his sister’s part, but eventually Don was able to explain the solution in a way she understood.

  “What would I do without you big brother?”

  “You would definitely fail calculus.” He tipped back a sip of the second beer he was nursing as his sister grew quiet on the other end of the line.

  “How’s mom?” Tara sounded cautious. The same way everyone did when asking about his mother, worried their question would be met with bad news. Only most people thought the worst thing would be if she’d died. His sister knew better. “She having a good day?”

  “Yeah. She’s fine. Sleeping like a baby.” He flipped the pen in his hand end to end as he waited to see if his sister believed his white lie. Telling Tara the truth wouldn’t help him and would only cause her pain. She needed to focus on school. On her future.

  “That’s good.” She paused long enough that he knew he’d been caught. Thankfully it appeared she decided to let him get away with it. “Well I’m going to go finish this up and go to bed. Love you.”

  “Love you.” He hung up the phone and went back to the mail. After weeding out the junk, a stack of bills stared back at him. He started at the top. Five envelopes and a greatly reduced checking account later, he’d paid all the utilities, a couple of his mother’s medical bills and a renewal fee for a magazine Ladonna liked to read.

  He opened the last bill and started writing the check for Tara’s tuition. Thank God his sisters were four years apart. There’s no way he could have managed paying for them both to be in school at the same time.

  As it was, he’d had to give up pretty much everything when he lost his job at the city to be sure he’d be able to get Tara through. That was the reason he took care of a woman who barely took care of him. It was the reason he drove a car that might not make it to the end of winter. And it was the reason he had to keep moving when everything fell down around him.

  For her. For them. To give his sisters what he never had.

  A chance.

  A chance to be better. To be happy. To be successful. To be loved. All the things he’d wanted, but just wasn’t meant to have. But they could and he could help them.

  And that would have to be enough.

  THREE

  Hazel stood, propped against her walker, in a glittering white felt coat and matching fur edged hat. Gold lame leggings hung from her boney legs and tucked into calf-high boots covered in the same fur trimming her hat. She blinked a few times. “Why are you girls looking at me like that?”

  “Um.” Beth was at a loss for words. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so…”

  Nancy cleared her throat, obviously not finding the words to describe Hazel’s outfit any faster than Beth. “I think we’re just surprised at how good you look.”

  Hazel straightened. “Of course I look good. It’s the first time I’ll see all the girls since my surgery.” She turned, scooting and bouncing her walker in a circle until it wa
s directed at the kitchen doorway. “Can’t have those old bitties talking about me behind my back.”

  Beth raised her eyebrows at Nancy as Hazel scooted along behind the walker into the kitchen, her furry footwear barely making a sound as she shuffled along. She’d been over to help Hazel on more than one occasion and the little lady never failed to entertain, and it didn’t look like a hip replacement was going to change that. “You are getting around really well Hazel.”

  Hazel stopped as she reached the kitchen counter, fishing a tin of mints out of the top drawer. She popped one in and turned to Beth. “That was the whole point of gettin’ a new hip. I gotta be able to keep up with a younger man.” She crunched the mint in her mouth loudly. “Same reason I’m stuck with these damn things. Apparently the younger crowd doesn’t find smoking as glamorous as my generation did.” She shoved another white, powder covered mint between her shimmery pink lips. “At least I’ll never have to worry about how my breath smells.”

  “Got any prospects?” Nancy grinned at Hazel from across the counter as she organized bags of chips and containers of dip she and Beth picked up on their way over this morning.

  Beth leaned her head into the living room listening for the girls. Liza and Kate were playing in Hazel’s spare bedroom, piled on the bed with their tablets.

  Hopefully.

  As much as she wanted to be sure her daughters were where she left them, Beth was more interested to hear just how Hazel’s man hunting was going, knowing full well how depressing the answer could be. Hearing no hint of suspicious activities, she decided the well-check could wait another minute.

  Hazel inspected her fingernails. The gold polish that coordinated with the shiny leggings she wore covered most of her nail and a decent portion of her cuticles. “I have a few I’ve got my eye on.” She gave Beth a sideways look. “But I’d rather get my hands on ‘em.”

  She had to laugh. And not just at Hazel. Because what the hell else was she going to do? The eighty-year-old woman was most definitely going to have her hands on a man well before Beth would that’s for sure. It was more than depressing that the tiny, frail woman with fake teeth and a replacement hip had more suitors than she did. Then again at Hazel’s age being a widow with daughters wasn’t the dating equivalent of telling someone you have the plague.