“Is Seth coming to pick you up?”
“NO!” His eyes opened wide at my over-reaction to his question. It was then I remembered he was a friend of Seth’s.
“Is there a problem, I mean nothing happened when Seth chased off those men did it?” He began nervously fidgeting with the chart in his hands.
Did he know about Seth? They were pretty chummy whenever I’d seen them together. Play it cool, Maggie.
“He has a huge test tomorrow, I’ll call one of my girlfriends.” He raised his eyes to mine, they were filled with trepidation.
“I’m guessing something more happened with Seth and the two men than you’re telling me,” he said calmly.
He knew. Did everyone in this stinking town know about Seth except me? “You know about him and Booker.” It was a statement, pure and simple.
“Occasionally, I help out with some of their cases.”
“You’re in on the lie too.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it lying. We were under—”
“A lie by any other name, still stinks, Dr. Colter.” I said sharply.
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“I would like a full drug screen done on my mother and myself.” Might as well clear this all up and get these men out of our lives, once and for all.
“No one believes you are involved, Maggie.”
“Even so, I want it done. I want all doubt removed from everyone’s mind.”
He nodded. “I’m terribly sorry about all of this, but my hands were tied. This is an undercover operation.”
I’d had enough for one day, and didn’t want to discuss this whole mess anymore. “Can I see my mother?”
“Certainly.” He escorted me to a private room off the emergency department. My mom looked small and frail in the middle of the hospital bed. She had all kinds of wires and tubes hooked up to her and an oxygen mask strapped to her peaked face. I softly stroked her brow, and carefully lying across her body, I cried.
When I composed myself, I followed Dr. Colter to the x-ray department. He gave me a clean bill of health, along with a painful tetanus shot, after the results from the CAT scan and drug screen came back negative. I thanked him, hustled down the nearly empty hallway, and went to the maternity floor waiting area. It was two A.M., and I wasn’t about to walk home in the dark after my run-in with the men at my house.
There were a couple of families anxiously awaiting the arrival of a new member. Despite the shouts of glee, I was grateful for the extra bodies. I found a plush maroon chair in the corner, curled up into it, and fell asleep almost instantly. It had been a long miserable day, and I refused to think about it for another minute.
I spent the next morning reading to my mother from some ancient magazines I confiscated from the waiting room. My mind was enlightened to the vast uses of Styrofoam, and how to cook an entire Thanksgiving meal that fed six for under $25.
Being with her occupied my mind, leaving little room to think about Seth. Walking home later that day was another story. I barely made it inside before losing control and falling hard onto the floor. “Fool! You stupid fool! Why did I let my guard down? Why?” I twisted onto my side and clenched my stomach. I felt so totally and utterly deceived my body physically hurt.
Then the anger hit again.
I drew myself up off the floor and everyone else, except my mom, out of my heart. I wasn’t going to waste another minute pining over Seth. I was a means-to-an-end for him, period, moreover, I wasn’t ever going to let it happen again. Lesson learned.
Walking into the kitchen, I found an abandoned search warrant on the counter. The police had searched my trailer! I felt angry and violated all over again. I crumpled it up, tossed it into the garbage can, and began straightening up while I made a mental list of what needed to be done to keep us safe, finally deciding on a dead bolt for the front door and some window locks.
Now I needed money. That was going to be a problem. I searched the kitchen and bathroom, they were a total bust, as was my room. Under the couch cushions, I found a total of eleven cents. I shoved the paltry coins into my pocket and plopped down on the couch in complete frustration.
The only place I hadn’t checked was my mother’s room. She’d always forbidden me from going in there unless I had to help her into bed after a long day of drinking. Did she have money she didn’t want me to know about? No matter how little food we had in the house, she always seemed to have enough for her booze.
On the other hand, maybe she’d forbidden me from going in there because she was doing drugs and didn’t want me finding out.
The thought chilled me to the bone. There had to be a reason Seth thought she was involved in this mess. Sucking in a deep breath, I decided to check.
I walked slowly into my mom’s sanctuary. The room was long, narrow and an absolute mess. Housekeeping was most certainly not her forte. The unmade bed was arranged long-ways on the wall, extending to the doorway of her closet. The only possible way for her to get into bed was to crawl in from the top, which was probably why she opted to sleep on the couch most nights.
Inside the closet were some tattered sneakers and a clean bed sheet wadded up in the corner. Beside the bed sat a rickety-looking nightstand that held a small clock and a broken lamp sitting precariously on the edge. Running parallel to the bed stood a long white dresser. It made it difficult to reach her closet without shimmying along the wall sideways. I offered to rearrange the room for her once so she could navigate around easier; she told me to mind my own business and get out.
I began my hunt, going quickly through her mostly empty dresser drawers and finding nothing. A small pile of clean clothes stacked in the corner held no surprises either, and the barren nightstand was a complete waste of time. There was no secret treasure under the bed either, except dust bunnies, lots of dust bunnies. Gross! I was about to give up when I thought to look under the mattress. On lifting it, the green tinge of money was not what caught my eye, but the soft beige of an eleven by fourteen inch manila envelope.
I withdrew it from beneath the mattress, reading the words written across the front aloud. “Last Will and Testament.” Why she had a Will was beyond me, we had nothing. I flipped the unsealed envelope open and dumped the contents out onto the bed. Four smaller white envelopes and a 20-dollar bill tumbled out onto the mattress. I couldn’t believe something was finally going my way. I tucked the money into my pocket and replaced everything else carefully back under the mattress, and I took off for the hardware store as fast as my legs could carry me.
I had enough money to buy a lock for each of the windows and one for the door, with $2.62 left over. I stopped at the grocery store and bought a loaf of day-old bread and an off, off brand of peanut butter. I’d have to worry about finding food again now that Secret Agent Man was out of my life.
I went straight to work installing the window locks. Not owning any tools, I had to improvise. I found a kitchen knife to be a great screwdriver and a large rock from the front yard made a pretty decent hammer. Every time my heart began to mourn my loss, I’d twist a little harder with the knife.
The window locks took only 45 minutes to install, not bad for a rookie. I put off the dead bolt for last. Even though the sun shined brightly, the breeze was quite cool. I wasn’t looking forward to having the front door open while working on the lock. We didn’t have power yet, and no matter how hard it tried, our small gas stove just wasn’t equipped to heat an entire trailer.
After struggling for over an hour trying to install the dumb lock, I took a break. I went over to the kitchen for a piece of bread, and to wiggle my cold fingers over the flames on the stove.
“You can’t be serious?” I wheeled around to find Seth standing in the doorway, the dead bolt lying across his palm. “Can I come in so we can talk?”
“There’re no drugs here. I searched the entire house, as did you and your cop friends. Did they find anything?” He shook his head. “I didn’t think so. Now get out.”
He cringed at my har
sh words. I felt sickened and softened my tone. “I can’t deal with this right now. Please, if you ever really cared, just a little, go away and leave me alone.”
He looked as if I’d kicked him in the stomach. “I’m not giving up on us, Maggie. I’ll give you time, but I’ll be right here, waiting.” He turned, picked up the makeshift tools, and finished installing the dead bolt lock in less than two minutes. Grrr!
“Do you actually believe this lock will keep anyone who really wants to get in here out?” He pulled back the left side of his jacket and flashed the gun strapped to his chest in a brown leather holster. I realized 50 dead bolts wouldn’t have stopped anyone if they really wanted to get in and a wave of fear gripped me.
“I paid the electric bill. The power should be back on Monday around noon,” he said, without looking back.
“Thank you,” I whispered as he walked away.
There was no stopping the tears this time. I sank to the floor and let them flow. I loved him. How was I supposed to live without him?
After my little pity-party, I locked up the house and went to the hospital, my mother was my focus now. I collapsed into the recliner next to her bed and began stroking her hair, praying that she’d live. I felt somewhat safe next to her, though I had no idea why. She had never protected me in any way, nevertheless it was how I felt. A few hours later, the staff began serving up dinner to the other patients, and I decided it was time to leave, my stomach was growling much too loudly.
“Don’t die, mom, please don’t leave me here all alone,” I said, kissing her forehead tenderly. I brushed the tears off my face with the back of my hand and left.
The weather had warmed somewhat so I took the long way home, mostly to avoid the emptiness of my trailer. Many of the homes along the way had young flowers just starting to break through the earth, and the sky above was a royal blue instead of its usual hazy Upstate New York gray.
Walking past the library, I decided to stop and do a little research on heroin. With hundreds of books listed on the subject, I was quickly overwhelmed and sought out the librarian. A macabre looking girl, dressed completely in black, including her lipstick, sat behind the help desk. Her nametag read Bambi. I looked twice to make sure. I had a feeling if anyone knew anything about drugs, it’d probably be Bambi.
“I’m trying to find some books on heroin. Maybe something that has a few pictures and that lists the side effects of the drug.”
“Sure thing,” she smiled, cracking a huge wad of pink bubble gum as she typed info into the computer.
“They’re over this way,” she pointed and started walking. “I don’t know a whole lot about the drug world really,” she said, spinning her nose ring. “It’s not my thing, ya know.” I immediately felt guilty for assuming she was an expert. “I’m, like, totally into fantasy, you know, like elves and fairies.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed me two fairy tattoos on her forearm. She twisted around, showing me a tramp stamp of an elf on her lower back. “And this one is for my boyfriend Alex,” she said, lifting the leg of her black leather pants. “He’s, like, totally into werewolves.” A savage-looking werewolf sat tattooed above her ankle, and I hoped for her sake she and Alex never broke up.
Bambi led me to a large section of books that dealt with the different types of substances ranging from alcohol to a wide variety of drugs. “You look familiar. Do you go to Port Fare High?”
“Yes, I’m a senior.”
“I graduated early, in December,” she said, proudly. “You look good. Did you, like, gain some weight?”
“A little.” I began thumbing through several of the books as she rambled on. She had a nice voice, deep and somewhat raspy, with a slight lisp when she got excited.
“I remember there was this really hot guy who moved in over the summer. What was his name?” She thumped her palm on her forehead, trying to remember. “I think it was Seth. Seth Preston or something like that.”
“Seth Prescott,” I said softly.
“Prescott, that’s it. Man, was he ever hot. I was tempted to ask him to the Christmas dance, but he was only 18. I’m 19, October birthday,” she said, pointing to herself.
“Anyway, I have, like, a strict policy to never date younger guys. Alex is 20.” She let out a raspy breath and smiled. “Older men are, like, so much more mature. We’ve been together for four weeks. He is totally it for me.”
She pulled up her pant leg and looked down longingly at her werewolf tattoo again. “Alex has the high score on Werewolf Island at the Burger Barn.” I looked at her blankly. “Oh my gosh! Like, it’s only the hottest video game on werewolves ever created. Okay, like, werewolves are the good guys for once, and if you make it to, like, level six, shape-shifters appear and help the wolves conquer the witch-demons so they can free the island. That’s how Alex learned, like, everything there is to know about werewolves and shape-shifters.” As she spoke, a tiny diamond embedded in the side of her canine tooth caught the light and twinkled.
Bambi was a wealth of information, showing me several books that would help in my quest. I thanked her, took my treasures to the checkout desk, and left for home with my booty.
To my delight, Fluffy was sitting on my doorstep when I arrived. “Fluffy! Where have you been?” He immediately jumped up, his entire back end wagging happily as I opened the door. I dropped the books on the couch and gathered up the fur ball, peppering the top of his head in kisses.
“I missed you, you’re all I have left,” I said, stroking his silky coat. “It’s been a bad week, Fluffy. It turns out Seth is a lying dog… oops, sorry.” I playfully ruffled up his fur. “I mean he’s a lying weasel. Anyway, he’s an undercover cop. If that isn’t enough, my mom’s in the hospital again.” I held back my tears, burying my face in his fur.
Pulling myself together, I set him down on the couch next to me and began my research into the drug world, skipping dinner, mostly to ration the bread.
Fluffy stayed by my side the entire evening, more than once jumping up on my lap and sending the books flying onto the floor. I set him back down several times and even threatened to put him outside before he settled quietly down at my feet.
It didn’t take long to discover why Seth thought my mom and I did drugs. Physically we had many of the signs; jutting bones, dark circles under our eyes, and pale skin. Heroin Chic is what one book called the look. Starving to Death is what I called it. I was beginning to feel a little guilty for going off on Seth like I did.
After four hours, I set the books aside, let Fluffy out for the night, and went to bed. Not until three in the morning did sleep win out over my thoughts.
For the next several days Seth wasn’t at school, I didn’t see him, or ride with him to CaL class. My afternoons were spent at the hospital with my mom reading to her.
Dr. Colter informed me her liver functions were poor, and they were keeping her sedated in hopes it would help her body to heal quicker. They were afraid if she were coherent, she’d leave and start drinking again. They were probably right. He also said her drug screen came back negative, information I hoped he shared with Booker and Seth.
When I was home alone, the memories of Seth were difficult to keep at bay. One particularly difficult evening while struggling to think of something to do to keep my mind occupied, I came dangerously close to taking out my Calculus book. Thankfully, I remembered the envelopes under my mother’s mattress. I wanted look at the will and check out what the other envelopes were. It was probably nothing, but I was desperate at this point.
I went straight to her room and pulled the large manila envelope out, dumping the contents onto her bed. The first letter read; Last Will and Testament, self-explanatory, I set it aside. The other three had my name on them. One read, Maggie, seven years old. Another read, Maggie, eleven years old, and the last one read, Maggie, also and was dated January of this year.
24
The envelope titled Maggie, seven years old, was yellowed, and held several circular-shaped stains. If I were
to hazard a guess, I’d say the bottom of a vodka glass had made them. Turning the letter over, I wondered if it contained photos of me or a past report card.
Remembering nothing significant about that year in my life, I held the envelope up to the light. It appeared to be a letter of some kind, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. I looked at the sealed flap and noted numerous loose points. Feeling a rush of guilt, I thought of putting the letters away, after all it was none of my business.
On the other hand, they did have my name on them. Curiosity was winning as my finger traced along the flap.
“Okay, if I can open it without damaging the envelope, I’ll read it, if not, I’ll put them away.” Retrieving a knife from the kitchen, I sat on the couch and slid it carefully under the sealed edge. There was hardly any resistance as the envelope gladly opened itself up to me. I coaxed the letter out and straight away recognized my mom’s handwriting.
My sweet baby Maggie,
Happy seventh birthday. I decided to write you a letter each year on your birthday, beginning with this year. I’ll give them to you when you turn eighten eighteen. My mom did this for me while I was growing up, and I always cherished those letters.
I wish we had money to buy you gifts today. As usual, we have none. I decided the best thing to give you would be my love. I’ve not been good at saying I love you, the last time being when you were a toddler, but I do love you.
You are such a happy, independent child. You never complane complain, not even when you’re hungry, and you take good care of me, though I don’t deserve it. I’m not a good mother, yes, I know, but things are about to change. Never again will you see me drunk. Never again will I spend our last dollar on booze. This is my birthday gift to you. You mean so much to me. It’s going to be better around here, baby girl. I was a nice person before I started drinking, and you’ll see that now. It’s going to be good for me us.
Love always, Mom
My mother wrote this? I was dumbfounded. She truly loves me, or at least she did at one point. I grabbed the second letter, opening it carefully and began devouring the words.
Unlovable Page 22
