“It’s okay. It’s not …”
He swipes up the duffle, leaving me to carry nothing more than my cellphone.
With a huff, I lead the way through the fenced-in lot, toward the broken-down house where I’ve grown up for the last nine years. Empty pots of dead flowers lay tipped on the front porch as we climb the stairs to the entrance, but whereas the gardens at the Blackthorne’s simply look unkempt and neglected, here, they’re just a failed attempt to polish another rundown house on the block.
A swing to the left, old with cracked paint, reminds me of the times Aunt Midge and I would sit out talking for hours, on balmy summer nights. As much as it’s an added eyesore, I can’t imagine it not being there.
The exterior of the house could also use some new paint, but that doesn’t even hold a candle to what the interior needs, so I halt at the door and reach for my bag. “I’m good here.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Thanks for the ride.” I refuse to open the door, seeing as the Blackthorne’s garden shed is in better shape than this place.
“I’ll be back Sunday night to pick you up.”
“You sure? I mean, Aunt Midge can probably drive me.”
“Master Blackthorne insisted I drop you off and pick you up.”
It’s hard to imagine a man like him thinking me important enough to make such a demand. “Okay. If that’s what he insists.”
“It is. Have a nice weekend. Stay out of trouble.”
A curtain of familiarity hits me as I step inside the house and lock the door behind me, as usual. Aunt Midge calls me paranoid for checking locks, the stove, and closing curtains, but growing up half my life in abandoned places taught me not to be so quick to trust my fellow man, because sometimes he takes shit without asking.
The tired and broken-down furniture, which I imagine was probably purchased sometime in the eighties, the ugly brown paneling of the living room, and outdated wallpaper stained with nicotine throughout is still a comfort to me, in spite of its hideous appearance.
“Aunt Midge! You home?” I dump my duffle on the couch and make my way into the kitchen. The overwhelming scent of coffee and cigarettes clings to the air. That’s one thing I appreciate about the Blackthornes: aside from the occasional rich-cigar scent, there isn’t the stale smoky odor that sticks to the back of the throat, the way it does here. “Yo! Aunt Midge!”
The coffee pot is warm, not hot like she used it recently, but not cold like it’s been sitting for too long, either.
I peek inside her bedroom to find it empty, her bed unmade, nightclothes flung onto the floor. Maybe ran to the store, or something, seeing as she told me she took the weekend off, and it’s only just after noon. Too early for The Shoal.
On the way back into the kitchen, I hear a rattling at the door and freeze. The entrance swings open, and in steps Aunt Midge, shoving a cigarette into her mouth as she wriggles the key from the lock.
Behind her stands the one person in the world who could possibly sour the excitement of coming home.
My mother.
It’s been a few months since I saw her hobbling about her little campsite on the freeway. Aunt Midge likes to pop in on her sometimes, to bring her something to eat, or an extra blanket. No idea why she bothers. I stayed inside the car, of course. No sense giving my mother the impression that I give a shit about her after she dumped me on her sister.
The white pallor of her skin only emphasizes the dark circles around her eyes, her sunken cheeks and gaunt figure. Even from here, I can see the scabs and bruises of heroine tracks down her arms.
Anger and disgust roil in my stomach, as I watch her follow Aunt Midge into the house.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Crossing my arms fails to hide the tremble of fury vibrating beneath my skin.
On her way toward the kitchen, Aunt Midge pauses to look me up and down, her left eye squinting as she sucks in a drag of her cigarette. “New clothes?”
“Yeah. Irrelevant. Why is she here?”
“Fancy, schmancy,” she says, as she passes me, not answering my question.
My mother stands in the center of the room, rubbing her arm, looking around as though she’s searching for a needle to inject. Nervous, from the looks of it.
I follow after Aunt Midge, who throws the coffee pot onto the stove, and lean in to get her attention, lowering my voice. “Why is she here?”
Blowing out an exasperated sigh, she leans closer. “So, I get a call from her from some unknown number. Her boyfriend skipped town. Took a bunch of drugs with him. I guess some bigtime drug dealer is after him now.” Her gaze slides from mine. “And her.”
“So, you brought her here? Are you nuts?”
“What was I gonna do? Tell her to fuck off? She’s my sister.”
“She’s my mother, but that doesn’t mean I think you should help her every time she steps in a pile of shit and gets dirty.”
Shoving the cigarette back between her lips, she shakes her head and fires up the stove. “You don’t get it. That’s okay. You’re a kid.”
“I’m nineteen. I dealt with her shit for ten years. I get it more than you know.”
Setting her hand on her hip is the first sign that I’m starting to piss her off, but I don’t care. This was not one of her smarter decisions. “And you would’ve just stood by and let some criminal gun her down?”
“Karma’s a bitch. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“She’s your mother, Isa. Your mother. Yeah, she’s done a shit job, but it doesn’t change who she is. It’s not right to want to see her suffer. Those dealers in Roxbury don’t fuck around.”
Son of a bitch. “Roxbury? She was in Roxbury?”
“Apparently so.”
“Jesus, Aunt Midge.” Lodging my fingers in my hair is all I can do to keep from yanking every strand out of my head. “You can’t let her stay here. You’re going to wake up and find all our shit missing.”
“Cash is put away. I stashed all my jewelry, too. Only thing that’s worth a damn is the shitty TV, and I doubt she can lift a fucking cup of coffee at the moment.”
“I’m not staying here.” Crossing my arms, I shake my head. I hate having to make her choose, but she has no idea what kind of shit-storm my mother can create without even trying. “Either she goes, or I go.”
“C’mon, Isa. Don’t be like that. She’s family, for Christ’s sake. I’m not choosing between family.”
“She’s fucked you over more times than I ever would.”
“She was also there for me more times. Before the drugs.”
“You’re a goddamn saint.” Tromping back through the living room, I find my mother sitting on the edge of the couch, rubbing her hands together.
“Hey, baby. How you been?”
Ignoring her question, I swipe up my duffle bag and grimace, disgusted by the raspy tone of her voice and the spacy look in her eyes. “I’m staying at Kel’s tonight!” I call out to Aunt Midge as I head toward the door.
“Isa, wait!” Aunt Midge calls after me, throwing her hands up in the air. “I had tacos planned for dinner!”
“I’m sure they’ll get eaten.” Ire coursing through my blood, I push through the door.