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The last few days of summer swelter past. Haze blankets the sky, and dust devils spin out of control in litter-strewn corners. I hate the idea of starting another school year after the way I ended the last.
Mitch moved out the day of our Goodwill trip, although I didn’t realize it until later. I hadn’t thought anything about him going out shortly after we got home, while Mom was trying on her haul. I don’t think Mom thought anything about it either. Mom realized he was gone when she went to put the things she claimed out of the bags into her closet and found that his clothes were gone. She came tearing out of their room and ran out the door, intent on finding him. I was in bed, feeling guilty that maybe I should have told her about the day Theresa stopped in front of the house, when I heard her come in, stumbling over the doorjamb, falling with a thud and a “Goddamn Mother Fucker!” She was pulling herself upright, trying to put her feet back under her legs, and I gave her my hand. The scent of vodka rolled off of her in waves and I averted my face a bit.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say, trying to calm her. She is muttering and cursing just under her breath, and her eyes are rolling wild in their orbits.
“Don ever trusht a man.” Her breath fogs over me. It is such a rare thing for her to slur that I am immediately worried. I steady her and guide her down the hall. I don’t ask her what is going on. I don’t want to start it. If I ask, then she will tell me, and I will be forced to listen and listen because she will tell it in rolling circles. I can guess, based on the recent conversations with Mitch, that he has moved on, as was his plan. He has left her. He has left us. “Why doesn’t anybody love me?” she asks, and it is clear as day, not a stutter or a missed consonant.
“I love you,” I say, my heart just a little broken for her. Her bottom lip puckers, and one big tear wells in her eyes and drops down her cheek. I fold her in my arms, and I let her cry into me, rocking with her sobs. He left us, and a little of my broken heart is for myself. He was the best of the men we’ve had, and now he has given up on us, too.
Mom missed work for three days in a row, saying she had the flu, and when she finally went back, it was with cold sweats and a sour stomach. I’m surprised she didn’t get fired.
Billups had been such a good escape through the summer. The little bag of cash that I have been hiding in the vent is heavier every week, and every time I put another week’s pay in, I feel a little less trapped. There may be hope for me yet. Not that I’ll be going to college like Dylan and Kelci, but at least I will be able to leave, although I have to admit there is an uncomfortable feeling about going when I think about Mom being alone.
***
I see Mitch, two weeks after he left, the day before school was set to start. I was working a Sunday shift and had gone to pick up lunch at the Roadside Café for Rob and Mr. Billups, who aren’t interested in the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I eat every day. He is sitting at one of the tables with his back toward the door, across from Theresa Calverson. I turn my face away from him and hope he doesn’t turn around. I reach the counter, and while I am waiting for our order to be up, I feel him. I try not to turn, but I can’t stop, and when I glance at the table where he had been, he is gone, but Theresa is there, staring straight at me. She offers a small smile and a wave. I nod, trying to pull on the same smile, but my eyes continue around the room, and there he is, standing behind me, his hand up in his hair. He lets out a long breath, dropping his hand out of his hair, which flops over his forehead like a forelock.
“How are you?” he asks, and before I even know what is happening, he is giving me an awkward side-armed hug.
“I’m good.” I pat his chest with my hand as I regain my footing. “How are you?”
“Okay.” He nods his head. We are so awkward. This is so awkward. We lived in the same house for years, and now we don’t even know how to speak. “Your mom?” There it is, the pink elephant.
“She’s good. Really good.” I can’t hold his eyes while I lie, but thank God my order is ready, so I make my polite goodbyes, pay, and get the hell out of the Roadside Café. I give him a small wave through the window as I walk away. I won’t tell Mom that I saw him. I’m afraid it will kill her.
Mom isn’t home when I get there after work, so I take the chance to go past and see if Dylan might actually be home. It was a good risk because I find Dylan and Jake up in the loft throwing in new alfalfa. The air was thick with the alfalfa dust, and Dylan and Jake are both covered by the sweat and dirt. A smear runs across Dylan’s forehead where he has used the back of his arm to wipe away sweat. Jake’s face is lined by running sweat, from his forehead to his chin. With the lifting of each bale of hay, air forces out from their lungs in a low “humph” as they toss the bale to the pile.
“Hey, Al,” Dylan says between bales when he sees my head poking up from the ladder.
“Hey. Need some help?” I ask, even knowing that there’s not much I can do. I don’t have the strength to toss one of the bales the way they are.
“Nah. Almost done.”
“Good timing then, huh?” I joke.
“How’s your Mom?” Jake’s voice is casual, but my eyes snap to him, checking to see why he asked and what he knows.
“She’s okay.” I try to let my voice sound casual, too. Jake stops as he’s getting ready to pick up the last bale and looks at me. But he doesn’t say anything. Instead he sits down on the bale, and I have to drop my eyes. I have never seen such intensity in his look before. I continue talking to break the connection between his clear blue eyes and me. “She’s fine, you know. There are days, but she’s okay.”
“Yeah, Alison, I understand,” Jake says. I feel like a bug pinned to a science project and want to escape back down the ladder and into the sun, but his eyes hold mine. I know that he knows. I know that he knows that I know about him. Suddenly I feel that I have violated him, that it’s something too private. But we all know. “I ran into her a couple days ago, over at the market. She looked like maybe she had been a bit under the weather.” The pit of my stomach turns slightly sour. I know that she wasn’t there shopping for groceries. “So, how often does she drink?” he asks, point blank, matter of fact.
His manner is that of a doctor asking about symptoms, and I don’t even hesitate. I shrug, not quite ready to turn traitor.
“Daily?” I nod. “Mornings? Night?” I nod to both. “How are things with Mitch?”
“Okay.” I don’t want to tell him that Mitch has left and is probably living with Theresa Calverson.
“Does he drink, too?”
“A little, I guess, but not like that.” I pause. “Mitch doesn’t live with us anymore.” No sense in trying to skirt it. He probably already knows anyway.
“Oh,” he says, as if that makes something very clear and everything suddenly makes more sense. “You, know, Alison, it took me an awful long time to admit that I needed help. I lost everything that mattered to me before I was ready to stop.” His eyes move toward Dylan as he settles his last bale. “Luckily, I was able to rebuild some of what I’d lost. She’s going to have to hit that point. Until she does, it’s probably going to get worse and not better.” I nod my head dumbly. I think of Daecus and wonder that losing his son wasn’t enough. Dylan reaches his hand out to me to draw me the rest of the way up the ladder. Jake continues, “Most people have to bottom out. For me, I had to lose my family, their respect.” I feel guilty, like I shouldn’t be talking about this. I feel like I’m betraying her. I say that things have gotten better. Maybe Mitch being gone will be a good thing. I tell myself that the problems were all his fault, because he was seeing somebody else. But I know, even as I think it, what the truth is, that he was seeing somebody because of all the problems at home. He was a cheater; he had a history. So did we. We have a history, which is one of the reasons we moved here. Things were supposed to get better here. It was a new life and all of that.
Jake lets me off of the science board and throws the bale on top.
“Doesn’t she see what it’s doing? Why won’t she just stop?” I ask in a soft voice.
“She probably can’t. The drinking’s all she can think about. That’s part of the addiction, and her drinking is the only thing she thinks is getting her through.” He begins to retreat down the ladder but pauses and looks at me once again, “It can be better. When you come out the other side, it can be so much better.” He gives me his most beautiful, salesman smile, and I know there is equal parts sadness and grace in it. I feel for a moment like I’m a character in an after-school special and have to check myself from laughing, I’m so tense. He leaves us in the loft. Dylan touches my nose with his fingertip and goes to close the hay door. “I ran into Mitch yesterday. He asked me how you were. He was leaving the courthouse.”
“I just ran into him at the Roadside.” I shrug.
“So how are things really, Al?”
I just shake my head, trying to control the puckering of my chin.