I lifted the mug of coffee with an unsteady hand and took a sip. It was sickly sweet. “Can you—can you tell me about your name?”
“Now that, little girl, is an interesting story.” Mama inspected the tip of her cigarette. “Delta Dawn was a top ten song on the country music charts the month I was born. Recorded by this little thirteen-year-old girl. Thirteen years old. My mama showed her to me on the TV once. Singing there in her little tangerine dress and golden heels. That song changed her life.” Even though she still had half the cigarette to smoke, she stubbed it out. “Guess it changed mine, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, as far as I see it, when someone gives you a name, they are pretty much telling you what your life is going to be. You understand?”
I shook my head.
“Sit back, I’m going to give you a treat.…” She refilled her mug and then sort of sashayed over to this old record player. I remembered Lori having one like it.
“This, baby girl, is a forty-five,” she said, holding up a little black record. “I don’t know why they call it that. Sounds more like a gun, if you ask me.” She pointed gun fingers at me. Bang. “It was my mama’s. Kept it all these years.”
She placed the record carefully on the turntable and then lifted the needle and set it down. I knew the song before it even started playing.
The twangy sadness of the voice.
The story that would never have a happy ending.
About a woman deceived and left behind by the man she loved.
Mama cranked up the volume and then sang along, howling out the high notes best she could. “That’s the song I was named after. And what do you know? My life was ruined by a man.” She downed the rest of what was in her mug and wiped her mouth. Her voice was starting to slur. “Come to think of it, there may have been more than one!” She shoved me in the shoulder and laughed. “And it’s not like they left me anything worth keeping.”
Mama pointed a chipped fingernail at me. “You. Girl. Write this down word for word. My mama named me after this song. She’s the one who handed me the life I have. This”—she gestured around the run-down trailer—“my life wasn’t always like this. It’s all my mama’s mistake… giving me this name. Only mistake I ever made was passing it on to that worthless, no-good girl.…”
DiDi. Was she talking about DiDi?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean passing on this name so she could end up somewhere just like this. Probably worse.”
I thought of the nice trailer where I grew up that was always neat and clean. Of DiDi working in the prettiest salon I’d ever seen. Of her finding us a place to live across the street from a candy store.
I shook my head. “No.”
Mama had made her way into the kitchen. “You say something? I think I got some leftover Chinese in here if you’re hungry. Had a hot date a couple nights ago. Pretty sure it didn’t go bad.” She turned and looked at me over her shoulder. “The food, I mean. The date for sure was a bad one.”
I looked around the tiny kitchen. “Do you—cook?”
Mama stopped and leaned against the counter. She rubbed her head and looked at her hands. “Well… I used to. Used to be darn good. Just… can’t find my recipes anymore.…”
My heart gave a twinge of guilt. I knew where her recipes were. At home with DiDi. And here Mama was—all alone. Maybe that was why she was sad and drinking and lost. I was gone and DiDi was gone and her recipes were gone. That would be enough to change anyone. Maybe we could’ve stayed and helped her the way I helped Lori when she had One Too Many. I was good at it.
Mama shook herself and went over to the fridge. She pulled out a nasty-looking carton of food. “Anyway, good riddance, I say.” She looked over at me as she tossed it into the garbage. “Way of the world. You have to get rid of trash before it turns on you.”
“Turns—?”
“Turns on you.” Mama began counting on her fingers. “Steals your money, your car, your brand-new purple pocketbook—with all your tips!—and takes off in the middle of the night. Just takes off—here, look at this.” She pulled up her skirt and rubbed a big ugly scar that ran down her knee like jagged white lightning. “Chased after her down the street till I tripped.… Stole everything from me… everything I had… everything.” She started muttering words I was not supposed to hear.
Everything. What did she mean, DiDi stole… everything?
Mama stumbled into the bathroom. I could hear her rattling around and dropping things.
“Hey, wanna hear something funny?” She came out holding a small plain cardboard box, shaking it. “Used to scare the living daylights out of that worthless fool who manages this place—thought it was full of shells.”
My head was spinning. “Shells? Seashells?”
“Shotgun shells.”
Mama took the lid off and I looked inside. A dozen golden tubes of lipstick rolled around. “He heard some rumor about me buying golden bullets. ’Course he was dead drunk, but maybe that’s just something we have in common.…”
And then I knew.
I didn’t want to say it even to myself, because I didn’t want it to be true. But I was already talking.
“The—the man who lives at Thirty-Six?”
“Merle, ya mean? Ol’ Merle and his dog.”
“He called you Dawna.”
Mama shrugged. “Friends call me Dawna, and if Merle and that old mutt can keep the riffraff away from here, then I guess he’s a friend.”
The golden bullets… Mama howling her song… even the bear outside tied to the tree. Some of the things were just rumors grown ugly. Others were ugly because they were true.
“Getting tired of this conversation.…” Mama stumbled over to the worn old sofa and laid herself down.
She was drunk.
She was drunker than drunk.
She was Dead Drunk Donna, and there was nothing I could do to change it.
“Time for you… go.…”
“Wait.” I couldn’t leave yet. I had to ask her one last question. I didn’t care if she wondered how I knew to ask it. I needed to ask before she was too far gone to answer. “Are you… awake?”
Mama’s eyes were closed. “Mmmm.”
“You said… she stole… everything.…” I leaned in close and lowered my voice. “Did you chase her because you wanted back your—did she—did she steal your baby?”
Mama breathed into the sofa.
“Mama?” I whispered. But she was dead asleep.
I sat by her side for a bit. Reached out and smoothed her hair. I looked around for a blanket to cover her shoulders and a pillow to tuck under her head. I found some aspirin and filled a glass with water and left them on the side table where she would see them when she woke up. I knew exactly what to do. After all, I had been babysitting for years.
I stared at her a long, long time.
Then, finally, I picked up my backpack and made my way out. Step by crooked step. Through the twisty paths and stumbling rocks. All the way back to that tricky entrance where you had to know what to look for or you’d never see it coming.