Art therapy apparently worked wonders or could have been Max’s tireless praise. I don’t know how many people had life altering conversations around those clumps of clay, but there were a lot of bloodshot eyes staring back at Max when he announced it was time for lunch.
Mom’s mood sure improved. Her platter du jour success might have helped.
Thanks to my snake, of course.
The rehab cafeteria, much smaller than the one in the main part of the hospital, contained a small cooler of stale looking sandwiches and crusty-topped puddings, and served a limited amount of slap in the fryer items at the grill. Despite the mouth-watering aromas (AKA grease) leaching into the air, I couldn’t get the smell of disinfectant out of my nose.
“That stench has completely destroyed my appetite.” I let my hamburger drop onto the paper plate, watching Mom inhale hers. “The smell’s gone right through the meat.” I poked at the patty with my fork. “No burger should taste like a hospital smells. It’s just wrong.”
“Hmm…” Mom said around a mouthful. She only chewed twice before swallowing, I counted. “What are you talking about? This is great. Even the fries. Nice and crunchy.” She drenched one in ketchup and popped it into her mouth. She groaned, grabbing three more of the grease sticks. “I’m going to be a hundred pounds heavier when I get out of here. All I do is eat. Or smoke.”
“You smoke, now?” I scraped my hair back into a ponytail, feeling the pull on my scalp for a second before releasing it with an I-don’t-believe-this huff. “Jesus, I thought rehab was supposed to help rid you of vices, not introduce you to new ones. Smoking and binge eating. Just lovely. It’s really too bad you couldn’t just quit your little Val habit cold turkey. Although, no offence, I don’t think I could have handled it at home if you started seeing bugs everywhere and scratching your skin off.”
I caught sight of mom’s frayed fingers and gulped down half my pop. Damn, I’d been joking, but maybe she had experienced hallucinations. No one told me anything. The first few weeks of rehab were locked down, no one went in and no one came out – unless you quit the program, which could mean you literately quit the program and went home to your crack house of choice – or you offed yourself and were chilling in the morgue with the other quitters.
“How are things at your grandfather’s?” Mom asked into the strained silence that had settled between us. “Is he treating you alright?”
“Other than trying to poison me every night with what he calls food, you mean?”
“My mother did always cook,” Mom said. “You would have loved her. You’ve got a bit of her look about you. The hair. Eyes. Everyone loved your grandmother. Even he did, there’s no denying that. Maybe he loved her too much. When she died, I just didn't matter to him anymore.”
“Wow, like that doesn’t sound familiar.” I sucked back a breath, my chest tightening. Damn, I’d said that out loud. I waited for Mom to blast back at me, but she just gave a pained smile.
“I know and I’m sorry.” Her lips flatted. “Why do you think I'm in this place? I was starting to check out on you Charlie. Just like Monty.” Her voice faded.
I put my clay stained fingers over hers. Just hearing her admit it, that she’d been slipping away, keeping herself at a distance since Dad died…the pressure in my chest eased.
I dared to hope, to dream that in a few weeks we’d over the drama, the pain, once and for all. And maybe we would be. But if I’d been secretly hoping for some sort of father-daughter reconciliation between the two most stubborn people in my life, things were definitely looking iffy. Mom still sounded so bitter about Monty.
Mom continued, “Except I was using pills instead of booze to stay numb. I won't be like him. I won't.”
Weird. I’d had the exact same thoughts about not becoming like her. Maybe that was a part of growing up. And if Mom was still growing up at her age, looked like Monty had too, which explained why he wasn’t what I’d expected.
I noticed Mom’s expression turning dark again. I didn’t want a repeat of the deathly silence when I’d first arrived, so I redirected the conversation, keeping my tone light. “Grace took me to Up-A-Chuck last week.”
Mom turned her hand, clasping mine in a comforting grip before letting go. She straightened her shoulders. “That’s great. How was it?”
“Same food, so you’ll be happy. Actually, nothing’s changed with the new owners except the hokey menu blurbs.” I leaned over the table, wagging my eyebrows. “Food wasn’t the highlight of the night.”
“No?”
“Nope. I don’t think Ian’s going to make it past the four-month mark.”
“Why not?”
I leaned back. “We ran into Blake.”
“Ah,” Mom said and nodded, as though that explained everything. “All of them?”
“Un huh. Man, they’re lethal.”
“Gracie Locks and Her Three Blakes I used to call them.” She shook her head. “Those were the days. That whole year they dated I never figured out which one was Blake. Maybe Blake was a general heading, a code word even - they all answered to it.” She scooped crumbs into her hand, dusting them off onto the floor. “I always said they were like that ancient Greek dog - the one with all the heads – and about as sex-crazed too. That’s why Grace turns into a jabbering fool whenever they come sniffing around.”
“The Blakes did have a certain classic, sex god look about them,” I agreed. “We dodged them just in time, ran out through the back entrance.”
“There’s a back entrance?”
“Yup. It was hard to find though. We hid behind a half-dead fish, and snuck into the kitchen, then Grace got momentarily side-tracked by a busboy with a fake Italian accent, while I got splattered with tomato sauce…” I took a breath. “…And fell.” I paused for a moment, remembering. “But this guy caught me just before I bit it.”
In the process of scraping extra onions off her burger, Mom looked up when I mentioned the guy word, squinting at me. “A guy caught you?”
“Yeah,” I said and sighed, “with the whole arms wrapping around me and saving- my-clumsy-ass routine that’s usually reserved for romantic comedies. A truly bizarre moment in my life.” Well, not really, pushing my tit into Eric’s palm was worse, but I couldn’t get into that and avoid a beheading. Mom’s favorite expression when she was pissed: I brought you into this world, and by God, I can take you out!
“Romantic was it? Sounds like you’ve got a crush there, Charlie Brown.” Mom slapped the bun back on her patty.
“I do not.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
“Does.”
“Anyway,” I said, rushing on, “we left in such a hurry we forgot our coats. I went back for them before I came here. That’s why I’ve been carrying Grace’s around with me.”
“That’s Grace’s coat?” Mom peered over the table. “I didn’t notice.”
“I’ve got a huge down-filled coat wrapped around my waist, it’s bulkier than hell, and you didn’t notice? Didn’t you think that two winter jackets might be overkill?”
Mom shrugged. “Charlie, if I worried about every strange quirk of yours, I’d have been committed long ago. You’re a weird kid, face it.” She reached over to lightly touch my hand. “But you come by it honestly. We’ve got faulty genes. One of my great uncles was a taxidermist. When his wife died….”
“Taxidermy might be a bit gross,” I said cutting her off before she got into the details, “but I don’t think you have to be a genetic freak to enter the field.”
“Anyway…” Mom spoke pointedly over my words “…when his wife died he did it to her.”
She looked at me like I should be shocked or something. But I didn’t get it – whatever it was.
“Did what?” I asked.
“Stuffed her.”
I blinked. Gagged. “Bullshit,” I said.
“God’s honest truth.” Mom crunched on a fry. “Did a pretty good job, too. Some university has her now.”
Thankfully, my cell phone started playing the theme song to Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.
“Roach!” I answered her summons with gusto. “I gotta say, you bible thumpers have great timing.”
“Shhhh!” Roach hissed. “Listen to this…”
I heard a bunch of muffled thumps as Roach presumably held up her cell, and then my ear filled with the roar of a crowd, piercing guitar riffs and pounding drums. Unfortunately, the quality sucked. I heard a guy’s voice in the mix somewhere, but it was too discombobulated for me to catch the words.
“Aren’t they amazing?” Roach yelled. “I was stealing you some chocolate croissants and this guy offered to act as a lookout so I could get more, and guess what?”
“What?” I asked.
“What? I can’t hear you…it’s too loud…”
“You said guess what?” Now I was the one yelling. “So, what?”
“Oh, right. The guy is Brother Preston from Divine Wrath, only the biggest Christian rock band for miles.”
That wasn’t saying much. This town didn’t have much of a talent pool, unless you counted petty larceny. “Brother Preston?”
“Yeah, the lead singer. Every member of the band is Brother Somebody, and their fans are all called their Brothers and Sisters. It’s part of their shtick.”
“Ah,” I said wisely.
“Here, listen…”
I held the phone away from my ear, and at Mom’s questioning look, I rolled my eyes. “Christian tuneage,” I whispered.
Mom snorted.
I turned to watch another table of visitors clustered around a strung-out looking guy a few years younger than me. I could easily identify his mother and father, with their matching shattered expressions, but his oxygen tank-toting Granny held my attention. I witnessed her put her foot into the aisle and trip one of her annoying grandchildren running around the table. I could totally picture Monty doing that, or worse. Old people were hilarious.
Roach’s voice squeaked out of the phone, and I remembered I was supposed to be listening.
“See you at home later, right?” she was asking.
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“He’s amazing! Just listen to that voice….” Roach ended the call.
A fresh wave of grease-air burped forth from behind the counter and drifted over our table. I’d be starving later, good thing she invited me over for supper. Real sustenance made a nice change now and then.
“How is Rachel?” Mom asked.
“She’s fine. She just met some guy in a Christian rock band.”
“First you, now Roach. It’s raining men.”
“Halleluiah,” I said, deadpan.
We blinked at each other, then burst into: “It’s raining men...halleluiah…it’s raining men…”
It felt like it should be one of those big song and dance numbers, where the whole cafeteria would surge to their feet, but it was just the two of us singing.
Badly.
In line for what had to be his third burger, Max gave me a thumbs up.