We spend the evening sharing a foot-long sub and watching reruns with the lights out. I study Mom’s eager face in the flickering light as she devours everyone else’s funny lives, which hardly get a laugh out of me.
Next day, she’s awake before me. I doubt she has even washed her face. But she is wearing more blush than a clown. If you can spot poor people at a hundred meters by their clothes, it is crazy women’s makeup that gives them away. “You’ve overdone it a bit, Mom.” I hand her a tissue when I come back out of the bathroom.
Do I try to make her look normal for her sake? Or mine?
She takes the tissue from me, frowns at it, then stuffs it in her pocket. “What would you like to do today?”
Sounds strange coming from her lips. The zoo? A wander through the mall? A movie? That’s what any kid in a normal family might answer. Me, I hand her a breakfast bar from the emergency stash in my bag. “Have something to eat. Then take your pills, and we’ll go find coffee.”
She swallows a handful before I can check what she’s taken, slurping water from the bathroom tap. Then she starts on the routine with her supplements. She holds out a handful of tiny white pills. “Vitamin D is good for your bones. Improves mood too.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my mood.” I break an apple in half and give her a piece.
“Maybe I’ll stay here.” She puts the apple on the bedside table and stretches out on the bed again. “It’s raining.”
“How can you tell? You haven’t been outside for hours.”
“Ever heard of the Weather Channel?”
I pull back one of the drapes. “It’s not raining. And we need groceries. Proper food for a change.” I hold out her jacket. “Put this on.”
“You said it wasn’t raining.”
“Do it for me, would you? It will be cold, even if it’s not raining.” I sound like a kindergarten teacher.
She shrugs it on and hauls her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go, then, if we’re going.”
I herd her out of the room and lock the door behind us. “We need gas,” she says as we walk past the car. “We’ll get cash on the way. When’s the check due?”
“There’s enough in the account for the next few days anyway.”
She never reads the receipts when we withdraw cash.
“We’ll tighten our belts, that’s what we’ll do,” she says cheerfully. “Come on then. Show me this park you told me about.”
When we get there, Mom looks around happily as she settles onto the bench. I hand her half of the apple and listen to her take one bite at a time, chew for a bit, then spit out the skin into her hand.
“You think you can climb that?” She nods toward the jungle gym.
“I could. But I don’t want to.”
“Go on.”
“No, Mom. I don’t want to.”
“Always such a wuss. Other kids? They play lacrosse. Do gymnastics. You just spend your life at the library. Go on. Or maybe you’re afraid of heights.”
“You climb it.”
“All right. I will.” She flicks her apple core onto the grass.
I pick it up and dump it in the overflowing garbage can. “I didn’t mean it!”
Instead of taking it one rung at a time from the outside, she crawls into the middle and grabs the highest bar. “Have to warm up before I take this on,” she tells me, as if she’s about to climb Everest.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll show you how it’s done.” I clamber up the bars from the outside. “You going to join me?” I ask from the top. I am already regretting playing her crazy game.
Mom wiggles through, until she’s sitting hunched next to me. “This is cozy.”
“Not the word I would use.” The bars are hard on my skinny butt.
When I see a woman walking her dog toward us, I’m off in seconds. “Come on down now.”
“I like it up here,” says Mom.
“Come on. Please.”
The woman is closer now. More interested in us than in her dog.
“Mom!”
“What?”
“There’s probably some rule about kids only on this stuff.”
“Do you see a sign?” She looks around.
There is no sign. But the woman is getting closer by the second.
“Good morning!” Mom sings out.
“Good morning,” the dog walker calls back. “The number of times I’ve been tempted to give that a try!”
I sigh a breath of relief.
“You’d have to lose a few pounds first,” Mom tells her. “Thirty, maybe, if you plan to make it up here.”
My stomach clenches. “Mom!”
The woman goes red and totters off without looking back.
“What?” Mom peers down at me. “What did I do?”
I stare at her.
“Well?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, Mom. Absolutely nothing.” I give her a hand down. “Let’s just sit here for a bit.”
It’s a quiet morning, almost peaceful. Three crows cackle at each other in a tree nearby. A small man with a big dog wanders across the other side of the park without looking our way. “Did you ever have a pet?” I ask, thinking of Jake and Bandit.
“A cat that got run over outside our house. Don’t even remember its name.” Mom frowns. “My mother…” She looks at me as if she expects me to finish her sentence. “She…” Mom frowns again. Shakes her head. “Dad took care of it when he came home.”
“What did your mother do?”
She glances at me, then away. “Nothing. She didn’t do anything.”
“You started to say…”
“I don’t remember. Anyway, I’ve told you often enough. We can’t have a dog until you’re old enough to take care of it.” It’s funny how normal things sound crazy when they come out of my mother’s mouth.
“I thought I would go over to the library.” I stand up.
“I’m headed back. My shows come on soon.”
I should persuade her to come. Anything to get her out of that grim motel. But Jake might be there. “Sure you’re okay?”
“We’ve paid for the room. Might as well use it,” she says. “You get the groceries, would you?” She scrabbles in her purse and hands me her bank card.
I don’t really need it. That’s something else she doesn’t know. Let it be our secret, Grand said when he slipped me my own card. It might be useful sometimes. Who was the adult here? Her or me? Talk about blurred lines.
“Do you remember the way back?” I ask.
“I’m not a child. If I get lost, I can ask,” Mom says. She frowns at me. “What’s the name of our motel again?”
I’d like to think she’s making a joke. I know she’s not.