The Big Picture (27 page)

I force a smile. “No, but I’ll work on that. I’m all about getting into character.”

He brakes at a four-way stop and swivels in his seat to face me. “What’s going on with you? Anything you can talk about?”

My heart rips a little at his constant kindness. It’s like he always
knows the right words, the exact thing to say. Is this boy even human? “I’m good. Really.” Then I apply fake smile number six. It’s the one I usually reserve for moments when you have to say “Oh, what a pretty baby” and it’s so ugly your eyes burn.

The street is empty and the Explorer doesn’t move. The pastor’s crazy son rests his hand on mine. “You know you can talk to me, right? You can tell me anything — well, not anything. I don’t really understand feminine products or thongs, but I would still be willing to listen.”

This drags a smile out of me. “I’m glad I met you, Tate.”

He winks a crystal blue eye. “The ladies always are, Katie. The ladies always are.” He jiggles my hand playfully then throws it back in my lap. “I can sit here all day long until you talk.” He stares out into the barren street. “Probably gonna cause a traffic jam any time now, but I’m a patient guy.”

“Would you mind . . .” I hate to ask. I really hate to get him involved and have him know my business. “Would you mind taking me by Sunset Salon before we go to your house? I need to check on something.”

His intense gaze stays on mine for a moment before he responds. “Okay, then. Off to Sunset Salon we go.” And with one last glance in my direction, he hangs a left and heads downtown.

I open my door before Tate even puts the car in park at the salon. “I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to — ”

“No.” I force myself to relax. “I’ll just be a second. Stay here and keep the car cool.” I don’t need witnesses for this.

The salon door jangles as I enter, and a teenage receptionist greets me with a smile.

“I’m Katie, Bobbie Ann Parker’s daughter.” Her smile drops. “Is she here?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She holds up a finger to wait and slips off her stool. “Mom!” she yells to the back. A large woman trimming a poodle perm looks up. “Bobbie Ann’s daughter is here.” The woman nods, says something to her gray-headed client, and ambles my way.

“Katie, right?” I nod and struggle to remember her name, knowing I met her on my first day in Middleton. “I ain’t seen your mama.”

“What? She’s supposed to be here.”

The owner plants her hand on her hip, and I read the name on her smock. Polly. “Girl, she was
supposed
to have been here the last three days. I ain’t seen her since Friday.”

“Friday?” The words pound in my brain. “No, she came to work Saturday. She was here all day. She even worked late.”

Polly huffs through her nose. “Believe me, she wasn’t here Saturday. I had to wash heads myself, and we were backed up all day.” She steps closer, and I smell cheap, sweet perfume. “You tell your mama we’ve had enough. Last week she was late every day, always with an excuse about you and the doctor. But Saturday she just plain didn’t show. And I don’t have time for that. I run a tight ship, and anyone who can’t pull their weight don’t get to stay aboard.” The owner swivels on a Birkenstock, returning to her curly-headed victim and permanently ending our conversation.

Even though Polly’s daughter stares at me, the tears pool in my eyes. I look up and blink them away. Punching my crutch into the tile floor, I turn.

And there stands Tate. His expression dark, his mouth set. He lifts two fingers in greeting to the receptionist, envelopes me in his arm, and leads me out.

He starts the engine, cranks up the air, and turns the radio off. “Tell me.” When the words don’t come, he reaches out and rubs my forearm. “Talk to me, Katie.”

I lift an indifferent shoulder. “Nothing. Let’s just go.”

“It’s not nothing.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t even know you, Tate. I’m not going to get into all of this.”

“You know me.”

I meet his penetrating stare. “Yeah, for a week.” I study the set of his jaw and know he’s not going to budge. “All right . . .” I run my
hand through my hair and lean into the seat. “Last year my mom got arrested.”

And I launch into the whole epic tale. I tell him about Sunny Haven Home for Girls, Iola Smartly, meeting the Scotts, my friends at In Between High. I tell him about finding God and finding my life in the spotlight of the Valiant Theatre. And I tell him about Charlie, and I try to describe Maxine yet find there really aren’t words to explain her.

“I knew there was a story to you,” Tate says. “But I had no idea. You’ve got more plot twists than Harry Potter.”

“Maybe you could just take me home now? I think I’m out of the mood to build an ark and save God’s chosen people.”

“Thanks for telling me. I hope you know it won’t leave this vehicle — won’t go any farther than the Sunset Salon parking lot.”

I give him a small smile. “I know.” And I do. Somehow, though he’s practically a stranger, I know I can trust this guy. God has blessed me with a great friend just when I needed one.

“Is there anything I — ”

“No.” I shake my head. “You can’t help, but thanks.”
Spare me your pity.
I’ve had more than enough of it in my life. “Let’s just go.”

“But you’ll tell me — if you ever need anything?”

And with my reluctant promise to come to him for help, he backs the Explorer out and takes me home.

“Are you sure you’re safe here?” Tate leads me up the last step of the trailer.

“This is not new to me. I’ve taken care of myself for a long time.” Granted, I got used to the good life at the Scotts’, where the line between parent and child wasn’t so blurred. “I’ll see you later. Seriously,” I say when he hesitates. “I’ll be fine.”

“Mom?” My voice bounces off the thin trailer walls when I close the door. No answer. I head back to her bedroom, where, again, I find her sleeping. “Wake up, Mom.” I shake her shoulder until she mumbles a protest. “Wake up.”

“What?” she whines, her eyes still closed.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Work.”

“No you haven’t. I stopped by there today.”

“Been working.”

“You’re lying, Mom.” I stand there until she opens an eye. “The lady from child services came by today. Are you listening to me? Not only did we miss my doctor’s appointment
again
, but you missed your meeting with the woman who decides if I stay or go.” Her eye drifts shut. “Don’t you care?”

“Get outta my room. Tired.”

“Where have you been?” My voice rises, slightly desperate. I shake her again. “Where have you been? You’re using again, aren’t you?”

“No. Go away.”

I swipe a tear away, not one of sadness, but anger. Frustration. “Sit up and talk to me!”

I flip on the light and jerk open the shade covering her window.

“Ow! Stop!” Her arms flail, and she covers her eyes. “If I get up,” she slurs, “you’re not gonna . . . like the consequences.”

“Oh, really? What are you going to do to me?” I loom over her. “I can take you out with one crutch. You want to talk to me or do you want to talk to your parole officer?”

With a string of curses, she rolls over, her eyes bloodshot, glazed.

“Do you want me to call John? Your sponsor? Mom, you need help.
We
need help.”

“I don’t need help. I need sleep.” She pulls herself up to a slumped but seated position. “Don’t you ever go to my work again. Understand?”

“You don’t have a job, Mom. You haven’t shown up for three days straight. Your job is gone.”

“You’re a liar. I was there yesterday.” But she frowns in confusion. “What day is this?”

Does it matter? “Why did you tell the Scotts I couldn’t see them on the Fourth of July?” I feel the hurt punch at my chest again. “You don’t even intend to let me go to In Between for Chihuahua Days, do you?”
I’m
so
aware of how stupid that sounds coming out of my mouth.

“I don’t want you around them. They put ideas in your head. Those people aren’t like us, Katie.”

“Oh, you mean like they have jobs and don’t roam the night like vampires?”

“See?” she bellows. “That’s just what I mean. You will
not
talk to me like that in my own home.”

“There’s not going to
be
a home if you don’t have a job. And the state won’t let me live here if you don’t pass your next drug test or home visit. And you have to at least
be home
for the home visit. That’s kind of how that thing works.”

“Shut up!” Her roar startles me. She throws the covers off and staggers out of bed, clutching the wall. “Get me a glass of water. Now!”

I hop backward on my crutches. “Why are you doing this?” I hate how pathetic I sound. “Why are you hurting us? Me?”

“You don’t understand anything.” A sneer distorts her ruddy face. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

“And what do you think it’s like to be me? What do you think it’s like to not know where I’m going to be next week? If I’ll be in another state home?” I step closer and my voice shakes. “Do you have
any
idea what it’s like to come home and find you passed out? Do you know what the first thought is that goes through my head? Do you, Mom? It’s
I wonder if she’s dead
.” I shake my head and sniff. “Do you know how it feels to have to look for vital signs on your own mother? What it’s like to check for breathing while I hold my own breath?”

“I’m not dying, you little idiot. There is
nothing
wrong with me. Did I ask you one time to check on me?”

I shake my head, vaguely aware of my dripping nose. “I need you to try. Can’t you just try to get better? You’ve come this far. Don’t go back. Please don’t go back.”

“I can’t do this right now. I’m outta here.”

“No!” I block the doorway with my body.

My vision becomes a blur as she tucks her head and plows into me.
I fall backward, my head slamming into the floor.

And I lie there, choking on a sob, as my mother jumps over me and bounds out the door, cursing my name, my existence, and things I can’t even decipher as she escapes into the yard.

The Cougar peels out, tires screeching, rocks thrown against the trailer, and it disappears down the road.

My body and mind numb, I finally pull myself up and wait for my head to quit spinning. I lean into the doorframe and lay a hand over my racing heart.

And that’s when I see it. My mom’s phone.

I hop to the night stand, my whole body protesting. I scroll through the numbers until I find her boyfriend’s name. The phone rings twice.

“John? This is Katie Parker.” I drag air into my lungs. “I need to talk to you about my mom.”

Chapter thirty

“KATIE, YOU CAN’T CALL THE police on her.”

I hold the phone to my ear and listen to John defend my mother. Like I’m the one who’s got it all wrong.

“It’s a relapse. It . . . happens.”

“No! It doesn’t just happen. Not when my life is on the line too. And others — John, she’s on the road right now. She could hardly stand up on her own. Do you really think she’s in any shape to drive? What if she kills someone?”

“I know you’re upset — ”

“Upset? Are you even
listening
to me?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Don’t feed me that line. She’s already tried. Look, your girlfriend’s back on drugs. I thought you’d want to help. I thought you might know where she goes when she runs off.”

He pauses. “It’s not here. I wish it was, but it’s not.”

“Then where?”

“I don’t know. Some friends maybe?”

“Who?” My hand clenches around the phone. “Think. Where would she go? Who would she be with? Look John, I know you don’t
want her in trouble, but there’s a lot at stake here.” You know, like my life. “I’m just trying to help her.”

“Katie, I need you to trust me on this just once. Please, I’m begging you — don’t turn her in. I’m getting in my truck right now. I’m going to drive around town until I find her. Then I’m bringing her back to my place to dry her out.”

And what about me?
I want to ask.

“You have to call me when you find her.” I give him my own cell phone number.

“Only if I can have your word you won’t call the cops. I know what I’m doing here. I’ve been there. And I really think she can pull it out. She’s just relapsed. But she wants to be clean. She does.”

I grind my teeth together. “Fine. But if she wraps herself around a phone pole or takes out some kids in a playground, I’m telling the world and anyone else who will listen that you stopped me from turning her in.”

“Do you really want to go back to a group home? There’s a lot of red tape involved in child services. It could be months before you’re cleared to go back with your foster family. Are you prepared to risk that?”

I close my eyes and fight back a wave of panic. “No.”

I hear his truck start in the background. “I’ll be in touch.”

BY THE TIME NIGHT FALLS, I’M no longer sad or scared.

I’m furious.

I’ve sat here all day long. Waiting. Waiting for my mom to return. Waiting for John. Waiting for the police to knock on the door and ask me to pick her up from jail. Or identify her body.

But Mom’s not here, and no one’s called.

I reach for my phone, ignore my five missed calls from the Scotts and three texts from Maxine, and call Tate. “If the offer’s still open to go with you guys to the cliff, I’d like to go.”

Thirty minutes later, he’s at my door. His crooked smile looks forced, and his eyes are serious. “Rough day?”

I consider crumbling into him, but hold myself back. Once the tears start, they won’t stop. I don’t want to scare him with a total snot-dripping, puffy-eyed, wailing meltdown.

“I’ve had better. The talk shows were all reruns, so the day was kind of a drag.”

He steps closer to me beneath the porch light and brushes his thumb under my eye. “I have two sisters. I know the look of carefully applied makeup to hide some major bawling. Did you get into it with your mom?”

I think of my sore butt, and my own mother stomping over me to get out of the house. “Something like that. Let’s just go, huh?”