Burn Girl (19 page)

“Why is this woman even important to you? I thought you'd be glad to leave this all behind.”

Anger replaced any remorse I felt for scaring Mo and Frank. I'd listened to both of them remind me over and over how great my new life was and how I should be more thankful that things had been different since Mom's death.

“You and Frank almost seem happy that she died … like it was my big break.”

“I'm not happy she died, but I'd be lying if I said you weren't better off now.”

Her words hit like a stinging slap. “Better off?”

“If she hadn't died, what would have happened? Would you have gone back to high school or met Cody? What about when you turned eighteen … would you have applied to college or stayed behind to continue taking care of her?”

I hated that I knew the answers and I hated Mo for knowing them too. Tears traced my cheeks. She reached over and wiped them as they dropped off my chin.

“It's been hard being your friend.” Mo looked out the windshield. Her chin quivered as she spoke. “I worried about you every day. Worried that you lived in a motel and didn't go to school. Worried that one of your mom's friends might hurt you, but when Frank arrived, I could breathe again. And it felt great. I'm not sorry for that.”

“Then why didn't you stop being my friend?”

“That's not how friendship works, dummy. I thought you were interesting and smart and real. I wanted to hang out with you. I still do.”

Through the years I'd often thought of myself as Mo's charity case—a pet project to keep her occupied, or even a surrogate sister since hers had died so young. I rarely allowed myself to think I brought something to our relationship.

“Do you know what today meant to me?” she asked. “I experienced the same mind-blowing joy you did when you got your taste back. And I got to be the first one to hear about you and Cody kissing. I almost cried that you let yourself be loved.”

“Cody doesn't—”

“Shut up, Arlie. Yes, he does. That's how it works. You feel sick at your stomach not knowing, guessing, hoping. Then the person you love—yes, that
you
love—admits he feels the same.”

“Love, huh? If you don't stop talking, I'm not going to be able to stop crying.”

Mo released her seat belt and leaned across for a hug. “You made me cry too.”

I swiped at my face and managed a smile. “I want you to understand that I love Dora too. Today wouldn't have felt as real if I didn't tell her.”

“I guess I understand,” Mo said, refastening her seat belt. “You just have to make your uncle understand.”

CHAPTER 23

FIVE MONTHS AGO—ESCAPE

The bus station in Durango was sandwiched between a junk shop and a liquor store. The narrow building held only a ticket counter and one bench, so I waited outside on the curb.

“Spare some money for a fellow traveler?” The old man reeked of beer and he'd pissed on the front of his pants.

“Do I look like I have any money?” I pulled my backpack closer to my chest, although he was probably too drunk to cause me trouble. When he walked away, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I'd raked leaves in three yards to earn enough for the bus ride to Albuquerque. I would have to save the rest of my cash for food until I could find my dad.

The Sonic Drive-In directly across from the station was busy for a weekday afternoon. I hadn't eaten anything in a while, but I wasn't about to spend that much money on something I couldn't taste.

Instead I stared at the guy on the edge of the road who was about to play Frogger with the traffic. He looked in both directions a number of times before sprinting across.

He placed his fountain drink and bag of food on the ground next to me and then shrugged off the overstuffed army duffel he had strapped to his back.

“Impressive,” I said. “Especially with that load.”

“Nah, just lucky.”

He had smooth, tan skin and wore his hair in one long, black braid like Lloyd used to sometimes. He could've been fourteen or twenty-four.

“Headed to ABQ?” he asked.

“Yep. You?”

He jammed two-thirds of a corn dog in his mouth and nodded.

“Name's J. R.” He held out his hand. “You headed home for the Thanksgiving break too?”

“Sort of,” I said. “My dad's in Albuquerque.”

I didn't know that for certain, but saying it to another person made it feel real. I appreciated that J. R. didn't press for my name.

“My folks live in Bernalillo. Haven't seen 'em since August so I figured I better make an appearance.”

“Do you go to college?” I asked.

“Yeah. Second year at Fort Lewis,” he said. “You?”

“I'm not in school.” I didn't bother to specify high school.

From my backpack, I pulled out a small paperback of Allen Ginsberg poems Mo had given me. I read while J. R. finished eating.

“Mind if I ask about that?” He pointed to his own cheek but meant my scar.

“Happened a long time ago.”

I didn't offer any other details and he didn't probe further. He slurped on his drink while I continued reading.

Late November and it hadn't snowed once. I didn't mind. The drought and above-normal temps meant I wouldn't freeze in Albuquerque if I couldn't find a place to sleep. If I got desperate, I'd go to the women's shelter. I could pass for eighteen and an adult. Mom and I had gone there a few times after she'd broken up with Lloyd. We never stayed long because they required a sobriety pledge that Mom always ended up breaking.

If I got really desperate, I could call one of Rosa's daughters and hope they didn't still hate me because of how she died.

Yesterday, Mo and her parents had driven to Denver to visit her grandparents for Thanksgiving. I used Mom as the excuse why I couldn't tag along. By then, I'd already decided to leave Durango. With Mo gone, the decision became less complicated. And it wasn't like I'd never see her again. Plus, Dora would take care of Mom.

If I could find my real dad, I could convince him to help Mom get clean. He was my last hope. In the past month, Mom had been high more often than not. She'd all but stopped eating.

“Hey.” J. R. touched my arm. “I think that lady's trying to get your attention.”

Mom had parked our Subaru on a side street behind the liquor store, almost out of view. She stood by the driver's side door, waving at me to come over.

“Damn it,” I mumbled.

“Not someone you want to see?” he asked.

“Not today. No.”

I stood up and grabbed my backpack.

“Enjoy Turkey Day with your family,” I said. “And don't rely on luck when crossing busy streets.”

J. R. laughed. “Will do.”

I walked over to the car and threw my pack in the backseat before joining Mom in the front. She didn't start the car but lit a cigarette instead.

“How'd you know I'd be here?” I asked.

“All your things were gone. You weren't at your little friend's place, so I figured you might be skipping town.”

“Her name is Mo. And you promised you'd never go back to her house.”

Mom's hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her lips. They were cracked and peeling, as if every bit of moisture had deserted her.

I propped my feet on the dashboard and stared at J. R. as he waited for the bus. I pictured him arriving at his own house later today, his mom and dad hugging him. What smells would be coming from the kitchen? Maybe pumpkin pie or homemade bread or fresh tortillas? I couldn't guess what those things would smell like, but it fleshed out my idea of a holiday homecoming. I wondered if he had a grandmother who looked like Rosa. Would they have turkey or ham tomorrow, or both?

“You promised you'd never leave me.” Mom's shaking grew worse. If I thought she could control it, I'd have screamed at her to be still just for one goddamn minute.

“You and I break promises all the time,” I said. “Roll down your window a bit, would you?” While the smell couldn't bother me, I was tired of Mo saying my clothes always reeked.

Mom ignored my request and took another drag.

“I'm doing the best I can,” she said.

The car filled with smoke. I stayed silent because I didn't feel like small talk.

“I got a job,” she said.

No one in his right mind would hire my mother. “Yeah, where?”

“The motel. I'll be helping the housekeeper strip and wash linens some mornings. In exchange for rent. Dora convinced the manager.”

For a very brief moment, I felt hope. It was a queer feeling in my stomach, almost like butterflies, that I'd experienced more often as a kid. As I got older, I only felt foolish for thinking things could be different. Here I was, sixteen, and I still hadn't learned.

We sat for a long time—long enough for the Greyhound to pick up a handful of passengers and leave the station. J. R. waved and I placed my palm against my window.

“Your dad's not in Albuquerque,” she said.

“I didn't think he was.”

Deep down, I knew how foolish it was to pack up and head to a city of eight hundred thousand people to find a man who may not even exist. Maybe this was just my exit strategy and I'd broken my promise to Mom after all. I did want to leave.

Mom continued smoking until the cigarette was just a nub. They were too expensive to waste.

“He wasn't worth knowing,” she said.

“Then why was he worth sleeping with?”

At least she knew who my father was. It made me ill to think I was the random outcome of one-night stands with strangers.

“I never regretted having you. That's why I had to get you away from the foster home,” she said.

If she dared to cry, I was going to walk home. I'd just wasted fifty-nine bucks on a bus ticket that was now worthless, and I wasn't in the mood to make her feel better about herself.

“Tomorrow we're going to the community Thanksgiving dinner with Dora,” I said.

“That's for poor people.”

“Anyone can go. And we're going.”

Mom started the car and pulled into traffic.

“I don't see why. You won't taste a thing anyway,” she said.

I didn't care. Like Mo in Denver and J. R. in Bernalillo, we were going to be like any other family on that day—eating turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie until we thought we'd burst.

“And you're not getting high before we go,” I added.

Mom didn't say another word the whole way back to the motel.

CHAPTER 24

After confronting me at Dora's, Mo drove us straight back to the trailer so I could apologize to Frank. As we pulled up to the curb, she pointed out the dark sedan parked at the end of the block. The threat from Lloyd was real if the police were watching the trailer. Frank waited on the picnic table until I got out of Mo's car. Then he took three long strides and wrapped his arms around me.

“I'm glad you're okay.” His whispered words were hot on my neck.

“I know you're angry …”

“Yeah, but I'm trying not to be.”

He let his arms drop so I stepped back.

“I was at Dora's.”

“Mo suspected that. She called me once she found you there. She asked me to quote ‘chill' while she talked to you.”

Mo's mediation tactic made me smile.

“I had to tell Dora … something important.”

“Mo told me you had a big day. Let's go inside.”

I took one last look at the police officer before following Frank in. We both sat on the sofa. I kicked off my sneakers and rubbed my bare feet against the worn nap of the carpet.

“Dora doesn't use drugs.” I wanted to ease any suspicions he might have.

“Mo told me. She said Dora's special to you.”

“So, you know everything that happened today?” The knot in my throat almost cut off my air. What had Mo shared?

“Yeah … she said you guys were having lunch off campus. That she convinced you to have a burger and that your sense of taste came back. Just like that.
Bam
. No warning.”

“That's it?”

“Isn't that enough? It's incredible,” he said.

“Yep, incredible. I never tasted anything so good.”

Mo hadn't mentioned Cody. Thank God I didn't have to talk about that on top of everything else.

“I guess I understand why you wanted to tell Dora the good news first.” Disappointment flashed across his face.

“It wasn't like that, Frank. I just thought I'd stop by there on the way home from school. I didn't ask Mo to take me there because she's not exactly fond of Dora. Or, rather, the life she thinks Dora represents.”

Although it made me love Mo even more that she'd gone out on a limb to convince Frank that I had my heart in the right place, even if my brain wasn't engaged.

“No, I get it. I really do,” Frank said. “But we don't know if your stepfather is still around. I thought I made it clear that I didn't want you going anywhere alone. Is that so hard to understand?”

I twisted a loose of piece of yarn from the afghan thrown over the sofa's arm. “No, it's not. I'm really sorry.”

“You could've texted me … I mean, after lunch,” he said.

“I know, but I wanted to tell you in person.” I couldn't believe that Frank wasn't reaming me out. I had braced for the worst. As the adrenaline wore off, I slumped into the sofa cushions. I'd never felt so physically and emotionally exhausted at the same time.

Frank got up and started rummaging around the kitchen cabinets. “Well, this means you've got to have something special for dinner.”

“It's okay. I'm really not hungry.”

“Let's go out. No expense spared. Maybe I should change into something nicer.” He smoothed his wrinkled shirt.

“I'd rather stay in. I'm pretty wrung out.” I also wanted to stay home in case Cody texted or called. Or if I got the courage to call him.