Don't Fail Me Now(64)

“No,” I say, “but maybe I will soon.”

“Taco Bell start paying in gold bars?” she laughs, and I’m so pissed off by the mockery that I consider not even telling her. But she’s going to find out eventually, so it might as well be now.

I take a deep breath. “The reason we’re out here,” I say, “is Buck. He’s sick, I guess—says he’s dying—and he’s leaving us some heirloom. That’s why we left. We’re going to see him, to collect it.”

I brace myself for screams and tears, but instead Mom gets quiet. “Well,” she finally says. “Something was bound to get him sooner or later.”

“It could be good for us, though,” I say. “If he saved something. You could finally get what he owes you.”

“Oh, honey,” she says. “He can’t repay me what he owes me. There’s no way to get life back.”

“But something, at least. We could pawn it, have some cash to get by for a while.”

“He’s never going to deliver,” she says, her voice cooling. “Whatever he says he has for you, don’t believe it for a second. It’s probably an heirloom tomato. He’ll probably end up shaking you down for cash. He’s a liar, Michelle. Always has been, always will be.”

Resentment flares in my belly. “This coming from the person who let him live a neighborhood away for four years and never even told us.”

She clicks her tongue. “I was just doing what I thought was best for you girls.”

“By not letting us see our father?”

“Please,” she cries. “You think he tried to see you and I stopped him? Barred the door? I was trying not to let you see who your father really was. And is. A coward who runs away the second things get tough, who’s too selfish and prideful to look back just in case it makes him feel something for one second of his miserable life.”

“Well,” I say, “he wants to see us now.”

“Of course he does! He’s got nobody else. He knew you’d feel bad, that’s why he called you. He plays people, that’s what he does.”

“Why can’t you accept that maybe he actually feels sorry?” I yell, my voice echoing off the increasingly claustrophobic-feeling walls. “You know, that’s a thing people do sometimes when they screw up their children’s lives, apologize?”

She’s quiet for a minute. “That’s what you want, huh, an apology?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve been sorry every day of my life since I had you. Not because I didn’t want you but because I wanted more for you. I wanted more than I knew you would get from us.” She sniffs loudly. “Believe me, I did my best, but I’ve been sorry every day. For you and your sister, and Denny. Because no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to be good enough.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “But you were doing good. What happened?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I can’t,” she sighs. “Sometimes one bad decision just starts a chain reaction.”

I nod, letting the tears spill down my cheeks. The truth is I’ve never understood how my mother can live the way she does, scrambling and desperate, trying but failing to steady herself again and again. It’s maddening to watch someone you love mess up so much, and it’s hard to keep loving them. The resentment just grows and grows until it covers up the love like ivy on a wall. But now, after this week, I can see how things can get out of control so fast, even with good intentions. I believe for the first time that my mother really might be trying, in her own way.

“We’re gonna get you out, you know,” I say. “As soon as we get the money from Buck, we’ll come back and get you out, maybe even get you into a good rehab.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” she says. “But don’t worry. I called Violetta yesterday, and she has the money to spring me this time. She’s a dental assistant now, can you believe it? Clean for five years.” I wipe my eyes, trying to picture the rail-thin, gap-toothed woman I remember in any kind of medical environment.

“Violetta is allowed to put sharp tools in people’s mouths?” I ask incredulously.

“People change, Michelle,” she says.

“Okay then,” I counter, “what about that rehab?”

“We can talk about it.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Baby—”

“I’m not your baby anymore,” I say. “And your word’s no good this time.”

“Okay then,” she says wearily. “You’re the boss.”

I want to tell her that’s not the point, that I don’t want to be the boss anymore, not of her, not of anyone but myself. I just want my own life, where I can choose where I go and what I do and who I see. I want a life where I don’t spend all my time worrying when the sky is going to fall again. She can be in that life, and so can Cass and Denny—maybe even Leah and Tim—but they can’t be all of it anymore. She has to let me go.

But instead of saying all that, I decide to let her go. I hang up. And then I sit in the stairwell and cry.

? ? ?

When I get back to the waiting room, Denny and Leah are still sleeping, but Tim is gone.