How to Save a Life(46)

“How much?” I asked.

“Five hundred.”

“Shit, Del, I don’t even have that now.”

“That’s why you got to let me help you.” She silenced me with a look before I could protest. “I know you feel ashamed but you gotta knock that nonsense off before you get really hurt. You let me match what you bring me. My cut will go to this guy to get you a new life, okay?”

“Del…”

“You do this for me,” Del said, her voice dropping to a lower, masculine range as emotion filled her eyes. “Else one day it’s going to be weeks gone by and you haven’t come in here, and then what am I going to do? Or I read an obit in the paper and it’s for my girl, who I didn’t do nothing for but hold the money she never did use.”

I dug my thumbnail into an old groove on the bar. “I hate where I am. What I am. But if I leave him, I’ll be homeless again. I will not be homeless again. I will not.” God, just the idea sent a shiver of dread down my spine.

Del’s large, manicured hand covered mine. “I get that, baby, I do. But feeling low… That’s on him. You just gotta do the best you can and keep yourself safe. Just like I gotta do the best I can, which means I match your money—and whatever bit I can spare—to get you outta here. Okay? Enough is enough.”

“Enough is enough,” I agreed, not looking up. If I met her eyes, I’d lose it. I hid behind my hair until I had my emotions back in check. I huffed a sigh and wiped the heel of my hand over my eyes. “I gotta get back.”

“Can’t stay for one more drink?” she asked gently. “It’s disco night, and this dancing queen is about to bring down the house.”

I managed a smile. “Not tonight.”

She sighed. “Well, it’s good to see you, baby.” She reached over for a hug and I held on to her hard, unwilling to let go.

“You take care now,” she whispered in my ear. “And keep looking forward. Never back. Straight through the fog and into the bright sunshine, okay?”

I forced myself to let her go and turned away, clearing my throat. “I’ll see you again next week.”

“God willing, sugar,” Dell replied somberly. “God willing…”





I drove back to Dolores, along the lonely stretch of two-lane road. Overgrown fields of green weeds stretched out, unbroken but for some ramshackle house, sagging on its whitewashed clapboard, or rusted aluminum siding.

I let my thoughts stretch to the horizon, wondering where I would go once I had $500 saved. A new identity, a new life.

A new name. And then Evan will never find you.

Keep looking forward, Del had said. Not back toward the past, where Evan was slowly sinking into the same grayed-out limbo of memories where my mother lived. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the side mirror: my sallow skin, jutting cheekbones, sunken eyes and split lip. If Evan saw me now, he’d be disgusted with what I’d become.

He wouldn’t, the voice of hope whispered.

I punched the gas and my little car groaned in protest.

Fine, then I’ll be disgusted enough for both of us.

As the sun started to set on my right hand side, Dolores’s minimarts and fast food joints appeared on the horizon like a cluster of warts. I hurried to the grocery store, where I spent the remainder of my tip money on two packs of chicken leg quarters and a bucket of Crisco. Then I drove to the house I shared with Lee—a small, two-story in chipped paint that seemed to be sagging toward its neighbor.

Lee’s house. Not mine.

Nothing resembling a home, just a roof over my head. And after talking with Del, I was starting to rethink how much value this roof had.

You need to disappear, sugar… New identity, new name, new everything.

But then the months I’d spent homeless came back to me in a flood. Months broken down to days, days broken down to minutes, because you never knew what would happen from one to the next. The danger was both constant and unpredictable. Lee’s violence was unpredictable too, but at least I knew from what general direction the danger was coming from.

My determination, fired up by Del, began to waver.

The front door of our house opened and ten-year-old Andre Wright from three doors down staggered onto the porch. His eyes were glazed and his face wore a sloppy smile. I slammed the driver’s side door and ran up to him.

“What are you doing, Andre?”

“Just visitin’,” he slurred around the dopey grin.

I bit back a vile curse. “Did Lee give you that shit?”

“I came for Mama, but Lee…he gave me a free sample.” Andre staggered past me, giggling. “I feel like I’m floating…”

“Goddammit.” I stormed up to the house. The front door and screen were both hanging open from Andre’s departure. I went in and let them both shut behind me.

I found Lee in the kitchen. On the table he’d spread out a bunch of bowls, a Bunsen burner and various household chemicals that belonged under the kitchen sink. His laptop was wedged between the mess. As I walked by, I saw the browser window open to an underground forum where people discussed tips on how best to cook meth.

“Why the hell are you getting Andre high?” I demanded.

“He’s a customer.”

“He’s ten.”