After the accident, Ted Colton was in pretty bad shape too, but he survived. Once he was healthy, he went to trial then he went to prison. Years later, he got out on parole and went back due to parole violation, which consisted of twice being hauled in for drunk and disorderly, once being pulled over for a DUI and then there was the small matter of him never showing at parole meetings.
When he did his time, he got out again only to go back in when he robbed a liquor store, not their money, a box of booze. The man behind the counter saw him, called the cops and instead of stopping, Ted led them on a fifteen minute high speed chase through the streets of town that ended with Colt’s Dad driving through someone’s yard and into their living room. Luckily he caused no bodily harm not even to himself. Stupidly, he got out of the car, drunk off his ass, resisted arrest and he did this with a knife. Making matters worse, he had borrowed his neighbor’s car without their knowledge, which meant they were pretty pissed when they found out it was used during a burglary and wrecked during the ensuing chase. Therefore, they were happy to report it as stolen.
Ted Colton had always been a mean drunk but I’d never thought he was a stupid one.
Back to prison he went, where, as far as I knew, he was still rotting.
His Mom, though, had moved to a trailer park in the next town and how she managed to keep her trailer and her vodka and pill habit when I’d never known her to work a day in my life, I had no clue. But I didn’t doubt she did.
Dad turned to walk out the door and Colt and I followed. I did this quickly because Colt was moving fast. I caught up with him when we hit the bar, coming to his side and grabbing his hand. His eyes never left the woman who was standing at the bar but his fingers curled around my hand so tight I worried he’d break my bones. It took effort but I didn’t make a peep at the pain.
The bar was nearly silent, no buzz of conversation, only the jukebox playing. It was usually set low for the day crowd. We turned it up at night.
I was shocked at the vision of Mary Colton. She didn’t look like I always remembered her looking, unkempt, clothes wrinkled and sometimes not clean, skin sallow, hair in disarray. She looked clean, her hair cut and tidied. She had makeup on. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, both of them washed and well-kept, her jeans even looked ironed.
None of this hid the years of hard drinking and internal abuse her body had endured. She was too thin, her hair, although tidy, looked bristly and there were steel gray roots exposed at her part, the rest of it a fake dark brown that was obviously a home dye job in dire need of a refresh. Her face was lined, her skin sagging, her hands were thin and deeply veined, the knuckles seemed huge, the bones were visible, all of this making her hands look like claws.
My Mom, not too far away and staring daggers at Mary, looked the picture of youth and vitality next to Colt’s Mom. They were close to the same age but Mom looked thirty years younger.
Mary turned to watch us walk up to her. I saw her take us both in, her eyes dropping to our linked hands and then they closed, slowly, almost like she was suffering some kind of internal pain.
Then she opened her eyes and Colt stopped us three feet away.
“Alec,” she said, her voice deep, rasping and unfeminine from years of chain smoking.
I felt my body give a jerk when I heard her call Colt that name and I swore, in his bed or out of it, I’d never call him that again. I finally understood why he hated it. Said by her, it was hideous.
“There something I can help you with, Ma?” Colt asked.
She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and shifted on her feet.
Then she said, “I been hearin’ some things.”
“Yeah?” Colt asked, even though this was a prompt, the way he said it communicated that he didn’t particularly want a response nor did he care what that would be.
She looked at me then tipped her head back to look at Colt and I noticed she’d shrunk, significantly. Both Ted and Mary had been tall, which was why Colt was tall. I stared at her, trying to see some beauty in her, racking my brain to remember her when she was younger, to remember Colt’s Dad, trying to figure out how this person and her husband made a man like Colt and I couldn’t see it.
“I heard you sorted things with Feb,” she said.
“I did,” Colt replied, his answer short, not initiating further discussion.
“I’m glad,” she told him but he didn’t respond so she looked at me and said, “For both of you.”
I didn’t know what to say but I thought I should say something so I muttered, “Thank you, Mrs. Colton.”
She nodded, I went quiet and Colt stayed silent.
“I heard other things too,” she went on, looking back to Colt.