Sweetest Sin(71)

She still had a cup of coffee on the table, cold from the morning. I moved it and groaned. The envelope underneath was splattered and wrinkled.

Her bank statement. Unopened. That wasn’t good.

“Well, that was a beautiful Mass today, wasn’t it? Hungry?” Mom didn’t remember where she kept the bread. She opened the wrong cabinet twice and set the peanut butter next to the plates in her forgetfulness. A side effect of the drug abuse for so many years. “Just beautiful. Your choir is doing so good, honey. I’m proud of you. I tell everyone, I say to them that’s my baby singing that solo.”

I nodded, offering her a sheepish shrug. “I know, Mom. I can hear you. Everyone can.”

“All the more reason to sing it loud and proud that my baby is doing her best by the Lord in every way she can.” She held her arms out. “Now where did I put that peanut butter…maybe I’ll make ham and cheese instead. Would you like that, baby? Did you want coffee?”

I looked up. She didn’t realize we didn’t have the money for lunch meat. She laughed about the peanut butter and got the coffee brewing.

“I swear, I don’t know where my head is sometimes,” she said.

She smiled. It was too broad, too…unfamiliar.

I tried to remember a time when Mom exhibited any signs of…life. Back when she was sick, she never drank for the thrill or the bubbly high. She downed enough to go numb, and then she drank more to stay down when the world kicked her hard enough. And the pills? The Oxy did the trick when she couldn’t carry a can or bottle.

Was this really Mom? Was this the woman under the drugs? Her skin had cleared, and a few social programs had helped to fix her teeth. She smelled of soap instead of body odor and alcohol, and her words slurred only when she got too excited to unjumble her thoughts. She jumped from one topic to the next, almost manic, and I could hardly keep up.

Then again, I hadn’t really tried. I couldn’t. Not when I had so many events and practices and classes and…

No money.

I stared at her bank statement. It was more frightening now that she was sober than it had ever been when she was sick. At least then we had a reason to lose so much money. Mom didn’t have a job—hadn’t had one for years. She never really understood the value of a dollar.

Her account was nearly overdrawn, and I had no idea where the money had gone.

But I could guess.

“Hey…Mom?” Why did I hesitate before calling her name? “I think we ought to sit down and talk about the bank account.”

Mom hummed as she heated a frying pan. Grilled cheese it was then. “Oh, not just now, baby. Let’s get something to eat first.”

“There were withdrawals this week for one hundred and eighty dollars.” I felt sick. “Cash from the ATM. Why are you pulling out cash?”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

Oh, but I did. I was worrying. Cash never lasted long around Mom.

I hated to think it. Alyssa and Samantha hadn’t wanted to tell me about the gossip spreading in the church. I glanced up, staring through her graying hair and smile to find the woman I remembered.

One hundred and eighty dollars paid for the electricity and groceries.

I hated that I searched her expression for any signs of deceit.

“Mom, is something going on?”

“Of course not.”

“We needed that money.”

“Well, if you must know…” She flipped her sandwich too late and burned it. “I’m planning a surprise.”

I didn’t like that. “Surprises that cost this much money?”

Or a surprise that would account for just enough to hide a bottle of cheap whiskey under the sink and a handful of pills in her purse?

“Okay, Honor. You caught me.”

I held my breath.

Mom plated the crispy grilled cheese with a dollop of ketchup on the side. She pushed it to me.

Close, but it was Dad who had liked the ketchup. I preferred pickles on mine. I ate it anyway.

“I had this great idea,” Mom said. “You’re so involved in the church, and it’s wonderful. The woman’s group and the festival and this special Battle of the Choirs.”

I peeled a bit of cheese from the bread and ate it to avoid speaking.

“I wanted to get that sense of community too. Really thank the people who have been so kind. So…” Mom held her arms out. “I’m going to host a dinner party here for all those lovely people at St. Cecilia’s who have helped us.”

I dropped the sandwich. “You what?”

“I want to invite some people over. Judy, Ruthie, a few other ladies in the women’s club. We could even invite Father Rafe. He’d love a home-cooked meal.”