Trailer Trash(67)

The days rolled by with no sign of his mother, and he began to worry. She’d been gone before for a few days here and there, but never this long. They didn’t have long-distance service, so one afternoon, Cody walked to the gas station and pumped two dollars in quarters into the pay phone in order to call the truck stop, but they said only, “She isn’t here right now,” before hanging up.

On one hand, that made it sound like there was no reason to panic. On the other hand, she still hadn’t come home. He felt like he should call somebody, but he couldn’t think who. His mom’s parents were both deceased. Her sister, Shirley, lived in Cheyenne, but Cody hadn’t seen her since he was ten years old. It would have cost him another two dollars to call her. It seemed like a waste when he was ninety-nine percent sure his mom wouldn’t be there. Any other family Cody might once have had were on his father’s side. He hadn’t talked to any of them in years and was pretty sure his mom hadn’t either. He debated calling the police, but what good would it do? It’d just be one more mark against his family in their book. And besides, it might be Nate’s dad who showed up to take the report, and that scared him for some reason he couldn’t quite explain.

School ended, and Cody signed up for every shift at the Tomahawk he could find that needed to be covered. He saw the way Nate frowned when he told him. He knew Nate had been counting on him for company over the break, but Nate didn’t have to worry about things like waking up to find the power had been turned off. Nate at least had one parent who paid the bills and made sure he was home by curfew and took the time to put food in the pantry.

As for where Cody’s mom was, there seemed to be two options. Either something had happened to her and she wasn’t able to get home, or she’d simply decided to leave.

He wasn’t sure which possibility bothered him more.

She’d be home for Christmas. He hung on to that thought like a talisman. Certainly she wouldn’t leave him alone for Christmas morning.

The Tomahawk was closed on Christmas Eve, and Nate’s dad had to work, so Cody and Nate spent the entire day in Nate’s family room, watching Christmas specials on cable TV. Nate and his dad had a giant tree covered with lights and brand-new, store-bought ornaments. Cody counted at least two-dozen presents under the tree. Nate popped popcorn and did his best to be cheery, but between Logan’s death and his mom’s absence, Cody couldn’t manage to match his mood.

They left Nate’s house shortly before his dad was due home. Nate kept glancing Cody’s way in the gloom of the little pickup truck’s cab. Cody found himself thinking of the Robertson family, wondering how they’d celebrate this year with both of their children gone. Wondering if they’d still take that trip to Mexico. He knew reveling in his melancholy did no good, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Maybe I should come in,” Nate said as he parked in front of Cody’s trailer.

“Your dad’ll be waiting. You should be with him.”

Nate glanced at the dark windows of Cody’s home. He reached over and took Cody’s hand, his warm fingers wrapping around Cody’s. “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas Eve.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.” And at least he’d had most of the day with Nate.

“I’ll come over as soon as I can tomorrow morning.”

“You don’t have to do that. Your dad will want—”

“He works at noon anyway.”

Cody sighed, relenting. Having Nate there would certainly make the day more bearable. “Okay.”

He moved to open the door, but Nate didn’t let go of his hand. “Cody?”

“Yeah?”

Nate took a breath, but didn’t speak. Cody waited, trying to read Nate’s expression in the dark. He wondered if Nate would ask about his mother. If he’d tell Cody how sorry he was that Cody didn’t have a better life. Sometimes Cody wanted that confirmation, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes, it felt too much like pity, and pity made him uncomfortable.

“Merry Christmas,” Nate said at last.

Cody only nodded, but Nate finally let go of his hand and let him go inside.



Cody fell asleep that night dreaming of Christmas. He dreamed of magical mornings where he emerged from his room to find a tree in the living room, bright and gaudy with decorations, and a modest pile of presents underneath. He dreamed of a single stocking, hung with a tapestry pin from the back of the couch. He was younger in his dream, although his exact age seemed to ebb and flow, but however old he was, he still had the bright, unabashed hope of youth.