Trailer Trash(73)

“You’re home,” Cody said. Stating the obvious was the only thing he could manage.

She nodded, the motion seeming jerky and abrupt. “Yeah.” Her voice was tight, her shoulders tense, but whether she was angry or embarrassed or just didn’t want to talk to him, Cody could only guess. She leaned forward to ash her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray. “I was worried, but . . .” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “You did okay?”

Anger won out over relief, his calm snapping all at once. “‘Okay’? Yeah, if you mean having the power turned off and having to pay all the bills and running out of money and barely being able to afford some damn peanut butter doing ‘okay,’ then I guess I did. No thanks to you.”

She nodded again, the same abrupt motion as before. “Good.” Her voice was still strangely off. She took a final drag of her cigarette before grinding it out in the ashtray. “I didn’t mean for you to be left alone like that.”

He was tired of staring at the back of her head. He moved to the armchair, watching her carefully as he sat down. Her face was drawn and pale, the bags under her eyes more pronounced than usual. She didn’t look at him. She took out another cigarette and lit it. The quiver of the Bic’s flame gave away the shaking of her hands.

Cody gripped his knees, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “Where were you?”

“Forget it, all right? I just couldn’t get home and—”

“And you couldn’t call?”

“I did. A couple of times, actually, but you weren’t here.” She cleared her throat nervously. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care if you’re sorry. I want to know why you couldn’t come home? Were you with a guy or something? Do you have a new boyfriend? You met somebody who was more important? What?”

She shook her head. Cleared her throat again. Scanned the ceiling as if searching for a way out. Finally said, “I, uh . . . I got picked up.”

“Picked up?” There were two possible meanings to that phrase, and Cody’s stomach clenched. He wasn’t sure which one was worse. “You mean you went somewhere with somebody you met? Is that what you mean? Climbed in with some trucker and decided to take off for a month?”

She blew smoke and ashed again, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Her head jerked an inch to the side, indicating no, but only barely.

“You got arrested?”

Her lips narrowed. She stared at the ashtray. “I don’t want you to have to know about these things.”

He understood at last. She wasn’t angry. Or not at him, at any rate. She was humiliated, and still trying to protect him from a truth he’d worked hard to deny. “Mom,” he said, feeling a gentleness now he hadn’t expected, “I’m not a kid anymore.”

She nodded. “I know.” She wiped angrily at her eye, brushing a tear away before it could materialize. “I was glad I could tell them you were eighteen, that you could take care of yourself. They wanted to send child services, but I told them not to. I told them you were a good kid. That you were used to fending for yourself.”

He wasn’t sure anybody had ever referred to him as a “good kid” before. “What happened?”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “The car broke down on my way to work. I managed to pay for the tow and the repairs, but just barely. I didn’t have enough gas to get home. We were behind on the bills. And Christmas was coming—” She shook her head again. “I was just trying to earn a little extra cash.”

Cody closed his eyes, breathing deep, trying to tame his fierce hatred of Warren, Wyoming, and everything that drove his mom to such extremes. “You should have told me. I would have given you money—”

“You shouldn’t have to give me money.” She wiped her eye again. “You’re my son, and I should be able to at least keep the electricity on. I should be able to—”

“Stop.” His hands were shaking, and he clenched them between his knees. There was no point is forcing her to justify it. “So what happened?”

She scrubbed her cigarette out, but didn’t reach for a new one. She seemed to be breathing easier now that they were really talking. “I couldn’t afford bail, so I had to sit.” She chewed her lip. “If it’d been my first offense, he probably would have let me off with time served but—”

“What? What do you mean it wasn’t your first offense?”

“I got picked up the first time last year. Remember right before your junior year, when I was gone for a few days?”