Trailer Trash(74)

“You told me the car broke down and you were staying with a friend.”

“I didn’t want you to know the truth.” She squeezed her temples with one hand. “That time, they gave me time served. More a warning than anything. But this time . . . I told them, I was just trying to pay the bills. He could see I wasn’t a junkie, so he took it easy on me.” She shrugged, but the motion was too stiff and forced to be casual. “He only gave me four weeks. They released me this morning, and some of the girls at the truck stop pitched in for gas so I could at least drive home.”

Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. Rick and A.J. were bickering on TV like they always did. Sometimes they made him laugh, but not tonight. “I wish you hadn’t done that, Mom. I just . . . I wish you wouldn’t, that’s all.”

“I know. But it’s my job to put food on the table—”

“No—”

“And I’m not afraid to do what needs to be done. I’m not proud of it, but I won’t apologize for it, either. Your dad left me here with you and that piece-of-shit Duster, and the only place I can afford to rent is this crappy trailer in the shittiest corner of town. It’s bad enough we have to deal with Ted and Kathy and Pete. The least I can do is make sure we don’t freeze to death in our own beds.”

Cody went back to holding his hands between his knees. The worst of the shock had worn off, leaving him numb and uncharacteristically tired. “I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know if you were hurt or if you’d just run off—”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He felt better, hearing her say it. “I paid the electric and water, and the rent. There’s a bill for trash, and one for gas, and the phone bill. They’re all overdue. I get paid again in two days, so I’ll have a bit of money, but with the late fees, it’s not enough—”

“It never is.” She picked up her cigarettes, but didn’t move to take one out. “The truck stop will take me back, but I lost my shift. The only thing he can give me is graveyards, and only three nights a week.”

“Only waiting tables though, right?”

“I promise. I can’t risk anything else so soon after getting out, anyway. But I ain’t even told you the worst part yet.”

Jesus, what could be worse than getting picked up for prostitution? “What?”

“I have to pay a fine. Seven hundred dollars. They’re lettin’ me do it in payments, but—”

“So they know you were only doing it because we don’t have money, and then they expect you to somehow come up with seven hundred dollars? How does that make sense?”

“It don’t. But that’s how it is.”

Cody shook his head, thinking. Graveyards meant shitty hours and shitty tips to boot, and with only three nights a week, it’d barely be more than she paid for the gas to drive there and back. And it wasn’t like she could get a job in Warren. “I could quit school—”

“No.”

“I’d be able to work full-time at the Tomahawk. Maybe just get my GED—”

“Don’t even think about it, Cody. We’ll get by, one way or another. But quitting school . . .” She shook her head. “That’s how it starts. That’s how I ended up here. That’s how everybody ends up here. You either drop out or you get knocked up or both.” She leaned forward, meeting his eyes directly for the first time since he’d walked in the door. “I don’t want that for you. I wouldn’t wish that for anybody, but especially not you. We’re not that desperate yet. You hear me?”

He nodded, glad she’d shot the idea down, but feeling guilty for it. “Okay.” He hesitated, wondering if there was more to say, but his mom had already turned back to the TV. Cody stood up, thinking maybe he could stretch the phone cord to his bedroom to call Nate. Or maybe he’d just fall into bed, secure in the knowledge that his mom was once again just down the hall. He was surprised at how much it meant, knowing she hadn’t intentionally left him. “Mom?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re home.”

She smiled, possibly the first genuine smile he’d seen on her face in months. Maybe even years. “Me too.”



Nate drove home on autopilot as he thought about Cody’s mom.

He was pretty sure Cyndi hadn’t been around for several weeks at least, but nothing made Cody defensive faster than asking about his mother, so Nate had kept his suspicions to himself. But now, contemplating her return, Nate remembered the things he’d heard about her. The night he’d gone to the bowling alley, Larry had said Cyndi worked as a lizard. Nate still had no idea what the term meant, but it had been the one point Cody had adamantly denied.