For now, the woman planted her ass in her thirty-year-old orange-striped recliner inside her forty-year-old singlewide trailer and swallowed her booze and inhaled nicotine. It wasn’t pretty, but it was reality.
Taking in a deep breath to steel her anxiety, she got out of the car and then hefted the four bags of groceries from the trunk toward the trailer. As per usual, the door was unlocked and Maiya glanced over at the recliner nestled in the corner and made her way from the small living room to the kitchen. Her mother was stretched out in the chair, napping, with the TV tuned to some soap opera. Her age-imprinted face at ease, and her dark hair tied in a loose braid, with plenty of gray threading through it, lay over her shoulder.
Maiya bit her bottom lip, swallowing past the knot in her throat, and emptied one of the grocery bags. She’d never get used to this. Hated having to do it. “That’s what good daughters do, even when their mothers don’t appreciate it.” A friend she’d had in Los Angeles drilled the statement into her mind a few years ago. The girl had been a member of a twelve-step recovery group for families and tried to convince Maiya to go with her. Some of the things she told Maiya had stuck, but Maiya didn’t need that stuff. She was doing fine all on her own—at least as far as she was concerned.
Careful to keep her steps light, Maiya made her way to her mother’s bedroom. After making the bed, she stopped by the bathroom, deposited a new supply of shampoo and toothpaste, and then did a quick clean up of the sink. She needed to hire a maid, but her mother wasn’t agreeable to having strangers in the house. Funny, having strangers in the house when Maiya was a kid was commonplace.
In a constant battle to air the metal box out, she opened windows along the way. The trailer smelled of stale cigarette smoke, booze and mildew. The place still had the same mustard-yellow shag carpeting and brown plaid furniture Maiya had grown up with. Her and Jeremy’s old bedroom was now a dumping ground for out-of-date newspapers and old magazines. All the white vinyl wallboards were yellowed by the years of cigarette smoke. It was gross and made Maiya’s skin crawl.
Maiya might smoke, but never in her house or car. And nowhere near the amount her mother did. The smell lingered, attaching itself to everything. Maiya hated that, but her mother was perfectly content with all of it.
Back in the kitchen, she leaned over the sink and cranked the window open. When she turned, her mother was behind her. Maiya jumped, pressing her hand to her chest to calm her racing heart.
“Why do you do that? You’re gonna make it all dusty in here, Emmie.” Empty glass in hand, she stepped past Maiya, retrieved a handful of ice from the freezer and then poured herself a fresh gin and tonic.
Maiya winced at the use of the childhood nickname her older brother Jeremy had given her. She looked over her mother’s weathered and worn features. The years hadn’t been kind, but mostly it was the booze that’d stolen her mother’s beauty. Leaning her hip against the counter, Maiya crossed her arms. “I do it because it reeks in here, Mom.”
“It does not.” Her mother raised the glass to her lips and took a healthy gulp.
Not exactly healthy, in Maiya’s opinion. She looked away, unable to bear the sight.
Setting the drink down, her mother pulled a cigarette from her soft pack, popped it between her lips and lit it. She coughed on the exhale and Maiya winced again. “I didn’t think you were comin’ today.”
“Don’t I always come?”
“I suppose you do.” Her mother sneezed and reached for a tissue.
“Bless you. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat, I guess.” Her mother blew her nose. “I don’t even know what’s in there. Make what you want.” She picked up her glass and shuffled back to the living room.
Maiya stared at the floor and her eyes burned with unshed tears. How the hell had she ended up back here, in this trailer—hell, in the state of Nevada again? She’d escaped her mother’s drinking a long time ago, and the demons haunting her when she lived in this trailer had gone elsewhere. Except now she had to visit regularly, so she hadn’t really escaped after all.
She had done it though, hadn’t she? She’d made it out of this hellhole, made it out of Vegas too. Some days, taking the job with her company so long ago, felt like it’d all been a wonderful dream. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she was actually in Los Angeles, living in her little apartment and working in the office with everyone else, and what she faced now was merely a nightmare. Any minute now, she’d wake up.
Any minute now.
Wake up, Maiya! She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Opening them, she glanced around the kitchen. Damn, still here. Dragging herself away from the rabbit hole of self-pity, Maiya put the rest of the groceries away. Asleep or not, this was a nightmare. The kind a person lived day in and day out. The kind a person didn’t wake up from…ever.
Because they weren’t sleeping.
From the living room another cough echoed into the kitchen—not unusual, considering her mother’s emphysema—then another sneeze, followed by more coughing. Which sounded a little too moist for Maiya’s liking. The woman struggled to breathe as it was because the COPD had gotten so bad, plus her liver wasn’t functioning very well. The last thing her mother needed was bronchitis, or worse, pneumonia. Maiya glanced over her shoulder from the counter. “Mommy, that cough isn’t sounding good.”
“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”
“I’ll dig out the nebulizer before I go. Can’t have it getting any worse.” Maiya wandered to the living room. Glancing at the side table next to her mother’s chair, she saw the many crumpled tissues.
“I hate that thing. It makes me all shaky.”
“Got news for ya, Mom. It’s not the breathing machine making you all shaky.”
“All right, Miss Bigwig-Corporate-Girl, what’s it from?”
Maiya bit her tongue, shaking her head. “Never mind.” There was no point going there. It was like trying to explain to a fish what water was. Instead, she gathered up the empty glasses and snotty tissues on the end table. She didn’t miss the yellowed hue in the whites of her mother’s eyes. “You want a turkey sandwich?”
“That’s fine.” Joanie coughed a few more times before finally catching her breath.
Maiya grabbed a glass of water and brought it to her. “Here, Mom.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s water. Please drink it.”
“I don’t need that, I have my drink right here.”
“Take it anyway.” Maiya set the glass on the end table and then walked back to the kitchen. Her mother grumbled something about her always being a pain in the ass, but Maiya ignored it and made her mother lunch.
Loading the plate on a tray, she brought it into the living room and then set it on her mother’s lap. “There you go. I got some of those chocolate-striped cookies you like so much. You can have those later after dinner.”
Maiya walked away to open the remaining windows. Her mother’s wet cough echoed through the trailer. That damn minor cold was probably full-blown bronchitis already. She went back into the living room and sat on the couch. “Mom, I really think you should do a breathing treatment when you finish your sandwich, and try to lay off the smokes today too.”
Joanie looked up from her plate, mouth full of food. “I’m fine.”
“You need to get this cold under control now or you’re going to end up in the damn hospital,” she chastised. “And we know how much you love that. You can’t drink there.”
“Watch your tone, and don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I said I was fine!” Joanie coughed again and then swallowed the remains of her drink. “Last I checked I was still your mother and you were still my kid.”
“Have it your way, Mom.” Maiya sighed. “I’m only trying to help you.”
“If you want to help me, get your fat ass off that couch and refill my gin and tonic.”
Her mother put the sandwich down, moved the tray and stood. “I’ll get my own damn drink.”
“Oh my God, look at your stomach!” Maiya jumped up. “You’re all bloated.” She touched her mother’s abdomen with her fingertips. “It’s hard too.”
Joanie swatted her hand away and pulled her royal blue threadbare sweater closed. “I’m fine. I’m old, my belly’s chubby. It happens.”
Still shocked at her mother’s appearance, Maiya’s feet were rooted to the shag carpet in the living room. How had she missed this? Though, to be fair, she rarely saw her up and mobile when she was there. Her mom stayed in that damn orange-striped chair while Maiya moved around her, fixing her a meal and tidying up the trailer. “You should see the doctor sooner. I’m calling.”
Joanie glared over her shoulder. “Don’t you dare. I’m fine, and I’ll be the same in two weeks time.” She returned, drink in hand, and sat in her chair. “Don’t get yourself all in a lather.”
“But—” Maiya shut her mouth, pressing her lips together. Turning, she sat on the couch again. “Fine.”
“So, who’s the new flavor of the month?” Joanie sipped her drink.
“Wha…” Maiya frowned. “What makes you think there’s a flavor of the month?”
“Because you’re my daughter.” Joanie snorted. “You got a look about you like you been laid recently. I can always tell when you have.”
“God, Mom. Do you have to be so damn crass?”
“Crass? Do you have to be so damn sensitive? I know what I see is all.” Joanie shrugged and bit into the remaining piece of her turkey sandwich. “So who is he?”
“I’m not talking to you about this.”
“You think you would’ve learned something by now.” She shook her head. “He another biker?”
“No, he’s not another biker. And he isn’t a flavor of the month, either.” Maiya scowled, ran her fingers through her hair and blew out a breath. Was it getting hot in there? She was sweating. And dammit, her mother always set her on edge. Jesus, she needed to get out of there; her anxiety level was on maximum overdrive.
“Something more?” Her mother raised her brows. “You think he might be more, Emmie?”
“No—Yes… I don’t know!” Maiya shook her head, agitated. “Why do you care?”
“What? A mother can’t ask about her daughter’s love life?”
“Not my mother.” Maiya crossed her arms. “You’re more interested in telling me how I’ll be alone forever.”
“Only because you push everyone away who comes near you.” Joanie set the drink on the side table. “You been pushing me away for years.” She started coughing and grabbed a tissue, pressing it to her lips.
“I push you away? Oh that’s rich.” Her mother coughed and coughed—the rattle erupting from her lungs sounded horrid, but Maiya pressed on. “You’ve been pushing me away since Je—”
“Don’t!” Joanie sputtered between coughs. “Don’t say his name.” She coughed a few more times, fanning herself with the tissue.
“You sound horrible, Mom. You’re doing a treatment right now.” Maiya retrieved the nebulizer and medicine for it. When she returned, she loaded it with the steroid and then fixed the mask over her mother’s mouth and nose.
Joanie sat back, eyes closed and breathed in the vaporized medicine. While the machine did its job, Maiya busied herself preparing a meal for her mother to have for dinner. When the treatment was done, she cleaned and put the machine away.
Joanie had settled in her chair and appeared to be napping. Maiya covered her with a blanket and then smoothed her mother’s hair from her forehead. Her coloring looked a little off too. It worried Maiya, more than she wanted it to. She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Get some rest, Mom. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
Joanie nodded but didn’t open her eyes.
When Maiya got in her car she waited there for a few minutes, trying to quell the fear tightening her chest. She pressed her forehead against the steering wheel and her tears fell. She loved her mother, she did. But she didn’t like her. And sometimes she hated her, though she’d never say it out loud. At least not anymore. Years ago, she had no qualms about telling people how she hated her mother. And it didn’t matter to her that they looked at her with horror and pity their eyes.
People didn’t hate their mothers; it was considered unnatural.
Wiping her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, Maiya pulled away from the trailer. She’d go back in a couple of days. Her mother managed okay without her there every day still, but soon enough Maiya would have to go daily. Then she’d insist on bringing in a care person for a couple of hours a day. Maiya was smart enough to know she wouldn’t be a good caretaker. It wouldn’t be healthy for her or her mother.
Ryan occupied her thoughts while she drove the rest of the way home. Was he going to be another flavor of the month? She wasn’t sure. She had the sneaking suspicion she wanted more than a month, but she wouldn’t admit it. Even to herself. And then there was his little boy.
Ryan didn’t want to confuse his son. She couldn’t blame him. It scared her, the prospect of being in his life. In both their lives. Fairytales didn’t come true in real life, not the happily-ever-after kind anyway. People made their own happiness, rescued themselves, like she’d done. Ryan was not her Prince Charming. He was a single dad with a darling child.
A normal. Nice. Guy.
And Maiya had no idea what the hell he wanted with her.
Chapter Twenty
Ryan made his way up the front walkway to his parents’ house with Jacob half asleep in his arms. The door opened before he reached it, and his brother stood behind the metal security door.
“What up, my brotha?” Jimmy’s mouth spread into a goofy smile. His jet-black hair was a spiky mess and in desperate need of a trim. Their dad always gave him shit for it when Jimmy was in town.
Ryan laughed. “Same old, same old. Now open the damn door, would you?”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” Jimmy opened the door and stepped to the side.
Jacob raised his head and let out a loud yawn. “Hi, Uncle Jimmy.”
“What’s up, little man? C’mere, let me get a look at you.” Jimmy took Jacob into his arms for a hug.
Ryan squeezed his brother’s shoulder and walked to the kitchen. “Hey, Mom.” He kissed her cheek. “Where’s Dad?”
“Out back.” Roseanne tossed a salad for dinner. “Jimmy have Jacob?”
“Yup. You look pretty today.” He leaned against the counter next to her, admiring how young she still looked, her short blonde hair done to perfection.
Her hazel eyes sparkled and she smiled. “Thank you. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. Now, get out of my kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He snagged a slice of cucumber off the cutting board on his way past. Laughing, she swatted his hand away.
Ryan found Jacob in the bedroom his parents kept for their grandkids, showing Jimmy his new set of Matchbox cars and track. Ryan took a seat on the bed and observed while Jacob giggled with excitement each time a car made a successful lap and didn’t fall off.
Jimmy didn’t appear to be someone great with kids. The man was over six feet tall, slender, with their father’s darker features. Plus tattoos and piercings galore. He looked more like someone to steer clear of in a dark alley than a potential baby
sitter.
“I’ve never seen a track this cool before. You’re pretty lucky, little man.” Jimmy pulled Jacob into his lap and let out a mock groan. “My gosh, you’re getting too big. I can hardly believe it. Let me see your muscles.”
Jacob flexed his little arm when his uncle circled it with his hand. “Daddy says I gots manly man arms.” A proud smile stretched from ear to ear. “I’m strong.”
“Whoa. You are strong. Promise you won’t beat me up?” Jimmy asked with wide eyes.
Jacob hugged him. “You’re silly, Uncle Jimmy.”
Jimmy looked at Ryan and flashed him a wide grin. “All right, little man, let me up. I need to give a proper hello to your daddy.”
“I’m gonna go find Papa.” Jacob ran out of the room.
Jimmy got to his feet and clasped fists with Ryan. “How ya been, man?”
They pulled each other into an embrace. Slaps on the back included. “Great. Things are great.” Ryan stepped back from him. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were coming into town?”
“You sound like a chickie.”
“Whatever, dude.” Ryan laughed. “I didn’t think we’d see you until the holidays.”
“I had to settle some business. I’m working a deal for some of my stuff to be used in this new swank hotel in Hollywood.”
“No kidding? That’s awesome.” Ryan clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re kicking ass. Congratulations, bro.”
“Thanks. Sometimes I can’t believe these crazy people want to display my funky industrial art on their walls.” He shrugged. “Fuck it. It’s their money, right? I’ll take it.”
“Don’t ask me, I have no eye for artsy stuff. You know that.” He turned toward the door. “Let’s get a beer and find Dad.”
Unworthy Heart: The Donnellys, Book 1 Page 14