Peaches (The Izzy Quinn Series Book 1)

by C. Penticoff

  Peaches

  By C. Penticoff

  Copyright © 2020 A Novel Connection.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First printing, 2020.

  A Novel Connection

  www.anovelconnection.com

  www.cpenticoff.com

  Acknowledgements

  Editor: Rebekah Dodson at Out Of Your Write Mind

  Cover Designer: Melinda Du Ross

  This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever lived in poverty

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter One

  Have you ever wondered what it’s like to start your period, in white pants, in the middle of a job interview? No? I hadn’t wondered what it was like either until Mt. Hood exploded in my brand new Victoria Secret panties.

  I glanced down, hoping to God it wasn’t coming through my pants. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Blood. Visible blood. On my pants. I felt my heart beating faster at the thought of leaving a puddle on the brown leather chair.

  “Isabelle?” the interviewer said.

  My lip twitched when I snapped out of it.

  “Oh—I—can you repeat the question?”

  “I asked you,” he stared down at his tablet, “if you ID’d a customer purchasing alcohol and they told you they didn’t have their i.d. with them, but you knew they were of age because you had ID’d them before. How would you handle this?”

  “I wouldn’t sell it to them.”

  I knew I needed a more elaborate answer, but I couldn’t focus on anything besides the blood that was probably all over my pants by now, and all over this five-hundred-dollar chair. Why the fuck do they have such a nice chair in a grocery store office?

  “Well, thank you, Isabelle.” He stood up and stuck his hand out.

  I stood up slowly, awkwardly holding my thighs together and stumbling a bit.

  He gave me a sideways glance, then forced out a half-smile when I shook his hand.

  “Th-thanks,” I said.

  Before leaving, I ripped my jean jacket off and quickly wrapped it around my waist. He was probably wondering why in the hell I wasn’t waiting until I left his office to adjust my wardrobe, but it was better than him seeing the painting on the ass of my pants. I casually glanced back to the chair, and of course, there just had to be a fucking splatter of blood on the chair.

  Why, God? Why me?

  As sneakily as I possibly could, I wiped the chair up with the only thing I already had in my hands. My Gucci handbag. He definitely saw me swipe the chair. He had to have thought I was crazy.

  “Kiss this job goodbye,” I said under my breath as I walked out of the office.

  Thank the Lord above the bathroom was only just down the hallway, so I high tailed it as fast as my uncomfortable heels would take me.

  The sign on the bathroom read, Vacant.

  Yes!

  The first thing I did was turn around in the mirror to see the damage. It was bad. I sighed. I knew better than to risk white pants this close to my cycle. To be fair to myself, I was four days early. And those pants made my ass and thighs look amazing.

  After cleaning the volcano eruption up to the best of my ability, I wrapped my jacket back around my waist. I looked down at my poor Gucci bag and knew I had to throw it away. It was one of the nicest things I owned. I took my wallet, cigarettes, phone, and lipstick out of the purse, stuck them in my jacket pockets, and threw the purse away.

  I sighed as I stared longingly at my bag laying on the pile of paper towels in the garbage can. “Goodbye, beautiful."

  After washing my hands very thoroughly I looked at myself in the mirror and just stared-; stared into the eyes of someone who was royally screwed. What the fuck are you going to do? I wondered.

  I needed that job. Granted, it wasn’t that great of a job, but it was my only chance. Who the hell was going to pay our rent if I didn’t find a job by the end of the week? Even if I got a job that week, I would still need to get a payday loan to make rent on time. Tyson, my brother, was still in high school full time. He wasn't working anymore because when he worked before his grades began slipping hardcore. I made him quit, but I was beginning to regret that decision. Some people may have had families they could rely on, but I sure as hell didn’t. Everyone I knew was as shit poor as I was.

  I walked out of the building without my Gucci purse or my dignity.

  I wanted a cigarette so bad, but I knew better than to walk downtown Longview with a cigarette in hand. The second you lit up a smoke in town you get half the population of street weirdos asking to bum one. Oh well. I gotta have one after that shit show. Right on cue, some glossy eyed teenager on a hoverboard asked if I had an extra cigarette. I swear, they were like alleyway trolls who came out of nowhere.

  "Pull up your bootstraps and go steal your mom's butts out of her ashtray like the rest of us had to.”

  He rolled his eyes and hovered away, probably looking for another smoker to bum off. By his heavy eyelids that hung over bloodshot eyes, I could tell he was stoned as shit. At least he was high on reefer and not on meth, like the rest of the town. Speaking of meth, I remembered I was supposed to call Bailey about our weekend plans. Bailey was my best friend who had been clean for nine months. I plucked my phone from my jacket and dialed Bailey's number.

  "Hey Bai-bai." I greeted her in the same goofy way I always did.

  "Yo, Iz," she said in her low, New York accent.

  "Whatcha doin'?"

  "Wondering when the hell you're going to be able to text again."

  "Does it really kill you to talk on the phone?"

  "It's weird, Izzy! The only people who I talk on the phone with are my doctors, work, and my grandma from New Orleans."

  "And now me."

  "It needs to stop," she said in a lighthearted tone. "So, what up, ho?"

  "My texting should be back up tonight actually—at least, that's what the phone company said. Just got done with the worst job interview in the history of job interviews."

  "I doubt it."

  "Oh my God, no, Bai. It was bad."

  "What happened?"

  "I'll tell you about it in person. My phone's gonna die. Wanna go out tonight?"

  "Don't you have Coyote?"

  "Nope. I made Tyson's lazy ass take her for the entire day and night, so I can breathe for once."

  Coyote was my three year old sister—one of four siblings I had— and Tyson was my sixteen year old brother.

  "Should he be trusted with Coyote?"

  "He's got Prissy with him there."

  "So he's pretending to watch her, but Priscilla is really the one watching him? Gotcha."

  "Ha! Probably."

  I heard the beep in my ear, signaling the phone would be shutting off in a minute. "Gotta go. Phone's literally about to die."

  "Okay, well I wouldn't want your phone to perish on you. I'll be over there within an hour. Real soon, baboon," she sang in a weird voice.

  "See ya' later, weirdo." I chuckled and hung up the phone.

  I finally rounded the corner to the apart
ment where Kyle, the homeless dude that had been occupying the side of the apartment for the past three months, was talking to himself as he ate a sub sandwich.

  “Hi, Kyle.”

  “Oh, Hi, Marla.” Don’t ask me why he called me that. He made up names for everyone. “Want some steak?”

  “That’s not a steak, Kyle. It’s a sandwich.”

  He looked down at his sandwich and laughed. “I guess it is.”

  Yes, Kyle wasn’t all there. Most of the homeless people in Longview were weird. All you had to do was drive down the road for a few minutes and you were bound to see someone talking to themselves. Longview was a shit poor town without resources to combat the mental illness and meth problem—so they all just ended up on the street. In fact, Longview was basically the laughingstock of the whole Washington side of the Portland Metro area. Everyone knew Longview was methtown, USA. It was too bad really, because when you look past the crazy people and the druggies, it really was a beautiful town filled with awesome people. It just needed some TLC. Not to mention, it wasn't always like this— at least that's what I hear from local boomers.

  I got to my door and cranked the door up by the handle and pushed as hard as I could. “This piece of shit landlord really needs to get out here and fix this door,” I said to no one.

  I walked through the door and the first thing I saw was Tyson and his skeezy girlfriend making out on the couch, and Tyson had his hand up her skirt.

  God, that's disgusting.

  I rolled my eyes at them before chucking his girlfriend’s handbag at them. “Really? Can’t you do that in your room?”

  He snatched his hand out from between her legs with huge eyes. “I didn’t know you were home.”

  “Where’s the baby?”

  “Coyote isn’t a baby, Iz.”

  “You know what I mean. Is she sleeping?”

  “Yep. Taking a nap.”

  “Where’s Prissy?”

  “With her friends.”

  So he’s been taking care of Coyote by himself. I better go check on her, I thought.

  I opened up the door to his bedroom where I found three year old, Coyote sleeping in her playpen, snug as a bug. I saw her legs bent and shoved up against the mesh wall of her bed and decided to sneak over and reposition her. I knew she would probably wake up and I’d have to pat her butt if I moved her, but I couldn’t let her sleep like that. I pulled her body away from the wall as slow as I could. She stirred a little, but fell right back asleep. I was surprised she didn’t wake up. Even though I moved her, she still didn’t have much room. I realized it was probably time to have her start sleeping in a normal bed. She was obsessed with her playpen. Ever since she was a newborn baby, it’s the only place she would sleep, so wherever we went, the playpen came with us.

  While I stared at Coyote sleeping like a rock, I thought about how proud I was of Tyson, even though he was practically fucking his nasty girlfriend on the couch. The house was clean, for the most part, and he got Coyote to sleep, which I couldn't even do most days. He's not so bad sometimes.

  Right before I was about to turn around and leave the room, I noticed something. It was an open bottle of liquid medication sitting on the table by the playpen. I swept up the bottle. Children's Benadryl, I read.

  "That mother fucker drugged her to get her to sleep," I whispered angrily.

  I flew out of the bedroom and into the living room holding up the Benadryl. "Are you fucking kidding me, Tyson?"

  He dropped his chin to his chest and rubbed his head. "Fuck."

  "You can't take care of her for one day without drugging her to make her fall asleep?"

  "I didn't drug her, Izzy. Calm down.”

  "Yeah, it's Benadryl for kids," his girlfriend chimed in.

  I whipped my head in her direction. "Stay the hell out of this." I had no patience for him, let alone her.

  "Don't be a dick, Isabelle." He crossed one arm over his chest and the other arm held his face, like he was trying to hide himself.

  "Don't drug my sister."

  "She's my sister too, and I'm watching her."

  "Well, fine, maybe I shouldn't have you watch her anymore."

  "Fine by me."

  "Really? Why should I have to be the only one who watches her?"

  "She's not my responsibility, Izzy."

  "She's not supposed to be my responsibility either, Tyson. You do remember whose vagina she popped out of, right? Not mine!"

  "She's not supposed to be any of our responsibilities, but you're the one who decided she would be!"

  "Oh okay. I guess I'll just stop taking care of her. Then she can go back to our piece of shit Mom who will inevitably lose custody of her. And when she does, they'll come looking for you and Priscilla, too. Then we'll all be separated. Is that what you want?"

  "Just leave and go do whatever the hell you were gonna do, Iz."

  I went to my room and resisted the urge to slam the door. I took the bottle of Benadryl and hid it so he couldn't use it on her tonight.

  By the time I was done showering, Bailey showed up and was on my bed scrolling through her phone while I was putting on makeup.

  “So where are we going tonight?” Before I could answer, she kept talking, like usual. “Aren’t you broke? I don’t get paid until next Friday and all I have is ten bucks.”

  “I still have that hundred-dollar Blue Jays gift card I won. I figure we can eat and get drunk there, then head over to Alabamas for dancing.” Alabamas was a country dance club in Portland. I didn’t like country music all that much, but the bar was a blast and it was really popular. Lots of cute guys there, too, which was probably its main appeal to me at the time. I wasn't looking for a relationship or anything, but a fun time with a hot man couldn't hurt.

  "Alabamas has a cover charge, though." Bai said this in a bad southern drawl.

  "And that's where your last ten bucks comes in handy."

  "Ty guy!" I heard the low, growly smoker voice from the living room and instantly cringed.

  Bailey groaned. "Oh God, is your Mom here?"

  I didn't respond. I just walked out of the room. I made it out to the living room where my mom was hugging Ty and Prissy. When did Priscilla get back? I thought.

  "It feels like it's been forever." My mom held out her hand and introduced herself to Ty's girlfriend.

  My mom's turquoise chandelier earrings practically hung to her shoulders, almost touching the ugly boho-mumu hybrid dress she was sporting. She always looked like a cracked out grandma hippie, from her tacky boho attire to her dark bags under her bulging, round eyes.

  I just stood quietly at the end of the hallway with my shoulder leaned against the wall.

  "I'm taking Coyote for the night. Where is she?" My mom asked.

  The last thing that was going to happen was my mentally unstable and drug addicted mother taking my sister to God only knows where.

  "Oh, no you're not," I declared. My mom looked at me all bug-eyed. I guaranteed she texted my brother and he said he was watching Coyote, and she probably thought I wouldn't be here so my mom could take her without any trouble from me.

  Nice try.

  "Oh, I didn't know you were here, Iz." She strolled over to me and hugged me. I didn't return the hug. I simply stood there with my arms stiffly against my sides.

  "You're not taking Coyote."

  "Iz, you can't tell me that I can't have my own child." She laughed awkwardly, knowing the shitstorm that was about to come her way.

  "Oh, really? I can't? You know, it's funny because I could've swore I'm the one who's raised her since the day she was born." I was saying this in the most calm voice I could. It was a fake, passive aggressive calm, though. A calm that said back the fuck up before I lose my shit.

  "Isabelle, you know why I can't be here."

  "Did I have a kid? Did I have three kids? No!" I screamed, but realized I needed to tone it down. I lowered my voice. "I should've never been here. I should've been in high school, focusing on boys, fr
iends, getting good grades, and figuring out what I want to do with my life. Instead, I was raising my siblings because you were too high to do it." I poked her chest. "And I still am. So don't tell me that you can't. Because I can't, but I do anyway."

  My mom flopped down to the couch and started bawling. "I've been a horrible mother."

  I just stood in the same place, but Tyson rushed over to her and started consoling her, which made me gag. He always did that. She's manipulated him since the day he was born. That's what this whole show was all about—it was to gain Tyson's sympathy. He's always been her favorite but that's only because she had him wrapped around her finger like a little bitch.

  I'm not even going to respond to this pathetic performance.

  My brother kept glancing at me, knowing exactly what I thought about the fact that he was getting lured right into her little web.

  After a couple minutes of phony crying, my mom stood to her feet. "Where's Coyote?" She walked toward the hallway where I stood, but I blocked her by putting my arm on the other wall.

  "You're not taking her."

  "Move your arm, Izzy."

  I said nothing.

  "Move your damn arm, Isabelle."

  I still said nothing. My mother huffed, ducked under my arm, and began opening up the doors. When she got to my brother's room, I followed her. "You're not taking her, Mom," I whispered.

  "Why don't you trust me? I'm her God damn mother."

  "You gave birth to her. That makes you her egg donor, not her mother. I have raised her. You're gonna take her over to some druggy house and it's not fair to her."

  "I'm taking her over to a friend's house and we're going to the fair. Relax."

  "Mom, no."

  "Isabelle, I'll have her back tomorrow."

  "Ugh!" Was all I could say. I realized I wasn't winning this battle, so I practically stomped out of the bedroom and flew into my room.

  "Jesus Christ," said Bailey, who must've been listening to the shit storm that had just occurred.

  I began frantically searching my room for my cigarettes, but couldn't find them. Bailey must've known what I was looking for because she tossed me her pack.

  "Thanks." I picked my candle up and used the wic to light the smoke. I normally wouldn't light up in my bedroom, but I didn't even care.