We crossed the main floor and went up another set of stairs to the bedrooms. I was out of breath by the time we got to my old room. It had only been mine for a few months before I took off for Vegas—things had gone downhill when we left White Center and moved closer to Phil.
Mom pushed open the door, and I stopped dead. Another stone-sober moment. She had left it the same. My bed, my posters, my window decals . . . My old schoolbooks were still on my desk.
It was like I went back in time two months to my old life.
Mom moved past me and started rummaging in my closet, where I’d left behind anything that didn’t fit in my duffel. “Let me find you something clean to wear. Then I’ll get you some aspirin.” She handed me a T-shirt and disappeared down the hall. I dropped onto the bed and managed to peel off my hoodie and sweat-drenched shirt and tug the fresh shirt over my head.
Mom was back soon with a wet washcloth, water, and pills. She sat next to me and dabbed my face and neck, then folded the cloth and laid it on my forehead. “Thanks, Mom,” I said.
She smiled at me, patting my shoulder softly. “It’s so good to see you, honey. How is everything in Vegas?”
“Okay.” My heart was finally slowing down.
“Do you like your new job?”
“It’s good,” I murmured. I’d told her I was waiting tables.
“What’s the restaurant like? What’s it called again?”
“’S’called Hush. It’s nice.” I was having a hard time forming words.
“A fancy place?”
“Mmm.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom smoothed back my hair and adjusted the washcloth. “I’m so glad you have a good job. Now all you have to do is finish your GED. I paid for the next two tests. But I’ll tell you about that tomorrow.” She paused and said, with a break in her voice, “It’s so good to see you.”
When I woke up, I had the weirdest feeling that I was back in my real life. Vegas was a dream; my job and apartment didn’t exist. I was home where I belonged. There was a familiar smell to my bed, and my mattress was comfortable, not like the wiry joke I slept on in Vegas. A light headache thrummed in my forehead, but my thoughts felt clean and connected.
I buried myself deeper in my blanket and let my eyes wander around the room. My closet was open a crack, and I could see the arm of my favorite blue sweatshirt. Why hadn’t I brought it with me to Vegas? I’d been so angry when I left, I hadn’t been thinking straight.
I looked at the textbooks on my dresser, left the way I’d stacked them on the day I’d dropped out. Science on top. It made me think of Mr. Newport, the best teacher I’d ever had. He’d wanted so badly for me to pass. I normally didn’t care what teachers thought, but it had killed me to disappoint him. What if Irina was right, and I could have gotten a letter from a doctor and gotten extra time and an audio version of tests? Could I have graduated?
I looked at the calendar on my wall, still open to November. What if I just stay here? And go back to school and try again?
But then I thought of the Las Vegas Professional Institute of Technology. The worn-out carpet and traffic cone–orange chairs. The message on the screen: Please retake this portion of the GED. If I couldn’t pass the GED, there was no way I’d be able to pass Claremont finals.
There was no point. No chance. And in case that wasn’t enough, there was Phil. Who lived here now. This room wasn’t real. It was a museum of a life that could never exist again, because I would rather die than live in the same house with that asshole.
I blinked hard to stop the burning in my eyes. I didn’t want to think about this mess. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and planted my feet on the cool floor. I reached for the cup of water Mom had left and took a small sip. It was so good, so clean and cold, I drank the whole glass.
I was starving, probably because that natural speed had burned up every calorie in my system—and I’d puked my guts out. I dreaded seeing Phil when I went to the kitchen. But there was no help for it.
I left the room and crept downstairs, holding the handrail because I was still a little dizzy. It was quiet, and there were no breakfast smells. Mom and Phil must be asleep, I thought with relief. I rounded the corner to the living room, and stopped, taking in all the changes I hadn’t noticed the night before. New paintings—ugly, bright, pointless splashes of paint, the kind Mom always used to make fun of. New drapes, beige and white. A new entertainment system.
“Oh!” I gasped—because next to the new flat screen, Mom was tucked in the corner of the love seat, wrapped in a blanket. She’d been so quiet, so motionless, I hadn’t seen her. She was still wearing her black New Year’s dress, and there was makeup smeared under her eyes.
I stood there looking at her.
She gave me a weak smile. “Hi, honey,” she said softly. “I thought you’d sleep later.”
“He didn’t come home?”
She shook her head.
“Have you been waiting up for him all night?”
She bowed her head. She made no sound, but her shoulders shook a little.
“Oh, Mom.” I went to her and hugged her. Her body was tight, and her breath came in small gasps, like she was trying to clamp it down. It scared me. She usually went for big dramatic shows. I patted her back helplessly, feeling the hard lines of her shoulder blades through the blanket.
“He said he’d be home by eleven so we could toast at midnight together,” she whispered. “What if something happened?”
I pulled back and looked her in the eyes. “Mom, you know nothing happened to him.”
“Maybe he got in an accident!” Her green eyes were bloodshot and swimming with tears.
When she got like that, it made me feel brutal. Like I wanted to grind her face in the truth because she was too dumb to see it herself. “Mom, he’s a cheater. This is what he does. He’ll be back soon with some bullshit story.”
Her face crumpled and she pulled away from me, but I couldn’t take it back. I wasn’t going into Mom’s make-believe land with her. I felt so tired all of a sudden. Years’ worth of tired. “Let me make you some coffee,” I said.
Not lifting her head, she said, “Okay.”
I went in the kitchen and found everything in the usual places. There was more food in the refrigerator than Mom and I used to keep, expensive things in little deli tubs and folded white paper. A new set of wineglasses. And she had a fancy new espresso maker. I talked to her while I made the coffee, keeping my voice calm. “You haven’t been with him for that long. You’re not married to him. You don’t have to put up with this.”
“I love him,” said Mom.
I froze with a spoonful of coffee and looked across the room at her. “That doesn’t mean you have to let him treat you like crap.”
“I don’t know how to make him treat me better,” Mom said with a sad smile.
I dumped the coffee in the pot and walked across the room to her. I kneeled down and looked into her watery eyes. I needed her to understand. “I don’t think Phil can treat you better. Some people are just born cheaters. You can’t make them change. All you can do is leave.”
Takes one to know one, a voice whispered in my head. I pushed it out. I hadn’t cheated on Irina, and I didn’t plan to.
“I don’t know if I can make it on my own,” Mom said.
“What are you talking about? We made it just fine for seventeen years!”
Her eyes opened wider. “We did not! There was never enough food! Remember? I couldn’t even buy insurance or vitamins or anything. It was not fine. You didn’t even graduate high school! I do need him. And, and . . . some woman has been calling here. What if he leaves me?” Mom buried her face in her hands again.
I let out my breath. “You have to leave him. I’ll move back here, I’ll get a job and help you pay rent.”
“It’s not your job to take care of me,” Mom mumbl
ed.
“I know that. I’m just saying—leave him!”
Mom looked up. Her face was blotchy. “I would love to have you back home. Did you really mean that? You would come back?”
I nodded, feeling sick. Did I?
“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been so worried about you.”
Really? Then how come you didn’t fly out to see how I was doing? But I knew in Mom’s universe, feelings didn’t equal actions. “Well, if you leave him, I’ll come home.” I stood up and went back to the coffeepot, feeling crazy. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. But I meant it.
“Oh,” said Mom. “Oh, Gabe.” Then she went quiet. I handed her a cup of coffee and she stared out the window, blowing and sipping. I poured myself some coffee and sat in the chair across from her.
If Mom left Phil and I moved back, I could live near Irina again. At least for a while, until she went to college. She’d forgive me. She had to, when I explained myself better. I could hang with Kyle and Matt and Forrest again, and I could go back to school and get that piece of paper I needed so badly. Mr. Newport would help me.
Suddenly, Mom set her coffee on the media console and jumped up. She was already halfway to the kitchen by the time I realized what was going on. Phil’s Benz had nosed into the drive. Mom grabbed her purse off the counter, flipped open a compact, and started frantically dabbing on powder. I stared at her. She was totally focused.
There was a tiny click down below. Then the soft sounds of someone sneaking up the stairs.
Mom shoved her makeup back in her purse and waved a hand at me. “Go!” she mouthed.
Go where? I went to the second set of stairs, the ones leading up to the bedrooms, and sank down on the bottom step, listening.
A moment later, Mom said in a shaky voice, “Where were you?”
“The party went long.” Phil’s voice sent heat roaring through my face, my neck. I hadn’t felt this way in months. I’d almost forgotten.
“You said you’d be home by eleven.”
“The CEO was there. What was I supposed to do, tell him I had somewhere better to be?”
“You could have called me. Did you see my texts and voice mails? I was worried!”
“Honey.” Phil’s voice dropped a notch. “Everything was going so fast, I didn’t have a chance. Let’s go get breakfast, hmm?”
“It’s 10:00 a.m.! The party went this whole time?”
There was a short silence. “Are you questioning me?”
“Well . . .” Mom’s voice was losing confidence.
“I’m getting tired of the jealousy, Sarah. You can always leave, if you don’t trust me.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and stepped out from the stairwell. “Yeah, Mom. Let’s leave. You heard him.” Phil’s head whipped around like I’d fired a shot. He was in a tux, looking like a fat, old, partied-out tool. The look on his face was pretty rich.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Getting my mom. We were just leaving, like you said. Because you’re a cheating asshole.” I was gambling big, putting everything on the table. It was up to Mom if I’d go bust or not.
For a moment there was silence. Phil looked at my mom with narrow eyes, two red spots burning on his cheeks.
“Gabe . . .” she said. I heard the answer in her voice. She was so weak. I knew I shouldn’t, but sometimes I hated her for it. She said nervously, “Let’s not start off on the wrong foot. Why doesn’t everybody sit down, and I’ll fix us some pancakes?”
“I’m not hungry,” Phil said smugly.
I already knew I’d lost, but I kept going. “Mom, come on. I have a plan. Don’t listen to his lies. Let’s go.”
Phil let out a half laugh. “A plan? Last time I checked, your plan was dropping out of school and running away to Vegas. Sarah, I’m sorry. All right? I’m sorry. Come here, honey.”
And she stepped into his arms.
I ran. Even though I was still dizzy, and I’d barely had enough coffee to wake up, I pounded up the stairs and scrambled to pull on clothes. I’d take a taxi to McCaw Hall and get my car and get back home to Vegas.
Mom had made her choice a long time ago.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
You’re a wreck,” said Nick, looking me up and down and frowning. “This is the thanks I get for letting you take off New Year’s?”
“Sorry,” I muttered. I’d driven another eighteen hours straight, gotten seven hours of sleep, and was back at work.
“Well, get it together. Drink some coffee. Put some water on your face or something.” Nick stalked off, hair gleaming under the bar lights.
Rob rolled his eyes and slid his rag down the bar. “What a prick.”
“No, he’s not,” April said. She was sitting at the bar, warming up with a cup of coffee before her shift. “He’s just under a lot of pressure.”
Rob and I looked at her like she was nuts. “Yes, he is,” we said at the same time.
April sipped her coffee. “You guys are too hard on him.”
Rob rolled his eyes. He’d shaved his head while I was gone, and somehow it made him look even bigger. “You do look kind of wiped out,” he told me. “Did you have a good trip?”
I shook my head. “My girlfriend and I got in a fight.” I poured myself another Coke. I was getting to a level of caffeine addiction where I had to drink about five to feel anything.
“Bummer, man,” Rob said not very sympathetically.
“What happened?” asked April.
“I messed up,” I said briefly. I didn’t really feel like replaying it. The whole thing made me so ashamed I wanted to crawl into a hole every time I thought of it.
April looked at Rob. “That means it’s embarrassing. Otherwise he’d tell us. Come on, Gabe, what happened?”
I ignored her.
Rob grinned. “He is embarrassed.”
After a pause, April said, “If you’re meant to be together, she’ll forgive you.”
“That’s deep,” said Rob. April threw a crumpled napkin at him.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I ripped it out while it was still vibrating. But it wasn’t Irina. It was Mom again. She was calling me every hour—she had been since I left—and every time, it got my hopes up that Irina was calling me back.
Rob’s eyebrows popped up. “That your girl?”
I shook my head.
“Man, you grabbed that thing like it was setting your pants on fire. Kind of whipped, aren’t you?”
April chuckled. “He’s definitely whipped. You should hear him talk about her.”
“Shut up,” I said.
Rob shrugged and went back to wiping. “Just don’t stalk her. One message, that’s it.”
“I left three.” I began to take warm glasses out of the washer and stack them.
Some customers floated in and Rob moved toward his end of the bar. “That’s stalking,” he called over his shoulder.
April pushed her empty cup toward me and stood up. “Don’t listen to him. You need to call a few times so she knows you care.”
I raised a hand good-bye as she headed for her cage. Then I leaned on the bar, ready to pass out, and watched a group of women in tight jeans dancing around a pile of purses. We called it “the Midwestern Purse Dance” because it was a sure sign of tourists. Rob was right about stalking. I’d been acting nothing but pathetic. I wasn’t calling her again.
It was one of those jinxed nights when nobody liked their drinks, and the hose broke and sprayed orange juice on a customer, and we kept running out of cherries because some drunk girl was eating them straight out of the fruit tray. Lars had the night off, and Nick was in top form, criticizing everything: how fast dirties piled up, how slow we were moving, and how the lime in his stupid Pellegrino was “as fresh as your grandmother.”
About halfway through the shift, Rob poured us shots of tequila and said, “To surviving this place.”
“To surviving,” I said. I was getting ready to knock it back when I heard, “Gabe.”
I lowered the glass and tried to stay cool as I turned around. Nick had sneaked up to the bar flap and was watching us. Rob proved he had elephant balls by winking at Nick and tossing back his tequila. “Rough night,” he explained.
But Nick didn’t seem to notice the shots. He was staring at me. “You have a phone call.”
At first I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What?” I said stupidly.
Nick opened the flap. “You have a phone call. You can take it in my office.”
I looked at Rob, who shrugged. Hope surged up in me. Irina? She was the only one who knew where I worked, so it had to be her. But why wouldn’t she call my cell? I wiped my hands on a towel and followed Nick past the dance floor, out of the club into the hallway of offices. It was quiet in there, except for the muffled bass and Nick’s shoes clicking on the floor.
He opened his office door. “It’s the flashing button. Don’t be long.”
I went in. The office was cold and smelled of stale cigars. The desk light was on, one of those steel lamps like a robot arm. I walked to Nick’s desk and stared at the sleek black cordless. Please let it be Irina. I picked up the phone and touched the red button. “Hello?”
“Gabe, don’t hang up,” said Mom.
I froze, my fingers choking the receiver. How—? Then I remembered: I saw a flash of me in bed, the washcloth on my forehead.
What’s the restaurant like? What’s it called again?
’S’called Hush. It’s nice.
“You can’t call me here!” I managed to say.
“You weren’t answering your phone! I have to talk to you.”
“Not right now! I can’t believe you called me here.”
“Honey, I just want to say I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, but you have to hear me out. I’ve been thinking about what happened with Phil, and I made a mistake. I—”
“I really can’t talk right now.” I tried to keep my voice under control. “I’ll call you later, okay? Please don’t call my work again.”
Out of Aces (Betting Blind #2) Page 11