Win for Love

by Isabelle Peterson

  I collect myself and am fully prepared for David to be polite and tell me that he’s just gonna go and let me take care of my mom. And when I get back to Chicago to give him a call, and maybe we’ll grab a bite to eat. But he doesn’t say a word. He pulls me into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around me. I inhale deeply, memorizing how he smells. How he feels. The sound of his heart beating in his chest. Everything I can imprint before he crushes me and says, ‘Goodbye.’ He kisses the top of my head and rests his cheek where his lips had just been.

  “So!” my mother says, making a grand entrance as grand as she can be two sheets to the wind. She’s scrubbed her face and brushed her hair, but her eyes are still red and blotchy. I also notice that she’s spritzed herself with perfume and tugged her shirt down to expose a bit of cleavage. Really, Mom?

  “Sorry, cutie-pie. What did you say your name wazz?”

  She is not flirting with my boyfriend, is she?

  “Ms. Jameson, I’m David Waterston. Your daughter is a remarkable woman. You must be so proud.” I do note with a plummeting dread that while I introduced him a few minutes ago as my boyfriend, he simply called me Sheryl’s daughter—not his girlfriend.

  “My Cryztalll has always been so smart.”

  “Smart, and kind, and funny, and so beautiful.”

  Is he talking about me?

  “Where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink?” Mom ambles to the kitchen, but doesn’t quite make it there because she trips on… I don’t know, really. Nothing was in her path. But she’s all laid out on her face.

  David and I are both at her sides helping her up.

  “Well, aren’t I all red faced and with two left feet?” she says, trying to make a joke out of an embarrassing situation.

  David pulls a chair out from the table, and we sit her in one of the yellow and chrome chairs.

  “I’m fine, Ms. Jameson. Really. I don’t need anything,” David says graciously.

  “Well, I think I could use a drink after that tumble.”

  Mom tries to stand up, but David stops her. “I’ll get you something. Sit tight.”

  David heads to the kitchen, and I cringe as he strides into the mess of a kitchen to open the fridge. What will he find? Is there moldy food in there? Is there anything at all?

  Before I can intervene in David’s exploration of our abysmal kitchen, Mom pulls my arm down and in a whisper that might as well just have been her normal voice, says, “He’s cute.”

  All I can do is respond with a tight smile.

  “Are you keeping him happy?” she asks in the same voice, her boozy breath washing over my face. “You know, in bed,” she elaborates while grabbing her own boobs as if I would have missed what she was talking about.

  “Mom. Please. Not now.”

  David squats down and hands her a can of Mountain Dew. I smile knowing it’s Jude’s. “I wasn’t sure which cupboard has the glasses,” he says sheepishly.

  Mom takes the can from David, batting her eyelashes at him. She really can’t help herself from flirting, can she? “You’re a darling. Know what goes great with Mountain Dew?” she asks.

  “I can’t imagine,” he says, and I don’t think he could. I wonder if David’s ever drank the overly sweet and neon-colored drink.

  “Tequila. There’s a liquor store just down the stre—”

  “No, Mom. You don’t need any more alcohol. You were sober. Almost two months.”

  “Oh, you know how it goes,” she says, waving me off. “Besides. It’s Monday! Mondays suck.”

  Monday? It’s Friday. How smashed is she?

  Somehow, I find the strength. I always do when it comes to my mom because deep down, I love her. She’s just a lost soul. A victim of alcohol.

  “Mom? How about you sleep this one off? I don’t think Gerry is coming.”

  “Gerry? Who’s he? Gary shouldn’t find out. He might get upset.”

  “Sorry, Gary. I don’t think he—”

  “Wait until you meet him. He does this thing…” she looks at me suggestively, then ‘lowers’ her voice to that not-so-whispery whisper and says, “And he’s huge.”

  She goes to stand up and doesn’t have her bearings and starts to topple over. David, with lightning-quick reflexes, catches her, so she doesn’t fall on her face, again.

  “Whoopsie-daisy!” she squeals. “Oooh,” she says with surprise, her hands on David’s chest. She moves her paws to his arms and says, “Someone spends time in the gym.”

  “Mother!” I snap. She whips her head to me, surprised that I’ve taken such a tone with her. I march over to her and wedge myself under her arm. “You’re going to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “Well, well,” she huffs.

  I glance at David, but his expression is unreadable, or at least so many things being said on his face, I can’t determine what he is feeling.

  Anxiety? Absolutely.

  Sadness? Some.

  Pity? Probably.

  Mom wants to fight me as I escort her to her room, but her coordination is shot. Fortunately, for me, she’s not one of those strong and angry drunks—she’s just a slutty and emotional drunk.

  DAVID

  When Talia turns into her mother’s bedroom, I fall back into the creaky wooden chair just behind me.

  I look around the dingy rooms and can’t imagine Talia living here. She’s so put together. Her apartment is immaculate.

  Slowly, I’m piecing together the amazing woman who is the love of my life. I completely understand why she’s so frugal with her winnings. There are two kinds of people when it comes to financial windfalls—those who spend like crazy and those who hold on tighter.

  The condition of this place must reflect Talia’s mother, and that makes me sad.

  When Talia told me that her mother was an alcoholic, the vision I’d assembled in my mind didn’t match what I witnessed tonight. Talia’s mother was, yes, a drunk, but something behind her eyes spoke of so much more. She was a tortured woman, a tortured woman in the deathly grip of a disease. And the compassion that her daughter holds for her, so evident and pure, is inspiring.

  Watching Talia’s shame over her childhood home and mother was painful. I wanted nothing more than to swoop in and handle it all. I wanted to toss Sheryl in the back of Chip’s rental car and drive her straight away to the nearest rehab facility—a residential treatment program where she’ll dry out and get the therapy she needs. Talia said her mother was in AA, but that this wasn’t the first time.

  I wonder about Talia’s brother, Jude. Isn’t he supposed to be here? I’m no lawyer, but I can’t help but wonder about the parameters of his parole.

  “You… You’re still here?” Talia sputtered, coming back to the kitchen-dining-living room.

  “Where else would I go?” I ask softly, my heart breaking for her. This can’t be easy for her—me witnessing all of this.

  “I… I thought. You don’t have to stay. I understand.” Her face is bright red, and her eyes are glassy as if she’s about to cry.

  I can see her as she tries to hold it all in—so strong and stoic. In an instant, I’m standing in front of her and pull her into my arms resting my chin on her head. I love how she fits so perfectly against my body.

  “Why on earth would I leave? You don’t think I’m here out of pity, do you? Because I’m not.”

  Her body starts to shake, “I think… thought… Well, I mean. I know I’m probably not what… what you’re looking for. Now that you know the full story. All of my… skeletons,” she hiccups through sobs she’s trying to contain.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. “Sweetheart,” I say pulling her from my chest and crouching down some so I can be eye-to-eye with her. “I love you. I couldn’t care less where you came from, or if your mother is an alcoholic. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know.” Instantly, Jimmy comes to mind. “You have Jimmy’s heart, too, you know. You’re his child. And I’m sure you’ve pulled good qualities from your mother, t
oo.”

  At that, she breaks down. Tears freely stream down her face, and my heart breaks for her. I can’t imagine how she must be feeling.

  “You… you… lo… love me? Still? Even with all this?”

  “If it’s possible, I love you more because of all this.” She looks up at me, confusion crinkling her forehead. “You are strong. And smart. It would be so easy to let your situation define who you are. You didn’t follow in the footsteps of your mother. You saw beyond here and the lure of booze to numb how you feel. You’ve kept your head on straight. You finished high school and took classes at the community college. You’re doing what I’m sure many in this situation would have wanted to do, but weren’t strong enough. Or lucky enough.”

  “My mom always said, ‘You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl.’ And when I won the money, I up and left. Like I’m better than my neighbors. And I left my mom here. Doesn’t that make me a coward? Isn’t the trailer park still a part of me?”

  “I’m glad they can’t take the trailer park out of the girl,” I reply simply. Again, she looks at me, baffled. “You wouldn’t be you without your experiences. It’s what gives you the greatest compassion. It’s what gives you a wider vision of what is possible. Your lottery winnings have given you the other side of the coin, and you’re sensible about it.”

  My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. “Hang on,” I tell Talia and fish my phone out. As I suspected, it’s Chip wondering what’s going on. “Mind if I stay here with you tonight?” I ask Talia.

  “Here?” she squeaks.

  “If you don’t want me to…”

  “It’s not that I don’t want you to, I’m just surprised that you are asking. I only have a twin-size bed.”

  I pull her into my arms, nice and tight. “Good.”

  I text Chip quickly telling him to go ahead and find a local hotel and to return in the morning.

  35

  Help

  DAVID

  I wake before Talia with her firmly spooned in my arms on the impossibly small twin-size bed which reminds me of my days back in boarding school and college.

  In the early morning light, I survey her childhood bedroom. I note that the room is not only tiny but crammed into the limited space is a small dresser, dilapidated desk, and bookcase along with the bed taking up almost all of the rest of the floor space with barely a foot on the left side of the bed and only two feet on the right and at the foot. The room can’t be any larger than my walk-in closet. Other aspects of the room break my heart like the water stain in the ceiling and the lack of a closet door. Then there are amazing things on her bookshelves that make me grin. Math trophies and honor roll certificates. I can see where she must have had her book collection all lined up. I try to imagine a younger Talia sitting at the desk in the corner with its small task light and lopsided drawers.

  “Don’t look too closely, okay?” she mutters.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head.

  “I wasn’t really sleeping.” She stretches and turns in my arms to face me.

  “Cute room.”

  “You’re weird,” she tells me while rolling her eyes.

  “And I never knew you were so decorated.”

  I flick my eyes to her award shelf, and she shakes her head.

  “I don’t know why I hung on to those.”

  “Hey, there’s something to be said for a spelling bee and math champ. Don’t you dare discount those. I can’t spell for shit. I’d be dead if it weren’t for spell-check.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” she says, pinning me with her ethereal blue eyes.

  “Ask Mrs. Edgars, my high school English teacher,” I tell her, holding my hand up like a boy scout.

  I hear a faint noise like a chainsaw.

  “Is someone doing yard work?” I ask, straining to hear the noise more accurately.

  “That’s my mother,” she says, shaking her head at me, and chuckling when my eyes bug out of my head. “Thank you,” she says softly.

  “For what?”

  “For staying. For being so… you.”

  “Like I said last night, no other place I’d rather be. I want to be here for you.”

  I hug her tightly and kiss the side of her head. All of this close contact with Talia has my dick all excited, and I do what I can to will the boner away. I don’t think an early morning romp is what Talia is hoping for. I spot a baseball bat next to her bed. “Did you play little league?” I ask.

  She turns her head to look at the aluminum bat.

  “That’s my fancy security system,” she says, turning back into my arms, her eyes not meeting mine and a tight smile on her lips.

  “I’m sorry.” I pull her tightly to me and wish like hell I could make her feel comfortable with any of this.

  “It is what it is, right?” she says with a deep breath. “Coffee?”

  CRYSTAL

  After I check on my mom and wash out the bucket she puked in last night, I make breakfast, which is nothing more than a pot of cheap coffee and toast with strawberry jam, for David and me while my mom continues to sleep. Over the meager meal, which David acts as if it’s a five- star spread, he suggests a residential alcohol treatment program for my mom. He explains the merits of that type of program, and it sounds wonderful.

  “But, I don’t know how she’d feel about that,” I tell him. My mom is nothing if she’s not proud, even as an alcoholic. Not to mention that I don’t have the medical insurance I once had from my job, and I’m not sure I can cover the cost with my lottery winnings.

  “Let me pay for it,” David says as if he’s reading my mind.

  “You don’t—”

  “Tal. I want to. I want your mother to be better, so you can stop feeling so guilty. And I want her to be better as much for her future as for yours.”

  Is this guy for real?

  36

  Meeting Everyone Else

  CRYSTAL

  Getting my mom to embrace the idea of the residential treatment program was a lot easier than I’d thought it would be. It might have had something to do with me letting David do the pitching. He’s so gorgeous, I swear he could sell sawdust to a lumber mill. After he was done telling my mother about the program he’d found online last night, even I wanted to check in.

  David makes some calls and pulls some strings, and around noon on Saturday, we’re checking Sheryl Jameson into the Bronze Creek Hospital near the University of Illinois, hungover and still reeking of stale alcohol but wanting help at the same time. We learn that while in the program, every day she will go to classes. She will have therapy, both individual and group sessions throughout the week. And she’ll be offered other outlets to express her feelings be it sports and fitness, art, or music therapy.

  Before we leave the beautiful, sprawling country-club-like campus, Mom asks us to head back to the house and empty the bottle she’d left on the counter last night. We assure her that we will, and I tell her I’ll be back on Thursday for the family session. I also tell her that I’ll do my best to get Jude to come up.

  Back in Chip’s car, I curl into David’s side, a deep sense of relief coursing through my body knowing that my mother is in a safe place.

  At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I whisper, “Thank you.”

  Silently, he kisses the top of my head. I love that he knows I don’t want to talk and just lets me express my gratitude, and he doesn’t brush off all that he’s done for my mom and me.

  We head back to the trailer park in the dark and silence listening only to the sound of the road and cool jazz playing on the car’s stereo. I am hopeful that this program is just what my mom needs. I also wonder where in the hell Jude is and what he’s up to.

  No sooner had we gotten back to Lot 242, David and I planning the attack on cleaning up the disaster, when the door opens. It’s Jude!

  His dark brown hair is on the shor
t side from the shoulder-length locks I’m used to seeing him sport, apparently still growing out from his time in jail. His facial hair has all grown back in. He’d looked so strange when I visited him once when he was on the inside, short hair and clean shaven. But his eyes are the most striking change. They’re clear and bright. My heart leaps to see that.

  I rush to the door screaming, “Jude!”

  “Crys-Talia!” he shouts when he spots me.

  Jude drops the bag of takeout on the table and scoops me up in his arms and whirls me in circles. Setting me down, he twirls me and hisses, “Day-um, girl! You look fuckin’ amazing! The big city really seems to agree with ya. Where’s Mom? Did she freak the fuck out when she saw you?”

  “You could say that.”

  David clears his throat. I reach my hand for David, and he strides over and stands next to me. “Jude, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, David. David, this is my brother, Jude.”

  “Oh, right, man. Shit. Sorry.” Jude steps forward and pushes his hand down the thigh of his grungy jeans, then shakes David’s hand.

  “It’s all good,” David replies graciously.

  Jude looks at the living room and mutters, “Shit. I can’t believe how fucking trashed this place is. I was just gone a week. We’ve been good about keeping this place clean.”

  “Yeah, where were you? Mom said you left.”

  “I was on a job for Brian, Candy’s brother. It was down in Carbondale. A week-long gig on a construction site. Sick money. But with the commuting time and shit… I got permission from my probation officer to stay there for the week. Brian covered the expenses. I would have been back yesterday, but the rain delayed us a day.”

  “You’re not going to Arizona?” I ask, remembering Mom’s version of what had happened.

  “Eventually, maybe, yeah. Just somewhere else. Not here. Brian said they have an opening in his operations down in Carbondale. It’s kinda hard to stay here with all the old pulls. I’d have to get it all in line with my probation officer, but I think it’s possible. I’m staying on the course, though. Staying clean. And busy. The good kind of busy, sis, I swear.”