Small Town Famous (The Small Town Trilogy Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Don’t forget…
June 1986
June 1996
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgments
Small Town Famous
The Small Town Trilogy
Alison Ryan
Copyright © 2017 by Alison Ryan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Don’t forget…
1. June 1986
2. June 1996
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Acknowledgments
Don’t forget…
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THE SMALL TOWN TRILOGY is an ongoing story with the conclusion coming in the third book. Hope you enjoy it!
“In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” –Albert Camus
1
June 1986
“A bad check always returns,” said Grandma.
She stood next to me on her porch watching the white K car creep up her winding driveway. I was six years old and my birthday had been the previous day. Pink and purple streamers still hung from the porch fans.
“Who is that, Grandma?”
“It’s your momma.”
I looked at the car as it slowed to a stop.
The man behind the wheel was very dark. When he walked up to the porch with my momma’s bags he smiled. Perfect teeth. He had an afro and long fingernails. I couldn’t stop staring. He had the most beautiful skin I have ever seen since.
“You must be Annie. I’ve brought your mother back to you, little one.” He stood and nodded at my grandma who acted as if she didn’t see him. She was looking at my mother.
Momma. The first time I saw her was that day on the porch. She had left very soon after giving birth to me. Soon meaning she still had the stitches from her c-section when she climbed out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night. I imagine myself sleeping soundly in my crib, not even realizing I was being abandoned.
No one ever told me why she left. Grandma and Granddaddy had taken care of me, giving me everything I could need. My birthday party had been attended by my entire Kindergarten class. Grandma had gotten me a pair of jelly shoes. I was wearing them that day on the porch. They made my feet sweaty. Thick buttercream frosting still sat on my mind. I had been thinking of my leftover birthday cake sitting in the fridge when we noticed the car coming up.
She was tall, reed like. She wore a long, wispy skirt and brown sandals that looked like they were made out of twigs and grass, they were so dainty. Her blouse was loose and flowing and her arms were covered in silver bangles. Her hair was long and thin, the color of the bark on our dogwood tree and it hung down her shoulders almost to her waist. She had on sunglasses and a large smile. She threw her arms out and yelped.
“I’m home, baby! Hi, Momma! Did y’all get my letter?” Her arms still out, she walked forward, still grinning. The man had gone back to the car. He watched from the driver’s side as she approached me.
I was aware she was my momma and although I had wanted for nothing in her absence, I still prayed for her return since last spring when my pre-school had their Parent’s Day and I had no one to come. Granddaddy came but everyone knew he wasn’t my parent, he walked with a cane and wore Velcro shoes.
I was confused. She was not as I imagined. She didn’t dress like the mothers I had seen. They wore sensible khaki shorts with pleats and espadrilles. The mothers I had been around spoke in soft, placating voices. They were gentle and kind and concerned, even when you weren’t their own. This woman was exotic and terrifying. She stood before me, her arms no longer reaching out, instead twirling her hair around her long fingers like a girl. She didn’t seem like a momma at all.
I hugged my grandma’s thighs and began to cry. My mother froze. She looked at my grandma for assistance but was met with a cool glance.
The man that brought her took this as his cue. Without a goodbye he climbed into his car and was gone.
That night I sat in the bathtub hugging my wet knees while Grandma washed my hair. This was always my favorite part of the night, sitting in the bathtub while her withered hands massaged my tender scalp. That night we were silent. We were thinking the same things, I could feel it. The scent of Pert Plus and Irish Spring soothed me. I knew Grandma could handle whatever came next.
We had gotten her letter, almost three months ago. It was vague and made no mention of when my mother would be returning only that she was thinking about it. The postmark said it was mailed from Miami. My grandma told me that was in Florida, near the beach.
“Near Virginia Beach?” I asked.
“No, farther south than that. Where they grow the oranges.”
“Myrtle Beach?” Those were the only two beaches I knew.
“No, baby. Farther.”
“Oh. Why is she there? Why isn’t she here?”
“I ask that question to myself all the time, sweet girl,” Grandma pointed to the floor in front of her, “Come here, let me braid your hair.”
The gentle tugging of her braiding and the hum of my granddaddy watching the local news in the other room lulled me into a sleep. Grandma would laugh that I could fall asleep sitting up like that, she said I got that from Momma.
“What do I get from my daddy?” I asked.
“Hopefully more than what you get from your mother,” she would say, patting her finished work, “Let’s go make some supper, okay? Granddaddy is hungry.”
After dinner I pulled on my nightshirt and crawled into bed. I wasn’t sleepy. I was curious, nervous. Would my momma love me? Would she be disappointed and leave again? Where was Daddy? There were so many questions that no one had ever been able to answer.
I could hear her and Grandma talking through the vents in my room. It didn’t sound friendly. I could hear the restraint in Grandma’s voice. A sitcom buzzed in the living room and I could hear the sound of Granddaddy’s recliner being pulled out. He always stayed out of things.
“Momma, the point is, I came back. I’ve changed. I’ve come to realizations,” my own mother said.
“That’s not the point. You don’t just leave a child like you did and come back thinking there won’t be things to ans
wer for. I’ve gotten five letters and one phone call total from you since the day you left! With all my jewelry I might add,” Grandma was flicking her lighter. She only smoked when she was stressed.
A pause.
“Momma. I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back every cent I took. I’ll do whatever you and Daddy want me to do,” I could hear the small screech of a kitchen chair being pulled out, “I just want to make it all right. I don’t expect it to be an instant thing. I thought of y’all all the time… Especially Addie. She’s my daughter.”
A chuckle. I could hear Grandma exhaling, “How touching. ‘She’s my daughter.’ You threw her away like she was nothing. You crept out the window like some kind of… You were cowardly.”
My stomach dropped. I felt so sick all of a sudden.
“That’s not fair! I was only nineteen! I was young and impulsive and stupid. I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I didn’t throw her away. I left her with people I knew could take care of her.” I heard the tears in my mother’s voice.
“I feel like shit about it, ok? Is that what you want to hear? That I screwed up? Well, here I am, Momma! Letting you know that I know what a horrible person I am.”
“You’re still young and impulsive,” Grandma exhaled again, “But you’ve never been stupid, Naomi.”
A tickle in my throat caused me to cough. I covered my mouth. The walls were thin, the vents everywhere. There were no secrets inside this house.
They had heard me. I heard the backdoor swung open and banged shut. I would hear no more confessions and regrets that night. I looked down and noticed I was twirling my hair with my fingers.
2
June 1996
We’d been driving for days in a Chrysler LeBaron that I am not positive we actually owned. My mother had smoked at least eight packs of Benson & Hedges and I’d drank at least two packs of Pepsi by the time we got to Rutledgeville, Virginia.
“Good Lord, I am sick of this damn car,” I said as I stretched my arms and legs at the Chevron around the corner from my grandma’s house.
“Not as sick of it as me. These are the times I wish you had your driver’s license.” My mother pushed the door shut with her rear as two doughy men at the pump next to us stared.
“You didn’t seem to care about me having a license when you let me drive back there in New Mexico.” I smirked as I slipped my flip flops on, “That was fun.”
“Let’s not mention it again, shall we? Although I did appreciate it, baby. Momma was so tired.” She pulled out her lighter and I yanked it away from her before she could make a move with it.
“Might not be the smartest idea to light up near flammables. Besides, we’re two minutes from the house, she’ll smell it all over you.”
My mother pouted, “I don’t care. I’m thirty-two years old. I can do what I want.”
“Ha. Keep telling yourself that. And you’re thirty-four.”
Mom flipped me off as she sashayed into the convenience store. Lovely.
I pulled out the gas nozzle and waited for the attendant to turn the pump on. The doughy men were staring at me now, making me uncomfortable. I wondered if they had daughters of their own and how they would feel if they were being stared down by a couple of creeps at a gas station. Momma liked this kind of attention. I hated it.
As the gas started flowing through the nozzle into the car I think about Grandma. She’s the reason we’re finally back for good. Mom had been vague on the details, but I knew it couldn’t be great news. There’s very little I could think of that would make my mother come back to Rutledgeville, or the “Rut” as she called it.
It had been just Mom and me since I was seven and she convinced Grandma and Granddaddy to let her take me to live in North Carolina. It took two years since returning back to gain a little bit of their trust. They said it sounded okay since North Carolina wasn’t so far. They insisted on her bringing me back to Rutledgeville at least once a month or so. I can still feel the hug around my neck Grandma gave me the day we left.
I wouldn’t see her again for two years.
We didn’t go to North Carolina. We were in Texas three days later. I remember being terrified. I felt like I was being kidnapped, which in a way I was. Mom wouldn’t let me call Grandma for almost two weeks once we got to Dallas. Our first phone call was full of tears even though my mother was next to me trying to script me, telling me to tell Grandma I was so happy in Dallas, that I loved my new school, that Mom loved her new job as a paralegal.
Grandma was livid. She threatened to call the police. But it was no use and she knew it. There had never been any sort of adoption or even a legal custodial arrangement made in Virginia. I think my Grandma never figured Mom would come back.
My mother was not a paralegal and I did not like my new school. Mom danced at a place called The Alibi and I suffered through the second grade. The girls in Texas all wore different clothes than me. Mom bought all my stuff at Goodwill and all her dancer “uniforms” at a store I wasn’t allowed to go in with her. She couldn’t afford Keds so I took blue sharpie and drew small squares on the heels of my Kmart rip offs. The kids crucified me for that one. My stomach hurt all day. Momma had to pour Pepto down my throat every morning to get me out the door and on my way.
My mother didn’t join the PTA. I did my homework in the back of our station wagon while she danced. She would check on me on her breaks. We would be home by midnight. I shared a double bed with her at a weekly motel unless we were shacking up with one of her boyfriends.
This lasted until I was in seventh grade. That’s when she got the idea to move to Vegas. She had heard from her dancer friends that Vegas was where the biggest bucks were and Mom had a few people in town she wanted to get away from. We packed up in the middle of the night and left. I was happy enough with this, especially since I was supposed to have a math test the next day which I hadn’t studied for. I slept while she hummed to the Bluegrass station.
I had visited Grandma and Granddaddy about four times since I left them. Always on their dime, of course. I would stay with them for a couple weeks on my summer breaks and they would take me to Myrtle Beach where we would get sun tans and read thick paper backs all day. On our last night we always went to a seafood restaurant and stuffed our faces with all-you-can-eat shrimp.
I was always sad to leave them.
We were in Vegas a year when Granddaddy died. It was the first funeral I had ever been to and it was horrible. Grandma and Mom got in a fight and we left three days sooner than we were supposed to. I wasn’t allowed to come back to visit Grandma for a year. I was so angry at Mom for that. All I could think about was how much Grandma needed us.
My mother seemed to have a problem with her for a reason I didn’t understand. I never asked. She wouldn’t have told me the truth anyway. Such was her way.
Vegas was alright. I made friends with the girls on my street. We rode our bikes and bought tamales from a man that sold them out of his cooler on the corner. School was better than Texas because everyone shopped at Goodwill, not just me, so it was one less thing to get shit for. Mom made great money working at The Diamond Club down on Paradise near the airport. We had a lot more stuff and I had my own room for once with posters of Jonathan Taylor Thomas all over the wall. It wasn’t so bad.
Life was dramatic at times, because that’s the only way my mother thrived. But all in all, Vegas had been good to us.
On my last day of tenth grade Mom got a phone call that made her face go white. For the next few days she was on the phone constantly. She barely worked. I caught her staring into the void a lot. I would snap my fingers at her and she would smile and ask me to get her a cigarette.
The next week I came back from my friend Marisol’s and Mom was packing up a car I had never seen before. Until that morning we drove a very large, black SUV. Sitting in our driveway now was an old Chrysler LeBaron and she was dumping a laundry basket full of my clothes into the trunk of it.
“Kicking me out already? I thought I had until
at least eighteen. Thanks for the car though,” I said as Marisol’s mom drove away. Mom looked up at me like she was surprised to see me.
“Oh, I thought you were spending the night at your friend’s. No, we’ve got to get out of here. Some stuff has happened,” she started walking fast back to the house. I followed her in pissed off pursuit.
“What do you mean? What happened? Do you owe Russell money? You’ve been so weird the last few days, is this what it’s about?” Russell was Mom’s boss and kind-of boyfriend.
She was in her room now stuffing shoes into a suitcase, “No, I don’t owe him money but I had to give him the truck back. He wouldn’t let me take it to Virginia since I can’t tell him when we’ll be back.” She went to her closet and started pulling clothes off the hangers.
“Virginia? We’re going back to Grandma’s?” I sat on the edge of her bed which was stripped of the bedding. It was all piled up in the middle of it.
Her voice was muffled from the closet, “Yeah. It’s a lot to explain, I just gotta get us packed up as much as I can. Cristy’s going to stay here until I figure out what’s what.”
“Well… What is what? Why are we leaving?”
She didn’t answer me and I could hear that she wasn’t moving around in the closet.
“Mom? What is going on?”
“I don’t know how to tell you. Let me think.” I could hear the hangers being pushed around.
“Just tell me! You’re freaking me out!”