calling her name. I’d hoped that maybe, just maybe she was here. But the place was empty.
There were three half eaten bowls of cat food on the floor. So I knew she’d been here at least. I pulled out my phone, calling her again.
The cat was winding it’s way around my legs when I heard it.
Her phone.
It was coming from the garbage can.
That’s when it hit me. She really was gone. She’d left. Cut ties.
But why?
And what the fuck was I going to do about it?
I bent down to scratch the silly cat’s ears.
“Where’d she go, huh? Do you know?”
If she’d left the cat behind, that meant she was going someplace she couldn’t take her. That didn’t really narrow things down much though. I put out fresh food and water and then I packed. While I did, I made some calls.
I called the school and asked if they knew. I called BB Smiths. She’d quit with no notice apparently. The manager sounded worried though, not pissed off. I even called Coach to ask him one more time what her exact words had been.
He told me to ‘get my head in the game and forget her.’
I hung up, feeling vaguely uneasy about Coach’s part in all of this.
I got into the limo they’d sent to get me to the airpot and fly me to Miami. I rubbed my neck, trying to figure out what to do. Then I called a private detective.
No way was she getting away from me that easy. Not without answers. Not without giving me a chance to prove that I deserved her.
That we deserved a real chance.
She’d run away before. That was her MO. Well, this time I wasn’t letting her off the hook.
I pulled out my wallet. I had a picture in there, folded up. It was a crumpled doodle I’d found on the back of a magazine.
The sketch was a man in profile. He was bent forward, his head tilted. Watching something with a sardonic look on his face.
Proud. Unimpressed. Arrogant.
It was me.
I knew she loved me the moment I saw that thing. That’s why I kept it. Not only was she damn good at drawing but she’d captured something in it that was so real, so sad, that it pierced my heart.
Come back to me Deanie.
Nadine
The steps were creaky, feeling like they might collapse at any time. The old house looked about the same. A little bit worse for wear maybe.
If that was possible.
I pushed the door open and looked around. It looked like a tornado had hit it. A drunk, mean spirited tornado.
I was back.
“Hi Mom.”
She stared at me bleary eyed from the sofa. I’d almost missed her in all the junk. Her ugly old bathrobe was patterned, making her blend nicely with the surroundings.
Camouflage. That was smart around here.
“Where’s Steve?”
“Deanie!”
She moved surprisingly quick for a mean old drunk. She wrapped her arms around me, stronger than she looked. I could smell the reek of stale cigarets and malt liquor. I held perfectly still, waiting for the rare fit of motherly love to pass.
It always did.
“I thought you were dead girl! My girl, my beautiful baby!”
She grabbed my cheeks and I flinched. Her eyes were full of ecstatic glee. She looked high.
I wondered if she’d graduated from weed and booze and pills to something harder. Not that it made a difference. I just needed a place to stay for a little while.
I was already realizing this was a mistake. I should have just found a motel somewhere. Anywhere but here.
I’d been so broken that I’d actually thought this was a good idea.
Her hands were on my book bag, tugging at it.
“Whatchu got here?”
“Nothing. It’s mine.”
“How you afford all this? You whoring?”
I felt the bile rise in my throat. Of course that’s what she would think. Of course.
My own mother assumed I was a whore.
I shook my head.
“No mom. Can I stay here for a few weeks? Just till I figure out where to go?”
She stared at me blankly. Then I saw her wheels start to spin. What would Steve say? How could she get at my stuff? What was in it for her?
“Gotta ask Steve.”
I sighed.
“It’s
There were three half eaten bowls of cat food on the floor. So I knew she’d been here at least. I pulled out my phone, calling her again.
The cat was winding it’s way around my legs when I heard it.
Her phone.
It was coming from the garbage can.
That’s when it hit me. She really was gone. She’d left. Cut ties.
But why?
And what the fuck was I going to do about it?
I bent down to scratch the silly cat’s ears.
“Where’d she go, huh? Do you know?”
If she’d left the cat behind, that meant she was going someplace she couldn’t take her. That didn’t really narrow things down much though. I put out fresh food and water and then I packed. While I did, I made some calls.
I called the school and asked if they knew. I called BB Smiths. She’d quit with no notice apparently. The manager sounded worried though, not pissed off. I even called Coach to ask him one more time what her exact words had been.
He told me to ‘get my head in the game and forget her.’
I hung up, feeling vaguely uneasy about Coach’s part in all of this.
I got into the limo they’d sent to get me to the airpot and fly me to Miami. I rubbed my neck, trying to figure out what to do. Then I called a private detective.
No way was she getting away from me that easy. Not without answers. Not without giving me a chance to prove that I deserved her.
That we deserved a real chance.
She’d run away before. That was her MO. Well, this time I wasn’t letting her off the hook.
I pulled out my wallet. I had a picture in there, folded up. It was a crumpled doodle I’d found on the back of a magazine.
The sketch was a man in profile. He was bent forward, his head tilted. Watching something with a sardonic look on his face.
Proud. Unimpressed. Arrogant.
It was me.
I knew she loved me the moment I saw that thing. That’s why I kept it. Not only was she damn good at drawing but she’d captured something in it that was so real, so sad, that it pierced my heart.
Come back to me Deanie.
Nadine
The steps were creaky, feeling like they might collapse at any time. The old house looked about the same. A little bit worse for wear maybe.
If that was possible.
I pushed the door open and looked around. It looked like a tornado had hit it. A drunk, mean spirited tornado.
I was back.
“Hi Mom.”
She stared at me bleary eyed from the sofa. I’d almost missed her in all the junk. Her ugly old bathrobe was patterned, making her blend nicely with the surroundings.
Camouflage. That was smart around here.
“Where’s Steve?”
“Deanie!”
She moved surprisingly quick for a mean old drunk. She wrapped her arms around me, stronger than she looked. I could smell the reek of stale cigarets and malt liquor. I held perfectly still, waiting for the rare fit of motherly love to pass.
It always did.
“I thought you were dead girl! My girl, my beautiful baby!”
She grabbed my cheeks and I flinched. Her eyes were full of ecstatic glee. She looked high.
I wondered if she’d graduated from weed and booze and pills to something harder. Not that it made a difference. I just needed a place to stay for a little while.
I was already realizing this was a mistake. I should have just found a motel somewhere. Anywhere but here.
I’d been so broken that I’d actually thought this was a good idea.
Her hands were on my book bag, tugging at it.
“Whatchu got here?”
“Nothing. It’s mine.”
“How you afford all this? You whoring?”
I felt the bile rise in my throat. Of course that’s what she would think. Of course.
My own mother assumed I was a whore.
I shook my head.
“No mom. Can I stay here for a few weeks? Just till I figure out where to go?”
She stared at me blankly. Then I saw her wheels start to spin. What would Steve say? How could she get at my stuff? What was in it for her?
“Gotta ask Steve.”
I sighed.
“It’s
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