Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Caroline
“I’m tired, Mom.” I hear from beside me as we sit on the bus, making our way home. To say that today has been a giant disappointment is the understatement of the year. “Are we almost there yet?” he asks, putting his head on my shoulder, and I just nod, looking outside.
The two-hour commute has turned into almost three hours and counting since the first bus broke down, and then it took over thirty minutes to fix. “We should be home soon,” I say, trying to keep the defeat from my voice.
When we are finally walking up the stairs, I’m ready to collapse on the couch. Opening the door, the heat hits you right away. The thickness of the humidity makes it hard for you to even breathe. “Why don’t you get in the shower, and I’ll start making dinner.”
“Okay, Mom,” he says, dumping his new hockey bag by the door and walking into the bathroom.
I walk over to the window in the corner and open it up, not sure if it is going to help.
When I finally pull the thick wooden window up, a slight breeze comes in.
Tying my hair up, I walk to the bedroom and strip out of my jeans, the thick envelope I got at the end of the day heavy in my back pocket.
Taking it out, I open it and sit on the bed.
Being summoned to the boss’s office fifteen minutes before the end of your shift never has a good outcome.
Walking in and looking at him not making eye contact with you was a second alert.
Starting the sentence with I’m so sorry was what cemented what I knew was coming.
Hours have to be cut and the last one in usually takes the brunt of it.
Even though I’d been there for over six months, I was the last one in.
A tear escapes my eye, making it hard to stop the other tear that comes after.
Putting my hands over my face, I let the disappointment run through me.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. Usually when something is running smoothly is when it turns to shit shortly after.
I was finally able to see a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel but then with me getting fired and getting a two-week severance, the light is now covered in black.
I have no idea what I’m going to do. I called Karla right away and asked her if she had more cleaning shifts at the motel, and even though I was almost begging, all she had was my regular weekend shifts.
Tonight after Dylan goes to bed, I’ll take out all my papers and see how I will stretch this last check.
The water turns off, and I tuck the letter and the jeans in the drawer and go over to the stove and start frying eggs.
We have three eggs left, so I make two for Dylan and slip the last two slices of bread in the toaster.
I would also have to go down to the church and see if I can get anything from their emergency fund.
I open the fridge and go to grab a slice of cheese and realize I don’t have any left.
Instead, I grab the small container of ham that I bought last week and take out a couple of pieces and fry it in the pan with the eggs.
The bread pops up, and I grab the little bit of margarine I have left just as the bathroom door opens.
“I’m done,” he says, coming out, and this time, all he’s wearing is his boxer briefs, knowing it’s too hot for anything else.
“Just in time,” I say over my shoulder, grabbing a plate and putting his eggs on them and the ham, cutting the bread in half. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Mom,” he says, and I wait for him to eat before cracking open of the last eggs for myself. He looks up at me. “Why aren’t you eating?”
“I had a big lunch,” I say, thinking of the lunch bag Justin left in the car.
It was actually a chicken club sandwich with a bag of chips and even a drink.
“Do you want more?” I ask him, and he just shakes his head.
I turn back around and think about breakfast in the morning.
Knowing I don’t have much left, I put the last egg in the fridge for him tomorrow.
“Can I watch some videos on your phone?” he asks, and I nod my head, thankful we can get free Wi-Fi.
“But not for too long. You have a big day tomorrow,” I say, and he nods his head and goes into the bedroom.
I clean the little kitchen, my mind going around and around, thinking of everything.
I’m not even working on plan B; I’m working on plan C, and then I’m working on worst-case scenarios.
The thought of the two of us having to move again is making me sick.
There is no way I can find another apartment as cheap as this for what we get.
I know it isn’t much, but at least it’s clean.
The other places we found were roach-infested or in an even seedier part of town.
I finish cleaning with tears streaming down my face. I wipe the tears when I finish and then splash some cold water on my face. Walking to the bedroom, I see he’s already sleeping, so I grab the phone from the bed and see that I have a text message.
Justin: Where are you?
I don’t answer him. Instead, I close the window just a bit and get into the shower.
After peeling off my tank top, I step under the cold water, but the pressure is nonexistent.
My eyes burn from all the tears, and when they finally stop, I get out.
After putting on the same clothes, I open the bathroom door and check on Dylan, who is sleeping like a starfish.
I walk over to the drawer and take out the white loose-leaf paper I’ve been working on for five years now.
I walk to the table with it in my hand, my arm feeling like it’s carrying a thousand pounds.
I walk over and turn on the faucet to fill a glass of water, and for once, I wish it was something stronger.
Walking to the bedroom, I grab my phone and see that five more texts have come through, but I don’t even want to read them.
I sit at the little brown table that isn’t steady since one leg is a touch shorter than the other. Unfolding the white paper that is starting to be yellow, I make sure not to tear it where the creases are.
On the top of the page in the middle is Debt list, and under it is the amount I still owe: $17,405.
That is what I still have to pay to the five credit cards that Andrew took out in my name that have been closed and sent into collections, and no matter how sorry they feel for me, they can’t do anything about it.
The interest will go up now that I will have to stop the payments.
Rubbing my head, I ignore the ringing phone, looking up just in time to catch Justin’s name.
I shake my head and decline the call. I had actually put it on airplane mode before, but Dylan must have turned it off while he was watching videos.
It rings again, and I just take a deep sigh and decline it.
When it happens four more times, I’m about to decline it again when I hear a soft knock on the door.
I get up, not even sure who it could be, and when I open it slowly, Justin’s standing there.
“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get in touch with you?
” he asks me and storms right into my apartment.
I stand here with the door in my hand. He turns to face me, and I have to take him in.
His hat is finally off, and you see his long black hair on the top but then short on the sides.
“I have been calling and calling. I swear I was about to contact the hospitals.”
“What are you doing here?” Is the only thing that I can say. “How did you know which apartment I lived in?”
“You filled it out on the application,” he says, and he looks around, and I have to wonder if he is judging me because of the apartment.
I know it’s not much, and his closet is probably the size of my whole apartment, but it’s clean, and it’s ours.
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” His eyes are now on mine, and I see that his jaw is tight.
“I didn’t get them,” I say, closing the door and closing my eyes before turning around and getting ready to lie out of my ass.
“Really?” he says, never once blinking. “So the four times I just called and you didn’t answer, you didn’t hear?”
“How …?” I ask, and he holds up his hand.
“I’ve been standing outside your door for the past thirty minutes,” he says. “I didn’t hear anything, so I called.” He puts his hands on his hips. “I thought something happened to you.”
“Well, as you can see, we are fine,” I say, ignoring the fact that my heart just skipped when he said he was worried about me.
I don’t think anyone has ever worried about me.
“So if that was all you came here for …” I’m about to tell him he can go when there is another knock on the door, and this time, it’s not soft like his was.
Suddenly, my neck starts to burn, and my heart beats faster for a whole different reason.
“Were you expecting someone?” he asks, and I just shake my head.
He must see that my hands are shaking when he walks past me and opens the door, coming face-to-face with a man who I knew it would be only a matter of time until he paid me another visit.
“Who are you?” he asks, and he makes my skin crawl.
I spot him dressed up in his usual camo pants and white T-shirt and a jean jacket.
He is wearing a jean jacket to probably hide the fact he has a gun tucked into the back of his pants.
He looks over Justin, spotting me, and calls my name. “Caroline.”
“Can I help you with something?” Justin says, and Vince laughs and looks down and then up.
“He isn’t here,” I say, walking to the door and trying to stand in front of Justin, but he puts his arm out and stops me from standing in front of him.
“Where is he?” Vince looks at me.
“I don’t know,” I say softly.
“He owes me five large,” he says, and I close my eyes. “Took off with some of my shit.”
“Well, he isn’t here,” I say again.
“That doesn’t help you,” Vince says.
“Well, I guess she tried,” Justin now says.
“This puts me in a difficult situation,” Vince says. “I’ll drop by tomorrow.” He turns and walks away, and I sigh that he didn’t say anything else. But now that he’s walked away, Justin closes the door.
“I’m sorry,” I say, walking to the table and picking up the glass of water that is shaking in my hand, “that you had to be here for that.” I turn and face him.
“What would have happened if I wasn’t here?” he asks, and I just look at him. “Say it,” he hisses out.
“I would have to come up with the money, which”—I throw my hands up—“is what I’m going to have to do anyway,” I say, and at that moment, I’ve never regretted anything more in my life.