After all, my own father didn’t want me.
“How’s your mother?” Liz asks apprehensively. She knows it’s a sensitive topic.
“She’s… fine.”
Liz nods slowly, understanding. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I don’t know what to say. It’s not like I can change my mom’s behavior. I accepted that a long time ago.
“Hey, listen,” she says softly, squeezing my bicep. “We could always use some extra help at the restaurant, if you have time. I know you’re busy with your lifeguard gig, but—”
“That would be great, actually,” I interrupt, maybe a little too eagerly. “I won’t get into the details, but… I could use the extra money.”
Liz gives me a tight smile. “Of course. You know, you could’ve just called us, if you wanted to pick up some shifts. We’re always happy to have you.”
I know she means it. The Owens are kind people, but I despise asking for help. I wouldn’t be agreeing to this if I weren’t so desperate.
“How soon can you start?” she asks.
“As soon as you need me.”
“Great. I’ll have Jim reach out to you about adding you on this week’s schedule, okay? We can work around your lifeguard hours,” she assures.
“Thanks, Liz.”
“Anytime, sweetheart. You know that,” she says, eyeing me sternly. “Take care.”
We hug again before Liz putters down the aisle, pushing her overflowing shopping cart.
I finish shopping and grab a few more items that qualify for food stamps. At the checkout, I swipe my Bridge Card, ignoring the dirty look I receive from the teenaged cashier. Maybe I imagined it, but I always feel judging eyes staring down my neck whenever I pay for groceries using government assistance.
Outside, the rain is relentless, flooding the pavement as I load groceries into my truck. My old windshield wipers groan and squeak the whole way home, barely clearing the glass.
When I get to the trailer, I grab all the grocery bags in one trip and haul them inside. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I hear it—drip, drip, drip.
Another goddamn leak.
I rush past Mom, still passed out on the couch, and dump the groceries on the counter. Water trickles from the ceiling in steady beats, spreading into a wide puddle across the linoleum. I rip off pieces of paper towels to soak up the mess.
“Jesus, Mom,” I groan loudly. “You couldn’t get up for five minutes to clean this up?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch. She’s out cold.
I shove the towels aside and pull a plastic bucket from under the sink, sliding it beneath the leak before collapsing in a chair. My eyes drag up to the brown stain spreading across the ceiling.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Why?” The word rasps out of me, aimed at nobody in particular. I don’t believe in God, but I believe insomething—a cruel entity that seems to take pleasure in ruining my life.
Heat scorches up my throat. My eyes burn, tears threatening to spill, but I swipe them away with my sleeve before they can fall. Maddie will be home from school soon. She can’t see me like this.
So I swallow the lump in my throat, shove myself to my feet, and set a pot of water on the stove. The hiss of the gas burner fills the silence as I pull a box of mac and cheese from the cupboard.
Dinner, at least, is one thing I can control.
Chapter Six
Sand flicks behind my flip-flops as I trudge toward the lifeguard tower. The lake glitters in the morning light, deceptively calm as waves lap against the shore. My gaze sweeps the beach, always searching for danger.
