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“Yeah, I’m here. I didn’t realize you were in another show.”
“Yeah, it’s just a swing gig for one of the Fremont Street reviews,” she says. She’s a trained dancer and has been trying to get a regular gig for as long as I’ve known her.
“That’s great!”
“It’s something,” she says in a way that makes me want to dig for details. She lets out a heavy sigh.
“Well, no use beating around the bush. Your momma overdid it again. Had her stomach pumped. Refused treatment. But she’s home, resting up.”
I lean against the brick wall, pressing the back of my head into the rough texture.
“You heard from her?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “Daddy.”
Her father is the sweetest man. He’s been stuck in the trailer park for as long as I’ve known them, living off his veteran’s disability checks.
“So, it was a whole thing?” Flashing lights. That would have triggered a PTSD episode.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry,” I say. “It didn’t hurt him, did it?”
“It’s okay. He’s fine.”
“What was it this time?”
“Oh, you know, the usual.”The usualmeaning Percocet chased by vodka. Likely a lot of both.
“Is she alone?”
“I checked on her this morning,” she says.
I know what she’s going to say before she even says it.
“Kyle was there.”
Just hearing his name makes bile coat the back of my throat.
“Great,” I mumble.
“Your momma’s gonna do what your momma’s gonna do,” she says. Her voice is light and careful, as if she’s trying to say something much bigger.
“I know,” I say, massaging my temple with my free hand.
“Megsy,” Bee says as if making sure I’m really hearing her. “Maybe it’s just time for you to let go?”
My stomach drops. I’d always told Bee that if it ever got to the point where the situation was hopeless, that I would want her to tell me. But I’m not there. I swallow thickly and shake my head.
“Maybe I should come back? Just for a day or two?”
She’s quiet for a long moment.
“It’s up to you. But I should tell you…” There’s commotion in the background and then the door slams shut. “Kyle’s been over there a lot lately, not just this morning.”
That can only mean one thing. Kyle, the piece of shit who helped me move out of my momma’s trailer when I was seventeen, only to turn around and get her hooked on opioids, is back with my momma. No wonder she overdosed.
“Shit,” I say.
