throat. “I don’t want you to have to meet them. You could just wait in the Union with Bowzer while I take them home. I did this, Mom. I’m the one who screwed up. Really. You’ll be helping me enough if you just let me borrrow the van.”
She appeared to listen to my little speech. But when I finished, she only shook her head. “Everybody makes mistakes,” she said. “He’s harassing you. It’s not okay.”
“I just don’t think you’re in the best shape right now.” Again I tried to make my voice gentle. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “I don’t know that you’ll be able to help so much, with…everything you have going on.”
She looked away, blinking quickly. I assumed she was about to cry. But she only took a deep breath, her gaze moving to the windshield, the wipers beating back and forth.
“I disagree,” she said. “I think this is actually an excellent time for me to help you. Because you’re exactly wrong. I really don’t have anything else going on right now. Or nothing important. Nothing good.” She glanced down at Bowzer, smoothing her hand across his back. “I know you messed up. And I know you’re not blameless. But I don’t like anybody talking to you like that.”
I nodded slowly, my eyes on hers. She looked at me and shrugged. Her words were worrisome, but something hard in her eyes made me feel a little encouraged.
Jimmy seemed unsure about climbing into the back. My mother had already used the little button by the steering wheel to unlock and open the sliding side door. But he just stood there in the rain, a smaller version of himself in my side-view mirror, his messenger bag flat over his head. He seemed concerned with the amount of stuff in the back, the lamps, the bag of dog food, the cardboard boxes. Haylie peered over his shoulder from several feet back, waiting under the portico to see what he would do before she ventured out into the downpour. Neither one had an umbrella.
“There’s room for both of you on that first seat, I think.” My mother leaned back between our seats, her mouth in a bright, tight smile. “You might just have to move that afghan. You can put it on the floor. It’s okay. I have it there for the dog.”
He bent forward, maybe just to see what was underneath the afghan, but Haylie must have taken his movement as a green light. She dashed out into the rain with her arms over her head, her heeled boots skipping over puddles. I heard her push herself past him before she fell into the seat behind my mother. I tucked my hair behind my ear and looked at her over my shoulder. She was wearing the shiny red raincoat, but her hair was wet and plastered against her face. Mascara trailed under each of her eyes. She glared at me and opened her mouth to say something that I imagined would not be nice. But then my mother turned around, too. Haylie’s mouth closed, and her eyes widened. A kangaroo might have been sitting in the driver’s seat. She looked that uncertain, that surprised.
“Hi!” My mother held Bowzer close to her chest and turned back a little more in her seat. “My goodness! Haylie Butterfield! How long has it been? Oh, and look at your hair, so dark now. Veronica told me you’d changed it.”
Haylie nodded, glancing to her right as Jimmy climbed into his seat.
“You remember me, right? Veronica’s mom? We all made granola bars in my kitchen?” She tilted Bowzer so he was facing Haylie. “Bowzer was there. You remember Haylie, don’t you, Bowz?” She spoke to him kindly, softly. “You were just a puppy then, but you remember her, right?”
I heard grunting behind me. “I can’t shut the fucking door! How does it shut? Hello? It’s fucking raining!”
“Let go of it, please.” My mother sounded like a flight attendant—polite, but confident in her authority. “I’ve got the control up here.” She touched the button by the steering wheel, and the sliding door buzzed to a quiet, pnuematic close.
“It stinks in here.”
His knees pressed hard against the back of my seat. I sat still, staring straight ahead. My mother turned around and looked at him.
“What?” He shifted his weight, his knees jabbing higher on my back. “Why are we just sitting here? We’re soaked, if you can’t tell. Are we going to fucking move?”