woman’s magazine. She had an iPod on the arm of the chair and earbud headphones in her ears.
Estelle Winter was sprawled on the bed under her covers, her hair uncombed, her eyes half-open and glassy. She was in some sort of twilight state, snoring and yet blinking as if she were actually awake. Shelby’s heart hardened at the sight. This was how she remembered her childhood home – the blinds down, the household chores undone, the rooms reeking of alcohol. Those memories were constant. The unstable center of it all was her mother, whining or snoring when she was tired, laughing hysterically when she was high, and then lashing out as the euphoria faded. It was an unending cycle.
And then, Shelby had a horrible, fleeting thought. Is this how Chloe would have ended up? No, she thought. No. Chloe would have conquered it. Jeremy was the center of her world, and she was a good mother. For his sake, she would have conquered it.
‘Jesus!’ The caretaker jumped from her seat, tearing off her headset, the iPod falling to the floor.
Shelby let out a cry.
‘Who are you?’ the woman demanded, in Eastern-European accented English.
‘I’m,’ Shelby pointed to Estelle, snoring on the bed, ‘her daughter.’
The young woman frowned suspiciously. ‘You frightened me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Shelby. ‘I called out when I came in.’
‘Well . . . I didn’t hear you,’ the woman complained.
‘I’m really sorry. We haven’t met. I’m Shelby.’ She extended her hand.
The young woman took it unwillingly. ‘Nadia,’ she muttered.
‘I’m really sorry, Nadia.’
‘Hmmph,’ Nadia muttered.
‘Look, if you want to go out for a break, I can stay with her for a while.’
‘Miss Talia doesn’t want me taking breaks,’ said Nadia.
‘Well, Talia’s not here. You go ahead if you want.’
Nadia looked at the big round-faced watch on her wrist. ‘I could use a few things at the market.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Shelby. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘I just run down there for half hour or so.’
‘Perfect,’ said Shelby.
Nadia nodded agreement. ‘OK. Estelle,’ she announced in a loud voice. ‘You be good. Don’t get in trouble.’
Shelby looked warily at the woman on the bed. ‘Do you think she understands you?’
Nadia shrugged. ‘Sometimes she does. Other times . . .’ She made a spinning gesture by her ear with her index finger.
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Shelby. She sat down in the chair that Nadia had just vacated. Estelle grunted, and turned over.
Shelby listened as Nadia went down the stairs, back to the kitchen for her bag, and finally, out the front door. Shelby heard the front door close behind her. Estelle suddenly startled her by reaching out a hand and groping instinctively, unconsciously, along the bedside table for the half-empty bottle of vodka which rested there. Her clumsy hand caught the side of the bottle and knocked it over. It toppled on to the matted carpet. Estelle moaned softly and closed her eyes again.
Shelby bent down, clucking in disgust, and picked up the bottle. At the least the cap was screwed on tight, and the vodka hadn’t spilled. She was tempted to remove it from the bedroom, but what for? It was far too late for that. Estelle had chosen booze over life. At least she was consistent, Shelby thought.
Shelby replaced it on the table and, as she did, her gaze fell on a dusty framed photo of Estelle with her children that was pushed toward the back of the table, behind the alarm clock. In the photo, Shelby, Talia, Glen, and their mother were all sitting on a picnic blanket next to an old car. There was a picnic basket open beside them, and there was food spread out on the blanket. Shelby had seen the photo a million times, but it seemed to her that this was the first time she had ever really looked at it.
She and Glen were young in this picture, probably about four and one years old, respectively. Talia, the eldest by eight years, had an arm draped possessively around Estelle’s neck. Not quite a teenager yet, she already had the solemn, knowing look of one who was no longer a child. Even at twelve years old, Talia seemed to treat her mother protectively. Estelle looked pretty, but distracted. Shelby did not ever remember her mother as pretty. Estelle was smiling at the photographer, who must have been their father. He would live only one more year after this photo was taken.
Shelby thought of her own bedside table in her condo. She kept a framed photo there of herself and Chloe.