respond if and when I do go back.
Hayley pulls up to the curb in front of my mother’s house to drop me off.
I twist to lean over the seat and grab my Victoria’s Secret shopping bag from the backseat when Hayley slaps me on the arm with the back of her hand.
“Oww. What?” I snap. She’s leaning forward and peering out my passenger window toward the house.
“Whose car is that?”
I twist in the seat and follow her gaze. There’s a blue sedan parked in the driveway. “Huh. No clue.”
“You want me to stay?”
“What for? Besides, Josh is waiting for you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’ll call you later.”
“All right, Chica. Take it easy.”
I climb from the car with my purchases and head for the front door. The screen slaps me on the ass as I push inside quietly. I can hear someone in the kitchen, ice clinking in a glass.
“I’ve only got Vodka; is that okay?” my mother calls out.
“Fine, thanks,” a woman responds. I set my bag and purse down and tiptoe from the hall to the back family room. The woman’s back is to me, and she’s digging through the old roll top desk that was my grandpa’s.
“Hey,” I say, and she whirls.
My eyes widen when I see it’s the woman from the prison. I’m taken aback not only that she dares to show her face here, but also by just how much Sylvia looks like my mom, except for the red hair. If this bitch’s hair was bleached blonde, the two women could be sisters.
She looks panicked when she realizes she’s been caught snooping around.
“Do you want an olive?” my mother calls out from the other room, obviously clueless that I’ve come home or that this bitch was rifling through the desk.
“Oh, hey,” the woman says softly to me. “I’m Sylvia.”
“I know who you are.” I point toward the front door. “Get out.”
Her hand lands on her hip, and her brow lifts. “No need to be so snotty. I only came by to check on your mother.”
“She doesn’t need friends like you. Get out before I throw you out.”
Sylvia grabs her large tote bag and stomps from the room and out the front door, slamming it for good measure.
I move to it and throw the bolt.
My mother comes into the hall, carrying two drinks. “What’s going on? Where’s Sylvia?”
“She had to leave. Something came up. Some emergency.”
“She didn’t even say goodbye.” She frowns.
I shrug. “I don’t know. She just said she had to run.”
“Oh.” My mother’s shoulders slump, and I wonder if she’s that desperate for friendship. Did she really have no clue about Sylvia and Growler? I take one of the drinks from her hand and grab her elbow, steering her to the sofa.
“Sit down, Mom. We need to talk.”
She takes a sip from her glass. “What about?”
“Who was that woman?”
“She was Rat’s ol’ lady. He was your father’s VP.”
“Was?” I ask, knowing full well what happened to Rat.
“Rat ain’t around anymore.”
“What happened to him?”
“No clue. He just took off after Growler got convicted.”
“Who told you that?”
“Sylvia did. It’s so sad, really. Leaves her out in the cold, too. I guess you could say we’re both in the same boat in that regard.”
Through the hall, I have a line of sight to the road and see the mailman pull to the box, shove mail inside, and drive on. I need to check for Growler’s letter. I have to know what it says before my mother sees it.
I glance down at the drink I’m holding. “Could you make me a drink, Mom?”
“Have that one.”
“It’s got an olive. You know I hate those.” I don’t really want a drink, but I have to distract her while I check the mail.
She puts two fingers in my glass, fishes the olive out and eats it. “There. No olive.”
My lip curls up. “Gross. Besides, it ruins the taste of the drink.”
She rolls her eyes and stands, grabbing my glass. “Fine.”
Once she’s gone toward the back of the house, I quietly slip out the door and dash to the mailbox. I yank it open, scoop up the small stack, and flip through them. It’s there, buried between a home repair flyer and the electric bill. The envelope clearly marks it as a letter coming from Rutledge State Prison.
I tear it open and read the one page letter that’s just two paragraphs long. It only takes a minute to read, and it’s exactly what I feared. He’s asking, no telling my mother he’s divorcing her and