I had to take care of her and worry about her because she never really did the same for me.
This has been a good week and when I come home from work on Friday, I hold my breath wondering if she will be going out somewhere.
Much to my surprise, she doesn't.
Instead, she has baked chocolate chip cookies and prepared pasta salad and a casserole for dinner. She was never the most adventuresome cook, but I know that this is a big amount of effort for her.
“You know you didn't have to make all of this,” I say. “I could've just ordered some takeout.”
“I know,” she says with a shrug. “I wanted to.”
I change out of my work clothes and let out a sigh of relief when I take off my bra. I can never wear it at home. I tried a variety of types in a variety of price ranges and they all seem to pinch and prod at me in a very uncomfortable way.
Emerging from my bedroom, I plop on the couch with my loose fitting pajama bottoms with elephants on them and an oversized T-shirt, paired with a cardigan because my mom tends to keep this place very cold.
“What happened back there?” Mom says, bringing over the plate of food and a fork.
“What do you mean?”
“With Tyler,” Mom says. “What happened with Tyler?”
I sigh deeply, gurgling some of the food in my mouth in the most uncouth and unladylike way. She has his name, but not much else. What happened in Big Bear is something that we both have avoided talking about ever since we got together.
It's funny to say that and it appears probably very unbelievable, but it's the truth. I didn't want to lie to her, too much, and it was just easier this way.
Now, things are different.
Time has passed, so it feels safer to share.
Still, how much do I tell her?
She knows his first name and that we were traveling together but not that he was an escaped convict. I look up at her and stare into her deep blue eyes. She leans toward me and takes a bite of the casserole. The bite is small and delicate and very much unlike my own.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“I couldn’t pay, so they took me. They knew that you could so they transferred the debt to you.”
“Who is they?”
“I don't know. Not exactly. I was dealing with this man Zachariah, who was the one that fronted me the money, but it's not all his. He has friends in high places. It's some aspect of organized crime.”
I nod, realizing that this isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear.
“You don't believe me?” Mom asks.
“It just seems sort of vague,” I say.
“It's vague because it's all I know. You know that I had a pretty bad gambling addiction in addition to all of my drug use. It wasn't a great combination.”
“Yes, and you also didn't have a job,” I point out and then feel bad for pushing her when she's down.
“That's true,” she says. “I had a hard time with everything. I didn't have great coping mechanisms, as they say in AA.”
“Are you still going?”
“I haven’t been in years, but I'd like to.”
“How long have you not been drinking or using drugs?”
“It has been a while. They kept me in this little room. They brought me food, a couch, and a television, but that was it.”
“Did anything else happen to you?” I ask.
Blood drains from my face. I don't want to say the word rape, but I also want to know what really happened.
“They got physical with me at first and beat me up really good. Then again when I tried to escape out the window. That's when they put me into an even smaller room with no television, a new couch, and nothing to do all day. I was there for a long time. Weeks, months? I have no idea.”
“My God, I'm so sorry. I didn't have a way to pay your debt,” I say. “I wasn't even sure if they really had you. It wasn't until they really started to ruin my life that I knew that I had to pay it.”
“No,” Mom says. “It's not your fault. I'm just glad that you did pay when you did. How did you come up with the money?”
“Tyler had it,” I say quietly. “It was all of his savings, but I thought that he could make more and I thought that maybe I could get you and the