Still The One - Carrie Elks Page 0,1
a bright red gardening pad, a scarf covering her hair and canvas gloves covering her hands as she planted brightly colored flowers into earthy beds.
“Hello, Mrs. Deboone.” Van formed an appropriate smile on her face.
“You here to see your momma?”
Van nodded. “That’s right.”
“Did you hear Craig’s gone? Went off with the girl who works in the gas station.” She dropped her voice. “Your mom and him were fighting like cats and dogs a couple of weeks ago.”
Yeah, Van knew. She also knew that Craig was already living with the woman, some twenty miles from here. Her little sister, Zoe, had told her during a quiet, tear-filled phone call last week. That’s why she was here. Because she was needed.
Thank god she’d saved up enough from her freelance work to take a break for a while.
“Sorry if they disturbed you,” Van said, shooting the old lady a quick smile. She walked up the path, her heels catching in the cracks. Craig had only been gone two weeks yet the bungalow already looked like it was missing him. The grass that lined the pathway was up to her calves.
Mrs. DeBoone picked up the empty plant pots, slotting them one into the other, before she slowly pushed herself up to standing. “I should go in, before my knees give up.” She gave Van a smile. “Give my regards to your mother.” She glanced at Van’s mom’s bungalow and back to Van. “And I’m glad you’re back. For Zoe’s sake.”
She shuffled up the pathway. Van knew without a doubt that she was planning to call her friends to tell them Savannah Butler was back in town. That’s what happened in places like Hartson’s Creek. People filled the silence with gossip, because it was better than sitting alone.
Maybe that’s why she’d moved to Richmond as soon as her mom and Craig got married, back when Van was twenty-years-old. Zoe had been two then, pretty as a picture, with her chubby face and golden hair that matched Van’s.
In so many ways, Craig had been her savior. Taking care of her mom and loving Zoe as his own so that Van didn’t have to worry about them. For the first time in years she’d been able to breathe. To not have to anticipate her mom’s dizzying mood swings, or wonder whether the empty whiskey bottle in the sink was the second or third one of the week.
Life had been good, for the most part, since then. Yeah, there had been sad times. Particularly whenever she thought of the things she’d lost. But there were good times, as well. She was good at her job – working as a freelance event planner in the state capital. And she earned enough to not only live in a pretty apartment, but to live a good life and save money, too.
She’d always been obsessive about saving. Maybe somewhere deep inside she’d known her mom was a ticking time bomb. It was a matter of when, not if, she’d detonate.
Van rapped her knuckles twice on the door, but nobody answered. Without bothering a third time, Van knelt down on the dusty top step and reached into the planter whose contents were long dead. Crisp brown leaves covered the parched soil as she dug her hand around, a smile curling at her lips as her fingers found the key she was looking for. She slid it into the lock, and pushed the creaky door open.
“Mom?” she called out. “Are you home?” She caught her toe on a stack of mail. Leaning down to pick them up, she noticed how many of them were bills. Red ones. “Mom?” she called again, setting the envelopes on the hall table and walking toward the kitchen.
The counters were covered with dirty plates and wrappers. Half-drunk coffee cups had white and green mold floating in the dusty liquid. The room stank of stale food and alcohol, emanating from the empty liquor bottles flung in the sink.
She gagged at the aroma. Swallowing hard against the impending nausea, Van walked back into the hall. Gently, she rapped her knuckles on her mom’s bedroom door. “Are you in there?”
A groan echoed from inside and Van’s stomach curdled again. Maybe she was hungry. She’d driven straight here from Richmond, not bothering to stop to eat. Sighing, she pressed down the handle and opened the door, wincing at the mess of clothes covering the brown carpeting.
Her mom was curled up on the bed, her soft blonde hair stuck to her face. Her eyes