“Same place?”
I nodded. “Same place that you’ve never been to.”
“You’ve never invited me.”
“You needed an invitation?”
She shrugged. “You usually grimace at the sight of me. I figured it would only be worse if I came to your home.”
I stifled a sigh. “My grimace is usually related to your level of intoxication.”
She looked away from me, out the passenger window.
I stared at what used to be my home. The front window was off my bedroom. I had climbed through it regularly during high school, not because I was sneaking away, but because I hadn’t wanted to see Carolina passed out on the sofa as I left. The window had become my portal to the sane world.
My mother turned back to me. “Do you see Carter these days?”
“Almost every day.”
“Is he good?”
“Sometimes, but not usually.”
She smiled. “I always liked him.”
“That makes you one of the few.”
“He was a loyal friend. Everyone needs someone like that looking out for them.”
I looked at her. “Most of my friends called those people parents.”
Her jaw tightened and she looked down at her lap. She folded her hands together tightly, one of the knuckles cracking. “I suppose. But I meant that I was simply glad that you had such a close friend.”
I fought the impulse to feel badly about what I’d said. As a teenager, I’d rarely said what I’d wanted to say to her. I’d been afraid. No matter how absentee, she was the only parent I had. Now, as an adult, I wasn’t going to regret whatever came out of my mouth. She could try to make me feel guilty, but I would fight it.
She unbuckled her seat belt. “Do you want to come in?”
I looked at the house again. So many nights I had come home and stood outside, not knowing what I would find inside. A passed-out mother. A strange visitor. Or no one at all.
I didn’t have a choice then. I always had to go in.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I gotta get moving.”
She stared at me for a moment, knowing I was probably lying. But then she nodded quickly. “Okay. Thank you for the ride.”
“You’re welcome.”
She opened the door and stepped out of the Jeep. “And tell your friend thank you, too. For doing whatever she did.”
“Yeah. I’ll tell her.”
She cleared her throat, then hesitated as if she were going to say something. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shook her head slightly, and looked at me. “Okay, then. Goodbye, Noah.”
She shut the door and I watched her walk toward the house, stepping carefully on the cracked pavers that split the middle of the lawn.
I could feel it coming and I wanted to smother it, to shove it back down wherever it was coming from. I didn’t need it, didn’t need to set myself up for the disappointment that I knew would inevitably arrive with any attempt at a relationship with my mother. I didn’t want to feel like I needed Carolina Braddock in my life in any capacity.
But I couldn’t stop it.
I opened my door and stepped out of the Jeep. “Hey. Mom.”
She stopped on the front porch and turned around, a mild look of surprise on her face.
“Saturday night,” I said.
She stared at me, puzzled. “Saturday night what?”
My throat tightened and I had to swallow before I spoke. “Come to dinner. At my place.”
She looked at me for a moment, as if she thought I might be teasing her, ready to pull back the string when she reached for it. When I said nothing, she nodded.
“Saturday night,” she said. “Okay.”
I watched her walk inside, the anxiety over our next meeting already churning away in my stomach.
Twenty
I drove back to Mission Beach, my body beginning to wear down at the end of the day. It was becoming a regular thing.
My head was aching, too, but that was from the wear and tear of the emotional ride of the last few days than anything else. I considered swinging by the SandDune for a drink, but I knew the taste of alcohol would remind me of my mother and the blown-out windows of the bar would remind me of Moreno, Lonnie, and all the other unpleasant characters that had planted themselves in my life.
And the more I thought about Carolina coming to my house for dinner, the more reckless it felt. I’d been caught up in the moment and not thinking clearly. Lonnie and Mo knew where I lived, a fact that was starting to weigh on me more by the day. My home wasn’t completely safe for me, much less anyone else.
While waiting for a red light to change, I dialed her on my cell and got her answering machine. I left a stumbling, vague message about meeting at a restaurant in Mission Beach on Saturday rather than my home. I knew she’d take it the wrong way, but I’d deal with that when I saw her.
I opted to park the Jeep several blocks up from my place. I knew the early evening party traffic would be choking the alleys and I didn’t feel like fighting it. I took the opportunity to walk down the boardwalk and collect my thoughts.
The air was still as I strolled up the concrete walk next to the beach, the usual evening breeze sucked up by the lingering heat of the day. The water at the edge of the sand rippled like a black canvas tarp. The laughter and conversation that floated around me from the evening revelers as the darkness descended felt familiar and comfortable.
I wasn’t sure I wanted my mother coming into this familiar and comfortable environment because all I’d ever known from her presence was disruption. I’d grown accustomed to being on my own, to living in my own world, and I didn’t want to adjust any of that for someone I would never be able to fully trust.
A group of people on the balcony of a blue stucco two-story let out a cry of appreciation. I looked up. Beer bottles raised in the air, they rocked and swayed to the muted music from inside their place. I shook my head, smiling. Those yells and cries, the constant stereophonic noise that poured out of the houses up and down the boardwalk, those were the things I knew I could count on.
I hopped the low wall onto my patio and watched the dark ocean roll in and out for another minute. I thought about going in and calling Carter, but I was afraid he’d tell me he was with Dana, and that was something I didn’t want to know about. I didn’t want to think about the Plutos or the gang members, either. For one night, I needed a breather.
That left Liz. She said to call her.
I pictured her face, the half-Hispanic, half-Italian features that had taken hold of me a long time ago and refused to let go. I had my doubts about whether we could coexist, but I knew that every time I saw her, I felt like we should be trying.
Maybe it was time.
I headed for the sliding door. As I reached for it, I froze.
The door was an inch from being closed.
I pulled my gun and listened.
Nothing.
I eased the door open with my left hand, the gun heavy in my right. No lights and the television was off. Definitely not Carter.
I stepped into the living room and looked into the shadows. Nothing broken or disturbed. I could hear my
