A hand on my shoulder woke me up. Or half up, anyway. I struggled up through the depths of a dream I already could not remember.
“Etta’s asleep,” Molly said.
“Oh. Good. Thank you so much.”
“I’m going back down to the garage.”
The hand disappeared.
I sat up. Watched her walk to the door in the half dark. The night-light was still on for the baby. She didn’t like to sleep in the dark.
“Molly,” I said quietly.
She stopped at the door and just waited.
“Thank you. That was a really nice thing to do.”
“No problem,” she said.
“You’re a nice girl. I’m sorry I was so slow figuring that out.”
She didn’t answer. She just let herself out of the room.
I woke in the morning after not nearly enough sleep. Light was pouring through the window and directly into my eyes. I lay awake for a few minutes, wondering why I hadn’t bothered to pull the shades. Probably because it had already been dark when we got in. Or because anything I had ever experienced in the way of a life routine seemed to be shattered now.
I sat up.
Etta was still fast asleep in her toddler crib. I wondered how long it would take me to get her back onto some kind of normal sleep schedule.
I dressed quickly and made my way down into the kitchen.
I knew my mother was awake because I smelled coffee brewing. Or having been brewed. It smelled like something that could rescue me.
I stuck my head into the kitchen.
My mother was sitting at the table, reading the morning paper. There was a darkness in her face. Something even darker than usual. I figured she was about to slam me over the information in my note.
Her face came up, and the look in her eyes seemed to confirm that approaching storm. But when she spoke, she kept her words even and calm.
“There’s coffee.”
That was all she said.
“I have to go check on Molly first.”
“Oh, she’s long gone.”
I just stood there a moment. Trying to process what I had heard. As the words became absorbed into my body, into my cells, they seemed to tingle going through me.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
She offered a twisted frown. “Oh, come now, Brooke. How many different things can that mean?”
I tried to talk around a deep anger that seemed to be rising up in my throat. Like something solid and real, blocking important passages. “Let me put it another way, then. Why is she gone?”
“Because she doesn’t belong here, and you know it as well as I do. You will not be bringing a homeless person into my house. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
“She wasn’t in your house. She was only in your garage.”
I felt like I was chewing the words as they came out of me. My molars wanted to grind together every chance they got.
“That makes no difference and you know it. It’s all my property.”
I opened my mouth to blow my stack. To really let loose on her. But that would do no good, and I knew it. She would only match me angry for angry.
I breathed. Counted to ten. Tried to keep my words measured.
“Did you get my note or didn’t you?”
“Of course I got it.”
“And then you went and did the exact opposite of what I asked you to do.”
“I’m not a trained seal, you know. I’ll do what I want to in my own home, not what you order me to do in some note.”
“Okay,” I said. Still working hard on the calm thing. “That’s it.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning Etta and I are out of here. We’re moving out. We want nothing to do with you anymore.”
She snorted. A derisive sound. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have no savings. Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. But we’re going. She’s fast asleep right now. So will you be here in case she wakes up? I have to go out and look for Molly.”
She sat back sharply in her chair. I heard the whump of her great bulk hitting the back of it. “Well, that’s one impressive announcement,” she said. “We’re moving out, we can take care of ourselves. We want nothing to do with you ever again. Now please babysit.”
I saw her point. I mean, that was one angle from which to look at the thing. From my angle, it didn’t seem like too much to ask. Here I was going off to try to fix the mess she had created.
“Fine. I’ll go wake her up.”
“No, don’t do that, Brooke,” she called after me. I was already halfway to the stairs. “That’s silly to take it out on the baby. Just go.”
“Thank you,” I said. But they were a tense couple of words.
I grabbed her keys off the shelf near the garage door.
“But you can’t take my car,” she said. “A man from the automotive paint shop is coming over to get it this morning. Finally.”
I sighed deeply. Tried to let go of the rage I was feeling. Tried to let it drain away. It felt like it wanted to hurt somebody. Probably me. That’s usually how rage goes.
I set her keys back down on the shelf. Tried to remember where mine even were. Upstairs in my room, in my purse. That’s what I finally came up with.
I walked upstairs and quietly let myself back into my bedroom. Grabbed the purse without waking Etta.
As I walked through the kitchen again on my way out the door I said, “Keep an eye out. She can climb out of that bed.”
“Oh dear,” my mother said. “When did that happen?”
“Life turns on a dime,” I said. And spun around to leave again. Then I stopped myself. Turned back to her. “Just how long ago did you throw my guest out of here?”
She snorted again. “Guest. Some guest.”
“Just answer the question, please.”
She glanced at the watch on her massive wrist. “Oh, a good two hours ago, I would say.”
I felt all the wind go out of me when
