I blush. A little. “They made bets about me? Really?”
He nods. “You were the example they always held up. And I don’t give a shit about where you work; you are so fucking smart — smart in ways I don’t even understand. And I need your help. I am begging you. As a man who desperately wants to protect his mom, but can’t do a damn thing because he doesn’t know the first thing to do, I am asking you to overlook how fucking stupid I am and give me another chance. Please.”
He is so earnest I can hardly take my eyes off him. There’s not an ounce of deceit in his voice and the passion in his words rolls over me, leaving warmth and confidence in its wake. “Okay.”
“You’ll help me?”
I nod, relieved. I believe him, and I’m happy he came after me, because I wasn’t looking forward to going back to my apartment to pick up the pieces of my fucked-up life. The only thing I’d have to look forward to then is sending out unanswered job applications and waiting for the police to come pick me up for insurance fraud. At least now I have him. And a project to work on. Something to give my life meaning.
“I will. Come on, let’s go. People are staring at us.”
His hands leave my arm and slide around my shoulders. In a gentle moment, he pulls me into a hug. A hug that makes my heart swell. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Side by side, we return to the car. For the first time in too long, I feel appreciated. Accepted. When he looks at me, he sees a brilliant woman who can think her way through anything. Maybe, if I hang around him long enough, I’ll think that about myself, too.
Blaze shifts the car back into gear and we merge back into the flow of traffic, joining the gentle tide of late afternoon commuters in Torreon.
It’s not long until we pull up to his mother’s house. It’s an unassuming two-story home with a steep roof and lots of windows. The paint job is faded to an indistinguishable beige. The yard is overgrown, a dusty-dry mess of knee-high grass and shrubs that have wilted beneath the unforgiving desert sun.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” Blaze says. “Would’ve cleaned it up, otherwise.”
I open the door and step out.
Blaze stays put. His eyes locked on the front door.
“Is something wrong?” I say.
He shrugs. “I love her, but it’s been a long time, and she doesn’t know I’m coming. Doesn’t approve of some of the choices I’ve made in life, either.”
“Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you. And she’ll probably appreciate the help, too.”
In response, he takes a deep breath and shakes his head. His eyes don’t leave the front door.
“You might not think it from the state of her house, but my mom has a lot of pride. She’s a smart woman, like you. Taught English Literature at Torreon Community College for almost thirty years. Bought this house herself, raised me on her own after my dad died; she was fucking wonder woman,” he says, then he swallows. “But I didn’t find out about her money problems from her. I found out from a debt collector who called me because they weren’t having much luck harassing my mom and need another way to get to her.”
There’s a second where I can’t help but smile imagining the look on the hapless debt collector’s face who got ahold of Blaze.
“She’s your mother, Blaze. She still loves you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I’m here with you. And we’ll figure this out. Together.”
He stands and shuts the door behind him. Then he flashes me a smile that makes me blush. “Thanks, Tiffany.”
Side by side, we walk to the front door. Blaze only hesitates a moment before knocking on the door. First once, then again, then twice more. It’s silent inside the house.
“Maybe she’s not here,” I say. I don’t know if I’m hopeful for that. Part of me wants to sink my teeth into this problem so I can experience the rush that comes with analyzing a problem and developing a plan to solve it; part of me feels the same reluctance as Blaze. What kind of woman could make her own son be afraid to talk to her?
Finally, the door opens. Just a crack, just enough for an angry face to peer through with menace.
“Declan, what in God’s name are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help, mom.”
She snorts. It’s harsh, derisive. Denigrating. “If you want to help me, you’ll turn your ass around and go back to whatever hole it is you crawled out of.”
“Don’t say that, mom.”
“You reap what you sow, Declan. And you have sown failure and disappointment your entire life. Now, leave before I call the police on you.”
My eyes dart in shock from the malevolent, wizened old face visible through the slit of the open door, to Blaze — this bitter woman’s son — and the look of heartrending pain on his face. I can’t speak, my voice stolen by the sheer monstrosity of the old woman.
Blaze puts one hand on the door, beseeching. He loves this woman with all his heart and soul, even if she doesn’t share it. “I know about the money problems you’re having. All I want is to help you out. Please, mom, let me help you.”
She snorts again. I’m certain she would spit on us both if the door weren’t in the way. “You
