“Yes, Mom,” Dez said meekly.
“Did you wash it right away?”
“Yes, Mom,” Dez said.
She thought about how she’d scrubbed the lower front of her shirt at the sink in the school bathroom, then been horrified to realize that the water had turned her white blouse transparent. In an attempt to dry it more quickly so she could get to class she’d rubbed it with a paper towel. That had left little bits of brown paper towel all over it.
In tears, Dez had been picking off bits of paper when Shelly Wills came in the bathroom. For a moment Dez feared further shaming at the hands of the tall, beautiful volleyball player. But Shelley took one glance, walked over, smacked the on button on the hand dryer, and said, “Belly up to this. Once your blouse is dry, you’ll be able to brush off the bits of towel.”
Dez had done so, wondering why she hadn’t thought of the dryer herself. She’d turned to say thanks, but Shelly had already entered one of the stalls. She called thanks anyway but Shelly didn’t answer. Because she didn’t want to talk while she’s on the toilet? Or because she didn’t want to get caught talking to Dirty Dezzy?
Back in the present, Dez’s mom said, “Well, get in there and wash it some more. Use soap, but don’t go crazy.” Her mom scrimped on little things like soap and pantry supplies while wasting money on takeout and pricey things like their big TV.
She’d bought the TV when she’d gotten a big payday from the secret job she never talked about. There were a lot of other things Dez would rather have had than a TV. Saving the money for a rainy day would’ve been best, so they wouldn’t have to go hungry when times were tight. But Dez knew her mother couldn’t save money. So, the TV was better than nothing.
Dez always used as much soap as she thought she could get away with, but it never seemed enough to get the smell of her body out of her clothes. She often wondered whether she needed more soap, or whether dish detergent just wasn’t designed to get odor out of clothes.
She knew better than to ask if she could buy laundry detergent. Her mother thought the cheap dish soap worked fine for everything, but Dez wondered whether it might be the cause of her broken, frizzy, tangled, flyaway hair.
After she finished washing the shirt in the bathroom sink, she checked her other clothes and decided to wash two of her other three blouses in the same sink full of soapy water. She hung all three blouses up on wire hangers over the bathtub. Only then did she decide to take advantage of her mother’s better-than-usual mood to see if she could take their list to the grocery store and pick up a few things.
Her mom was putting on her makeup and the good mood had faded. “We don’t need groceries!” she’d barked. “I’ve got to go in to work early.” She slammed out the door a few minutes later.
***
Dez woke in the middle of the night to a banging on their door. Did Mom lock herself out or something? she wondered groggily. She got out of bed, put on a pair of jeans to go with the t-shirt she wore to bed, and stumbled her way out to the apartment door.
The banging came again and someone said, “Open up. Police.”
Police?! Dez wondered. Is Mom in trouble? “I’m coming,” she croaked. She cleared her throat and said it again, louder.
She heard a man’s voice hiss, “Shit! Sounds like a kid!” She didn’t think he’d expected her to be able to hear him.
Dez stood on her tiptoes and looked out the peephole. There were two uniformed policemen. She turned the bolt, opened the door, and peered out at the two men. She couldn’t tell if they looked sympathetic or dismayed.
One of the men took a knee. “Hey, kid, you alone in there?”
Her mom had told Dez to never admit to being alone, but she didn’t think she should lie to the police either. She nodded.
“Is this Marie Lanis’s home?”
Dez nodded again.
“She’s your mom?”
Dez cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Do you and your mom have any relatives here in town?”
Dez shook her head.
The man turned back to his partner and said, “Social work.” The other man turned away, talking quietly to what looked like a heavy-duty phone.
Dread clamping her heart, Dez asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Um, your mom’s had a problem. We’re gonna have a lady come stay with you until everything’s worked out.”
“What kind of problem?”
“The lady’ll explain it all to you when she gets here.”
“What kind of problem?!” Dez asked, hysteria creeping into her voice.
“The lady—”
“What’s happened to my mom?!” Dez screamed.
She kept screaming. People started coming out of the neighboring apartments. Mrs. Jacobsen, who’d occasionally babysat Dez when she was younger, came over and hugged her until her cries settled to a whimper.
When the social worker arrived, she talked to Dezzy a bit, then said, “I have something terrible to tell you.”
Dezzy felt her tears welling up, “My mom’s dead, isn’t she?”
The social worker nodded; her eyes empathetic.
“Was she murdered?” Dez asked, thinking of her mother’s mysterious job.
The social worker bit her lip a moment, then nodded again.
Dezzy’s thoughts spiraled out of control. Even Dezzy thought her mother acted immaturely, but she was all Dezzy had. Unbidden, her mind turned to a conversation they’d had after Dez had heard about some other kids’ big families, Dezzy had asked her mom how many relatives they had.
“None, babe.” Her mother had said, “It’s you and me against the world.”
“You don’t have any brothers or sisters?”
