Unlovable (32 page)

Inside the closet were some tattered
sneakers and a clean bed sheet wadded up in the corner. Beside the
bed sat a rickety-looking nightstand that held a small clock and a
broken lamp sitting precariously on the edge. Running parallel to
the bed stood a long white dresser. It made it difficult to reach
her closet without shimmying along the wall sideways. I offered to
rearrange the room for her once so she could navigate around
easier; she told me to mind my own business and get out.

I began my hunt, going quickly through
her mostly empty dresser drawers and finding nothing. A small pile
of clean clothes stacked in the corner held no surprises either,
and the barren nightstand was a complete waste of time. There was
no secret treasure under the bed either, except dust bunnies, lots
of dust bunnies. Gross! I was about to give up when I thought to
look under the mattress. On lifting it, the green tinge of money
was not what caught my eye, but the soft beige of an eleven by
fourteen inch manila envelope.

I withdrew it from beneath the
mattress, reading the words written across the front aloud. “Last
Will and Testament.” Why she had a Will was beyond me, we had
nothing. I flipped the unsealed envelope open and dumped the
contents out onto the bed. Four smaller white envelopes and a
20-dollar bill tumbled out onto the mattress. I couldn’t believe
something was finally going my way. I tucked the money into my
pocket and replaced everything else carefully back under the
mattress, and I took off for the hardware store as fast as my legs
could carry me.

I had enough money to buy a
lock for each of the windows and one for the door, with $2.62 left
over. I stopped at the grocery store and bought a loaf of day-old
bread and an off, off brand of peanut butter. I’d have to worry
about finding food again now that
Secret
Agent Man
was out of my life.

I went straight to work installing the
window locks. Not owning any tools, I had to improvise. I found a
kitchen knife to be a great screwdriver and a large rock from the
front yard made a pretty decent hammer. Every time my heart began
to mourn my loss, I’d twist a little harder with the
knife.

The window locks took only 45 minutes
to install, not bad for a rookie. I put off the dead bolt for last.
Even though the sun shined brightly, the breeze was quite cool. I
wasn’t looking forward to having the front door open while working
on the lock. We didn’t have power yet, and no matter how hard it
tried, our small gas stove just wasn’t equipped to heat an entire
trailer.

After struggling for over an hour
trying to install the dumb lock, I took a break. I went over to the
kitchen for a piece of bread, and to wiggle my cold fingers over
the flames on the stove.

“
You can’t be serious?” I
wheeled around to find Seth standing in the doorway, the dead bolt
lying across his palm. “Can I come in so we can talk?”

“
There’re no drugs here. I
searched the entire house, as did you and your cop friends. Did
they find anything?” He shook his head. “I didn’t think so. Now get
out.”

He cringed at my harsh words. I felt
sickened and softened my tone. “I can’t deal with this right now.
Please, if you ever really cared, just a little, go away and leave
me alone.”

He looked as if I’d kicked him in the
stomach. “I’m not giving up on us, Maggie. I’ll give you time, but
I’ll be right here, waiting.” He turned, picked up the makeshift
tools, and finished installing the dead bolt lock in less than two
minutes. Grrr!

“
Do you actually believe
this lock will keep anyone who really wants to get in here out?” He
pulled back the left side of his jacket and flashed the gun
strapped to his chest in a brown leather holster. I realized 50
dead bolts wouldn’t have stopped anyone if they really wanted to
get in and a wave of fear gripped me.

“
I paid the electric bill.
The power should be back on Monday around noon,” he said, without
looking back.

“
Thank you,” I whispered as
he walked away.

There was no stopping the tears this
time. I sank to the floor and let them flow. I loved him. How was I
supposed to live without him?

After my little pity-party, I locked
up the house and went to the hospital, my mother was my focus now.
I collapsed into the recliner next to her bed and began stroking
her hair, praying that she’d live. I felt somewhat safe next to
her, though I had no idea why. She had never protected me in any
way, nevertheless it was how I felt. A few hours later, the staff
began serving up dinner to the other patients, and I decided it was
time to leave, my stomach was growling much too loudly.

“
Don’t die, mom, please
don’t leave me here all alone,” I said, kissing her forehead
tenderly. I brushed the tears off my face with the back of my hand
and left.

The weather had warmed somewhat so I
took the long way home, mostly to avoid the emptiness of my
trailer. Many of the homes along the way had young flowers just
starting to break through the earth, and the sky above was a royal
blue instead of its usual hazy Upstate New York gray.

Walking past the library, I
decided to stop and do a little research on heroin. With hundreds
of books listed on the subject, I was quickly overwhelmed and
sought out the librarian. A macabre looking girl, dressed
completely in black, including her lipstick, sat behind the help
desk. Her nametag read
Bambi
. I looked twice to make sure. I
had a feeling if anyone knew anything about drugs, it’d probably be
Bambi.

“
I’m trying to find some
books on heroin. Maybe something that has a few pictures and that
lists the side effects of the drug.”

“
Sure thing,” she smiled,
cracking a huge wad of pink bubble gum as she typed info into the
computer.

“
They’re over this way,” she
pointed and started walking. “I don’t know a whole lot about the
drug world really,” she said, spinning her nose ring. “It’s not my
thing, ya know.” I immediately felt guilty for assuming she was an
expert. “I’m, like, totally into fantasy, you know, like elves and
fairies.” She pulled up her sleeve and showed me two fairy tattoos
on her forearm. She twisted around, showing me a tramp stamp of an
elf on her lower back. “And this one is for my boyfriend Alex,” she
said, lifting the leg of her black leather pants. “He’s, like,
totally into werewolves.” A savage-looking werewolf sat tattooed
above her ankle, and I hoped for her sake she and Alex never broke
up.

Bambi led me to a large section of
books that dealt with the different types of substances ranging
from alcohol to a wide variety of drugs. “You look familiar. Do you
go to Port Fare High?”

“
Yes, I’m a
senior.”

“
I graduated early, in
December,” she said, proudly. “You look good. Did you, like, gain
some weight?”

“
A little.” I began thumbing
through several of the books as she rambled on. She had a nice
voice, deep and somewhat raspy, with a slight lisp when she got
excited.

“
I remember there was this
really hot guy who moved in over the summer. What was his name?”
She thumped her palm on her forehead, trying to remember. “I think
it was Seth. Seth Preston or something like that.”

“
Seth Prescott,” I said
softly.

“
Prescott, that’s it. Man,
was he ever hot. I was tempted to ask him to the Christmas dance,
but he was only 18. I’m 19, October birthday,” she said, pointing
to herself.

“
Anyway, I have, like, a
strict policy to never date younger guys. Alex is 20.” She let out
a raspy breath and smiled. “Older men are, like, so much more
mature. We’ve been together for four weeks. He is totally it for
me.”

She pulled up her pant leg and looked
down longingly at her werewolf tattoo again. “Alex has the high
score on Werewolf Island at the Burger Barn.” I looked at her
blankly. “Oh my gosh! Like, it’s only the hottest video game on
werewolves ever created. Okay, like, werewolves are the good guys
for once, and if you make it to, like, level six, shape-shifters
appear and help the wolves conquer the witch-demons so they can
free the island. That’s how Alex learned, like, everything there is
to know about werewolves and shape-shifters.” As she spoke, a tiny
diamond embedded in the side of her canine tooth caught the light
and twinkled.

Bambi was a wealth of information,
showing me several books that would help in my quest. I thanked
her, took my treasures to the checkout desk, and left for home with
my booty.

To my delight, Fluffy was sitting on
my doorstep when I arrived. “Fluffy! Where have you been?” He
immediately jumped up, his entire back end wagging happily as I
opened the door. I dropped the books on the couch and gathered up
the fur ball, peppering the top of his head in kisses.

“
I missed you, you’re all I
have left,” I said, stroking his silky coat. “It’s been a bad week,
Fluffy. It turns out Seth is a lying dog… oops, sorry.” I playfully
ruffled up his fur. “I mean he’s a lying weasel. Anyway, he’s an
undercover cop. If that isn’t enough, my mom’s in the hospital
again.” I held back my tears, burying my face in his
fur.

Pulling myself together, I set him
down on the couch next to me and began my research into the drug
world, skipping dinner, mostly to ration the bread.

Fluffy stayed by my side the entire
evening, more than once jumping up on my lap and sending the books
flying onto the floor. I set him back down several times and even
threatened to put him outside before he settled quietly down at my
feet.

It didn’t take long to
discover why Seth thought my mom and I did drugs. Physically we had
many of the signs; jutting bones, dark circles under our eyes, and
pale skin.
Heroin Chic
is what one book called the look.
Starving to Death
is what I called
it. I was beginning to feel a little guilty for going off on Seth
like I did.

After four hours, I set the books
aside, let Fluffy out for the night, and went to bed. Not until
three in the morning did sleep win out over my thoughts.

For the next several days Seth wasn’t
at school, I didn’t see him, or ride with him to CaL class. My
afternoons were spent at the hospital with my mom reading to
her.

Dr. Colter informed me her liver
functions were poor, and they were keeping her sedated in hopes it
would help her body to heal quicker. They were afraid if she were
coherent, she’d leave and start drinking again. They were probably
right. He also said her drug screen came back negative, information
I hoped he shared with Booker and Seth.

When I was home alone, the memories of
Seth were difficult to keep at bay. One particularly difficult
evening while struggling to think of something to do to keep my
mind occupied, I came dangerously close to taking out my Calculus
book. Thankfully, I remembered the envelopes under my mother’s
mattress. I wanted look at the will and check out what the other
envelopes were. It was probably nothing, but I was desperate at
this point.

I went straight to her room and pulled
the large manila envelope out, dumping the contents onto her bed.
The first letter read; Last Will and Testament, self-explanatory, I
set it aside. The other three had my name on them. One read,
Maggie, seven years old. Another read, Maggie, eleven years old,
and the last one read, Maggie, also and was dated January of this
year.

24

The envelope titled
Maggie, seven years old
,
was yellowed, and held several circular-shaped stains. If I were to
hazard a guess, I’d say the bottom of a vodka glass had made them.
Turning the letter over, I wondered if it contained photos of me or
a past report card.

Remembering nothing significant about
that year in my life, I held the envelope up to the light. It
appeared to be a letter of some kind, but I couldn’t quite make out
the words. I looked at the sealed flap and noted numerous loose
points. Feeling a rush of guilt, I thought of putting the letters
away, after all it was none of my business.

On the other hand, they did have my
name on them. Curiosity was winning as my finger traced along the
flap.

“
Okay, if I can open it
without damaging the envelope, I’ll read it, if not, I’ll put them
away.” Retrieving a knife from the kitchen, I sat on the couch and
slid it carefully under the sealed edge. There was hardly any
resistance as the envelope gladly opened itself up to me. I coaxed
the letter out and straight away recognized my mom’s
handwriting.

My sweet baby
Maggie,

Happy seventh birthday. I
decided to write you a letter each year on your birthday, beginning
with this year. I’ll give them to you when you turn
eighten
eighteen. My mom
did this for me while I was growing up, and I always cherished
those letters.

I wish we had money to buy
you gifts today. As usual, we have none. I decided the best thing
to give you would be my love. I’ve not been good at saying I love
you, the last time being when you were a toddler, but I do love
you.