The Big Picture (21 page)

Millie’s strong voice takes over. “And we pray for protection. Lay your hands on Katie and keep her safe and protected. Watch her as only you can. We entrust her to you. We surrender her to you.”

“God, this is Maxine Simmons.” Her watery voice quivers. “I love this kid something fierce, and I pray for her to never lose sight of her importance in this world, her value to us, and the knowledge she is on this planet to do great things. Give her guidance and keep her on the straight path. Because I am
not
afraid to ride my bike Ginger Rogers all day long to bust up another party or tear her from harm’s way. Jesus, the only person who has the right to put the hurt on Katie Parker is me.”

James clears his throat then wraps up the prayer. “Amen.”

I raise my head as Millie hands me a Kleenex from her purse. “Well, I guess this is good-bye for now,” I say when I find my voice.

“We love you, Katie.”

I bob my head. “I know. Love you too.” I manage a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine here. I’ll keep you updated. Who knows, before too long Bobbie Ann and I might be dressing alike and sporting identical tattoos.”

I laugh at Millie’s frown.

“I want to know if
anything
happens with you guys. Any cancer updates, reengagements, Amy contacts, anything. I want to hear it all.”

“Are you sure you feel okay here?” James asks.

“Yeah. Things are fine. I can tell my mom’s made lots of progress.” Minus the tuna casserole. “I know this is where I’m supposed to be.” Wow, that was mature. Totally did not sound like me.

Millie stands in front of me and places her soft hands on my cheeks. “If you need
anything
, you call. Do you understand? Day or night. We can be here in no time.”

“Got it.” I’m sure if I call every time I’m going to miss them, they’d have to leave In Between and move into my bedroom. “It’s okay . . . you can leave me.” Somehow, it will be okay. “You guys can go.”

“You know we don’t want to?”

“I know, Millie,” I whisper, my voice broken. “I have to do this.”

We hold onto each other one last time before my foster family climbs into James’s truck. The sound of the engine tears into my heart. It’s all so final. They’re really leaving. And I can’t go with them. How is it they will be in In Between, and I won’t be there with them? How is it I’ll exist in a world where I don’t see them every day? No more Millie hugs. No more late night hot fudge sundaes with Maxine. No
American Idol
watching with James. No more organic, gluten-free waffles with tofu sausage and free-range scrambled eggs. Who knew I could miss that?

“Bye!” I yell and wave my hand in the air. Maxine hangs her head out the window like Rocky would if he had been invited. She blows wild, frantic kisses until the truck disappears.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Where are you in this?
I want to chase that truck. But they would stop. I know they would. And they can’t.

I can’t let them.

Chapter twenty - four

I STALL A FULL THIRTY minutes before going back in. I am not one of those pretty criers, so it’s important to wait until the splotches and puffiness go away.

I almost sprain my other ankle, but I finally maneuver back up the stairs. The metal screen door squeaks as I step into the trailer. My mom sits on the faded couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. I hesitate before sitting beside her.

She pats my knee. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” I’m sure at some point I will be. I hope.

“You’ll forget about the Scotts in no time.”

I close my eyes. I’m too spent to be mad, even though her statement is yell worthy. “I don’t want to forget the Scotts, Mom.”

A rerun of
Friends
blares to life. “Those people can’t replace your real family, Katie.”

I look at my mom, her eyes clouded with things I can’t even comprehend. Her face etched with lines of a hard life, even though she’s at least twenty years younger than Millie. Her hair struggles to stay in the ponytail. She reaches for her pack of cigarettes, now lying open on the scarred coffee table. Interesting how she waited until the
Scotts were gone to pull out the smokes.

Her rough hand flicks the lighter, and she inhales deeply.

“Mom, it smells like one big Marlboro in here. Could you maybe smoke outside?”

Bobbie Ann tosses her Bic, and it skids across the table. “Since when did it bother you?”

“Hello, secondhand smoke kills. Do you really want that on your shoulders?” On top of everything else.

“Then don’t breathe it in.”

I blink. “Where would you like me to acquire my oxygen then?”

“Katie, I don’t like your attitude. I picked up on it the minute I saw you in In Between that weekend.”

“I don’t have an attitude!” Well, maybe the my-rehabbed-druggiemom-smokes-and-it’s-gross attitude. Or perhaps the you’ve-never-really- been-a-mom-to-me-and-now-we’re-supposed-to-act-like-a-normal-mother-and-daughter attitude.

My mom whips her pointer finger in my face. “You have a snotty disposition, and I will not put up with it. You’re not better than me.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“You might as well. Just because I don’t drive a fancy truck or I don’t wear designer clothes.”

“Millie doesn’t wear designer clothes.”

“I was talking about the other one.”

“Just back off the Scotts and Maxine, okay? They were very nice to you today.”

“What is
that
supposed to mean?” Mom stands up and blows her smoke toward the ceiling. “You say that like I should be grateful they were kind?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She paces the length of the living room, her eyes never leaving mine. “You just make sure your new uppity ways are temporary. I can see it did you a lot of good, living with rich people.”

“Rich?” I laugh. “A pastor and his wife — rich?”

“You don’t think I saw the way your
pastor
and wife looked down their noses at me? I saw it.” She takes another drag off her cigarette. Millie would freak if she knew I was on the receiving end of this nicotine pollution.

I prop my foot on the table, my ankle throbbing after my trek up the steps. “You’ve barely seen me in a year and a half.” I swallow hard. “And
this
is how you want to spend our first day together? You didn’t so much as pick up the phone until a few months ago, and
this
is what you most want to say to me?”

Her pacing stops and she plants a hand on one hip. “I’ve listened to enough of this. I don’t want to hear any more.”

“You know what I want, Mom? I want us to get along. I want this to work. And I want you to want me to be here. I don’t want to be here just because the state said you could have me back. I want to be here because you wanted your daughter — missed me, needed me.” I hoist myself up and grab my crutches. “Because you love me and give a crap about me.”

On sore, shaking arms, I lean into my crutches and hobble back to my room.

I settle onto the bed, grab the phone the Scotts let me keep, and text Frances.

TELL ME U R DOING SOMETHING MORE FUN ON UR SAT THAN DODGING CIG SMOKE & FIGHTING W/ UR MOM.

In less than thirty seconds, my phone beeps with her reply.

WE MISS U ALREADY! NOTHING XCITING HERE. BBQ CHICKEN COOKOUT 2 RAISE $ 4 DRIVE N.

I shut my phone. I was so busy this past week getting ready to leave and having mini-meltdowns that I was totally out of the Bubba’s Big Picture loop. I should be there, selling chicken and stinking like cheap BBQ sauce. That would be so much fun. I wonder if Charlie is there.

I stay holed up in my room for another two hours, listening to my iPod, flipping through photo albums of In Between, reading, and just doing everything I can to avoid Mom time. This is
so
not how I pictured
my homecoming, you know? She barely acts happy to see me. We’ve been separated almost a year and a half, so you’d think she’d be a little less bitter and a lot more joyful. I know
I’d
be glad to see me.

God, how do I deal with this? You threw me into this mess. I guess I thought Mom would come out of prison and rehab all fixed. She’s so not fixed. It’s like you let me live on the green grass side, only to jerk me back to the side that’s . . . um . . . grassless. Anyway, kinda need your help here. Are you even still on the job? I feel like you have totally forgotten about me. Like you gave me all the attention you could and now you’re done. Well, I’m still here. And I need some serious God intervention.

I startle at a knock at my door. “Katie?” Mom peeps her head in. “We’re going to eat dinner in an hour.” Her gaze flits across my room and takes in all the stuff I brought with me. Stuff the Scotts bought me.

She eases in and sits next to me on the bed. “We’ll have a guest for dinner tonight.” Her hazel eyes wait for my reaction.

“Your boyfriend?” It’s everything I can do to keep a neutral tone.

Mom unwinds her hair from its ponytail and shakes it out. “Yeah.” She smiles big. “You’re gonna love him. He’s very nice.” She sighs. “Very cute.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the door and groan. “Mom, I’m tired. I look like something the dog threw up, I probably smell, my makeup’s disappeared, and I’m all out of politeness and manners.”

“I noticed.” She waves her hand. “But you’ll love John.” She clutches my knee. “He’s amazing. He understands where I come from — he gets me, you know? I think . . . this might be the one.”

I level her with a droll stare. “You’ve known each other a matter of months.” And do you know how many “the ones” I’ve had to hear about over the course of my life? Many.

“Love can’t be measured by time.”

“Yes, actually, it can. You’re just now getting on your feet. This is so like you to just jump into something.”

She stands up. “Now look, I don’t know what happened to my daughter, but I sure wish you’d get her back. I will not allow you to
speak to me like that.
I
am the mother.
You
are the child here.”

Really? I’m almost seventeen and she
finally
gets that concept?

“I’m just worried about you. Is that so bad? I can’t take any more shuffling around, Mom. Remember that?” She blanches. “Remember when the police came and got me for the last time, and they didn’t bring me back? Instead they took me to some state home and dropped me off. Do you want to know what that feels like?”

Silence descends on the room. The only sound is the hum of my laptop in the corner.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I know I haven’t always been the best mother.” Her breath hitches as she sits on the bed again. “But I have tried.”

Yeah, tried to screw my life up. Tried to ruin my existence.

“I just thought you would be glad to see me happy. I was excited for you to meet John, but if it’s going to bother you . . . then he doesn’t have to come over tonight.” She touches my cheek, her expression hopeful and ridiculous.

“Fine,” I sigh. “He can have dinner with us.”

She jumps off the bed and squeals like she’s twelve. “Great! He’ll be over in thirty minutes, so do something with that face.”

I take a quick shower in the lone bathroom in my mom’s room, and when I step out, I feel somewhat refreshed.

“Make sure you’re dressed!” my mom calls out. “John’s here!”

Crap
. I clench my towel around me. It’s a skimpy towel at that, covering the important stuff and that’s it. I was barely in there ten minutes. This is so par for the course.

I gather my dirty clothes, suck in a deep breath, and fling open the door. I pogo on crutches through the master bedroom and hurl myself through the living room.

“Katie, I’d like you to meet — ”

“Hi, nice to meet yooooou.” My armpits thoroughly abused, I zip straight to the kitchen and back to my bedroom. I slam the door and breathe again.

Clothes. Must get clothes. My mom’s boyfriend just saw me half-naked. What if my towel was flapping? Perfect. I’m the teenager, yet
I
need to have a conversation with my
mom
about boundaries.

I grab some clothes, lie down on the bed, and slip into them. So much easier than trying to stand up and balance on the stinking crutches. I give my hair three minutes under the blow dryer, secure my locks in a knot, then shuffle back to the living room.

Where my mother’s dream man sits — right next to her on the couch. I look him up and down. Surprisingly, not bad — for my mom’s taste. She usually gravitates toward the overly tattooed, worn-out pony-tail types. This guy wears jeans that are a tint of this decade. I find that quite redeeming. His solid polo shirt is nicely tucked in, and for the life of me, I cannot find a single tattoo. Even a simple “Mother” tattoo would be acceptable, but this guy’s got nothing. Well, not that I can tell in a quick survey. It’s not appropriate to stare at your mom’s boyfriend for too long. Unless he has something hanging out of his nose, then he’s just asking for it.

“Hi, Katie.” He stands up and helps me into the chair across from them. “I’m John.”

We shake hands, his grip calloused and less refined. Like he’s used to manual labor. Hopefully not the drug-selling sort like my mom.

“So . . . you two met in your substance abuse support group?” My mom’s eyes bulge. “Do you normally pick up chicks there, John?”

John sputters then coughs. “Er . . . uh, no. First time for me.”

“First time to be there or first time to snag a girl in group?”

“Katie!” My mom, ready to leap from her spot on the couch, stills when John rests his hand on her arm.

“It’s okay.” He inhales deeply. “I’ve been going to this group for almost a year now. I attend twice a week. And yes, that was my first time to ‘snag a girl’ there.” His hesitant smile chips away at some of my resistance. “We didn’t plan it. Your mom and I struck up a friendship the first time she came to the support group. You need friends in our . . . situation.”

“And what is your situation?”

John interlaces his fingers and rests his arms on his knees. “I’m a recovering alcoholic.”