Almost Beautiful, page 23
“Dear God,” I said, taking a half-step back.
He tried his sexiest grin, and I tried not to throw up in my mouth. He obviously thought he looked irresistible.
“Hey.”
I recoiled, but hearing Toto pawing at the door snapped me out of the nightmare I felt stuck in. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. Worried about what, Brandon?”
He was trying to hide the triumph he felt and that made me want to punch him.
“He’s been acting weird. I think he feels guilty about the fire.”
He is wearing a fucking wire.
“Well,” I began. “Sure, we all feel awful about it. We knew a lot of people who died in that basement.”
“I’m worried he’s going to do something stupid and get caught.”
“Get caught? What do you mean?”
“Lying to the Feds. Lying to the cops. Everyone knows he was there, Abby. Your flight didn’t leave until after the firetrucks got there.”
I shook my head. “We didn’t know about it until we got to the airport and saw the reports on the televisions. Are you insinuating he was there? Because he wasn’t.”
“Yes, he was, Abby. You both were. I get it, wanting to protect him. But everyone knows, the Feds know, and you shouldn’t go down with him. Not when he’s at the gym doing what he’s doing.”
I laughed once. “Here we go …”
Brandon sighed. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I can’t watch you go down for this because you’re trying to be loyal to him when he’s … he’s not loyal to you, Abby. Travis and Tiffany have been seeing each other on the side. He’s with her at the gym right now. He’s not working late. They were in my office talking and flirting when I left. She had her hands all over him. I’m going to talk to her. I’ll make her tell you the truth. She will. She’s a good girl, he’s just … persuasive.”
“Are you jealous?” I asked.
“Huh?”
I crossed my arms. “You’re telling me Tiffany, the employee you’re having an affair with, is also sleeping with my husband, and you walked away calmly to tell me?”
He seemed genuinely confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tiffany is my receptionist. We’ve always been pretty close but it’s been going on with them pretty much since he started. You think I would’ve just watched that happen in my gym if I was having an affair with her? Listen… I know this is hard to hear. My ex-wife cheated on me and it sucks.”
“That’s not the way it happened according to the entire population of Eakins.”
“People say a lot of things. Funny how no one asks me. All I’m saying is, I understand. I’m here for you if you need to talk to someone who’s been there. I don’t want you sitting here alone. Let’s go someplace, have a drink, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”
I pulled my phone from my back pocket. “Watch how easy this is, Brandon. If Becca needs tips, have her call me.”
“What are you doing?”
I held up my phone as it rang. “FaceTiming my husband.”
Travis picked up on the first ring, smiling. “Hey, Pidge. Everything okay?”
“You still training?” I asked, noticing the background. He was in the main part of the gym. It was nearly empty.
He panned the camera over to his client. “Susan, say hi to my wife.”
“Hi, Abby!” Susan said, waving. She was sweaty but smiling.
“Is Tiffany still there?” I asked.
He glanced around. “No, I’m locking up tonight. Do you remember when Tiffany left, Susan?”
“It wasn’t long after I got here,” Susan said off-camera.
“Why? Did something happen?”
“No, I’ll tell you when you get home. I love you.”
“What are you doing outside?” he asked, wary.
I went inside and locked the door. “Just taking out the trash. See you soon, baby. Love you.”
He smiled, but he was still confused—and suspicious. “Okay, Pidge. I’ll be on my way soon.”
We hung up, and Brandon knocked on the door again. “Abby? I know she’s still there. Susan and Travis are pretty tight. I’m not surprised at all that she’s covering for him. And you heard him, he knows something’s up. He was being defensive, asking questions. He wanted to know if you knew anything. I know it’s hard to hear and you don’t want to believe it, but it’s true.”
“Yeah … you need to leave.”
He knocked again. “Just let me prove it to you. I’m sure he’s told you all this bullshit about me to discredit me in case I ever told you.” He laughed. “It’s obvious if you think about it. You’re going to get in trouble and realize too late it was all for someone who never loved you.”
I looked down at my dog. “Toto, go to your bed,” I said, smiling as he hesitated for just a moment, and then left me for the small cushy pillow he slept on in our room. “Good boy,” I said quietly.
“Abby? I’m not trying to make this weird, but I need you to listen. I can’t let you do this.”
I sighed, then opened the door. “Let’s get something straight. You will never let me do anything. You just made an ass of yourself on my doorstep, and you follow up with you’re not going to let me? Let me what? Question your lies? Believe my husband when I just saw the truth for myself? I realize, Brandon, that you’re used to dealing with teenage girls who don’t think twice about being told what to do or what to think, but even if my husband didn’t dominate you in every aspect of life, and couldn’t reduce you to a puddle of your own blood, I would still be standing here, telling you to get the fuck off my porch.”
“Abby—”
“GET THE FUCK OFF MY PORCH!”
He turned around and descended a few steps, hesitated, then kept going. Once he was at his truck, he opened the door and shook his head. “When it all finally goes down, don’t come crying to me. I tried.”
I slammed the door, adrenaline pouring through my veins. The bolt lock slowly clicked under the direction of my shaking fingers, but that was all I could manage besides making my way to the couch and whistling for Toto. He jumped into my lap, and with each stroke of his hair, my heartbeat slowed.
If I told Travis what had just happened—after what Brandon had already pulled at the gym—Travis would definitely be arrested within hours for assault. Keeping it from him wasn’t an easier option.
I swore at Brandon, under my breath, for forcing that choice on me, and at the same time I already knew my decision. I couldn’t lie to Travis, and I’d have to trust him not to lose his shit. And, I’d have to trust myself to be able to talk him into staying home.
“Daddy is going to have to quit his job,” I said, glad I’d been frugal with my winnings from the Sig Tau poker game.
Mid-stroke through Toto’s hair, a gentle knock came from the other side of the door.
I let my head fall back. I wasn’t opening the door again. “Go away!”
The next set of knocking was just as timid as the first, and much lower than it would be if it were Brandon. I stood, my mind weighing scenarios of who it could be. What if it was a kid or someone else from the apartment complex who needed help? I peered through the peep hole and closed my eyes tight, letting my forehead thump against the door.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I whispered.
“Abby? I’m sorry it’s late. I got lost, and then I went to the wrong apartment a few times.” She knocked again, this time less patient. “I know you’re in there, I just saw you verbally rip the balls off that meat head.”
My hands wouldn’t work. I just stood there, staring at the door, expressionless. Usually, I could figure out a solution or plan an escape, but there was nothing. Just … silence. Between worrying about America, dealing with Brandon, and now this, my system had decided to all but shut down. It was just too much for one day.
“Abigail Hope Abernathy! Open this door!”
I scrambled to twist the bolt lock open, and yanked on the knob, staring at the small, tired, worn, twenty-six years older version of myself.
“Sorry, Mom.” I gestured to the living room. “Come in.”
She smiled for a half a second before her face fell. She had aged at an exponential rate since I’d seen her. The caramel strands of her hair were frizzed and mixed with wiry grays. The lines on each side of her mouth were deep, her cheeks sagging, skin creped and yellowing, just like her hollow eyes.
She brushed past me.
I stared out at the parking lot before slamming the door behind her, wishing I was still dealing with Brandon instead. Even Mick at the door would’ve been better than my mother sitting on my couch, sipping straight vodka through the straw she’d put inside the worn, plastic water bottle she was using to conceal it.
I pointed at her. “Don’t throw up.”
She chuckled and settled back against the cushions. “I’m at least five more of these away from that.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said, sitting on the recliner.
My mom wasn’t always a bad mother, but she was never a good one. The house was never quite clean, the breakfast not always on the table before school. She didn’t always come home at night, and she wasn’t always sober.
As unpredictable as she was when Mick was winning, it was no secret that Bonnie Abernathy was always one drink away from falling off the map if her husband’s luck ran out.
When I turned thirteen, it did.
Mom didn’t stick around long after the money disappeared. Any small slice of normalcy I’d had until that point was replaced by late nights in smoky hotel rooms and mobsters’ basements watching my father sweat over his shitty poker hands and then talk his way out of being pummeled or worse when he couldn’t come up with cash.
The Mafia who ran Vegas were a particularly brutal bunch, but most of them had a soft spot for kids. So, I was Mick’s human shield.
He’d say he was all I had left. That he was just trying to make ends meet, to put dinner on the table. That Bonnie had left in the middle of the night without warning, and he had to try to figure out a way to keep our tiny family off the street.
Those convincing pleas worked for years, but he lost more than just money when, without warning, Mom picked me up for school one day and drove through the night until we reached her new home in Wichita, Kansas.
Mick had lost his last bastion.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
The recliner squeaked when I shifted against its cushions, but Mom didn’t seem to hear it over her instant annoyance at my question.
“That’s an odd thing to ask your mother, don’t you think?”
“Not if she left without as much as a note a few months before my high school graduation.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, pulling a cigarette box from her purse and fumbling with the flip-top lid.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“I can’t?” she asked, pulling a cigarette from the box and lighting it. She didn’t lose eye contact with me as she took a puff and blew it into the air.
My lips pressed together in a thin line. I stood up, opened the door and waved my hands through the cloud of smoke. “Why are you here? If you need money, you’re out of luck. We’re doing good just to pay our bills.”
Her eyes lost focus as she stared forward and took another drag. “Oh. I haven’t had luck shine on me in a long time, Abby.”
She’d had that same defeated look on her face when she’d stand in the doorway of the kitchen, watching Mick teach me how to play poker.
I’d always wondered what thoughts were behind her hopeless eyes. If she blamed me, too, for Mick’s winning streak going as dry as the desert that surrounded our trailer home.
“So,” she said, cupping her palm and ashing into it. “I hear you’re a married woman, now.”
“Better be careful, Mom, you’re starting to sound like you actually care.”
Mom narrowed her eyes at me, but she didn’t break character. For the moment, she was cool, aloof, calm Bonnie. Five minutes later, she could be in tears, screaming, or laughing. It was hard to tell.
Regardless, it was surreal to have her sitting across from me after so much time had passed with no word. Not even a fucking birthday card.
“I heard about the fire,” Mom said.
“What about it?”
“I’m glad you’re okay. Mark and Pam said America was terrified that you’d be there.”
I shrugged. “They didn’t know that we’d eloped to Vegas.”
Mom nodded. “I see. Interesting, that you’d pick Vegas. You couldn’ta went to the Justice of the Peace, or Reno, or—”
“You can get married in Vegas any time of day, and we didn’t want to stress over the flights or itinerary.”
“Sounds like you,” she said, blowing more smoke into the air.
I stood, snatched the cigarette from her mouth and drench it in the sink before throwing it into the trash. The calendar on the wall worked well enough to waft the smoke out the door, but I knew Travis would still smell it when he got home.
“That was rude as hell,” she said, watching me try to work the smoke outside.
“Not half as rude as you smoking in my apartment without permission. Now,” I said, slamming the door shut. “You’ve seen for yourself that I’m okay. Anything else?”
“I just … I wanted to tell you I love you.”
“You … what?”
“No girl—no matter what’s happened—should go through life thinking her mother doesn’t love her. I know I walked out on you. I know I was drunk more often than I was sober, I know I was a shit mother, but it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It was because I didn’t love me.”
“What is this, some kind of twelve-step apology bullshit?”
Mom stood. “Nope. I’m still a drunk. I told you, I heard about the fire, and this was just something I felt like I needed to do. You can believe it or not, give me the finger, tell me to leave and never come back. Hell, I’m surprised you opened the door. But you did, and I’m here, and I said what I needed to say. I love you. I always have. Always will. You were the perfect child and you didn’t deserve who you got stuck with as parents. I don’t expect you to want to start spending holidays together—I have no expectations, really—I just wanted to say that. Probably hard to believe after dealing with Mick all these years, but that’s all.”
“I can believe it. You left the first time with just the clothes on your back. After that, you never asked for money, even after the news articles came out.”
“I don’t want anything from you, Abby.”
“Not even a relationship,” I said, feeling my eyes burn.
“Some people should never be mothers. Unfortunately for you, I’m one of them. But it wasn’t because I didn’t love you enough or because you weren’t worth being better for. There is no better me.” She gestured to herself with sweeping hands. “There’s just this. That’s all there is.”
“Okay,” I said, watching her get her things together. The ashes in her hand peppered the couch and the rug. “Thanks for, uh … thanks for coming by, I guess.”
“Don’t feel guilty, Abby. You don’t have to love poison just because its name is Mom.”
I sighed. “You’re not poison. You’re …”
“A drunk. And I’m sorry. I wish you’d been dealt a better hand.”
“If I had, Mom … I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be married to the love of my life. I wouldn’t know the things I know or be able to read people the way I do. I wouldn’t be so resilient.”
“True, but don’t you get tired? Of being resilient? I was.”
“Not at all.”
She nodded, then walked down the steps and across the wet parking lot into the dark.
I thought about following her, offering her enough money for a motel room for the night, maybe dinner, but I knew she wouldn’t take it. I could see it in her eyes, she knew she’d taken enough. I chewed on my lip, watching the night swallow her without a sound.
A motorcycle growled in the distance, its headlight growing closer. Travis parked in his usual spot, shutting down his bike and walking toward me with curiosity in his eyes.
“Everything all right, Pidge?” he asked. He jogged up the stairs and kissed the corner of my mouth as I still stared into the night.
“Yeah, my, uh … my mom just left.”
He turned to search the cars in the lot. “Your mom? Where is she?”
“Gone.” I sighed. “Again.”
He led me into the apartment by the hand and closed the door behind us before pulling gently, holding me against him. “You okay?”
“Strangely enough, yes.” I pressed my cheek against his chest.
In truth I wasn’t sure how I felt. I’d always thought my mom was a lost, sad, alcoholic, and then she strolled back into my apartment with two lifetimes worth of wisdom and understanding.
He sniffed a few times, looking around the apartment. “Did she …?”
“Smoke in here? Yep. Until I took it.”
“Is she coming back?” he asked.
I hugged him tighter. “Nope.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Roads to Fate
Abby
“YOU SHOULD GO,” I SAID, touching his arm.
“To which one?” he asked.
“You don’t have a choice in going to California or not.”
Travis frowned. Brandon had insisted he attend a health and fitness convention with him in San Diego, and we were both trying to hide how worried we were. Two solid days of quality time with Brandon wouldn’t end well.
He hugged me. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I know, but … You should go with me to Keaton’s anniversary vigil tonight.”
“What if it upsets people? What if it causes a scene?”
Someone knocked on the door, and Travis let go of me to answer it. Toto joined him, waiting patiently for who it might be.
“Mr. Maddox,” a woman said.
I moved so that I could see past my husband.
The woman was wearing a gray fitted suit, a button-down shirt, and tall, black high heels that still didn’t put her above 5’5”. The man was dressed similarly, but with a tie. He was taller than her, stocky, his jaw squared and clean-shaven. They were Feds.
