Page 1 of House of Scarlett
One
Gabe
Twenty-five yearsearlier
The storm siren screamed in the distance as I shook Ma awake. “We gotta go. They said we gotta get to the shelter.”
Ma must have found a bottle she hid, because I’d already poured out everything I could find. But there she was, passed out on the couch again.
“Just a few more minutes,” she murmured. “I’ll go to work.”
If I wasn’t so worried about the storm coming, I would have snorted. She hadn’t had a job in over a year, and the little money she did get ... I swallowed hard.Don’t wanna think about that.
“The whole park’s evacuating. We gotta go.”
Living in the middle of a bunch of tin cans in Biloxi meant that when the winds got to whipping up and the TV was sending reporters down to video stuff, we had to go somewhere safer.
“Go without me. I’ll be there later.” She patted my hand absently from the couch, and I clenched my teeth. “Good boy.”
Being nine sucked. I wasn’t strong enough to get her off the couch and out of the trailer; not yet, anyway. Someday I would be, though. Then no one would be able to tell me what to do, and those kids who stole my stuff on the way home from school wouldn’t be able to touch me.
I balled my hands into fists and dropped onto one knee. “Ma, wake up. We’ll get you another bottle at the shelter.”
Both bloodshot eyes popped open, just like I knew they would. “There’s a hurricane party?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
There wasn’t, but I’d say whatever I needed to say to get her moving. She wasn’t the best mom in the world, but she was all I had. And she loved me. She did. If it came right down to it, she’d pick me over the booze. I knew it.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming. Let me freshen up first. Need to fix my lipstick.”
She rolled off the broken couch, but there was no way I could let her look in a mirror. We’d never get out of the house. Her lipstick was smeared halfway up her cheek, her eyes were doing a good impression of a raccoon, and I didn’t want to think about the man who dropped her off last night with black tears streaming down her face. The second she stepped foot in the trailer, she was tearing it apart, looking for liquor. I went to bed, thankful she was home safe. I’d learned to block out the noise to get some sleep, but no one could sleep through the sirens. They were way too loud.
“You look great, Ma. Let’s go.” I hoped she’d forgive the lie, because we didn’t have time.
“Okay, okay. I’ll get my handbag.”
I grabbed it off the coffee table, which was piled with unpaid bills and ads for groceries we couldn’t afford because Ma drank the check that came from the government, and handed the purse to her. It was a miracle she actually paid our rent this month. I hated it when Tony, the park manager, came and threatened to kick us out and called us white trash.
I shouldered the backpack I’d loaded with all our important stuff—eighty-seven dollars she didn’t know I had from weeding and doing odd jobs for the neighbors, her inhaler that was down to its last few puffs, our birth certificates, and the pocketknife I found when the couple from Lot 18 ran off in the middle of the night without paying their rent.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.
Someday, things will be different ...
One day, I’d be old enough to get a job and pay the bills. No one would be able to throw us out because the rent would never be late. There would be food in the fridge, and maybe even some Nutter Butters in the cupboard.
Before I got lost in my head, thinking about all the ways things were going to change when I was the one taking care of us, Ma tucked her handbag under her arm and straightened her shoulders. She was still pretty for a mom. Long blondish-brown hair—same as me. Bright blue eyes that were the color of mine. But hers weretoo pretty. Because she got herself in trouble every time a man noticed her.
“Let’s go, kiddo. Time to party.”
There was going to be hell to pay when she realized there was no liquor at the shelter, just people who were terrified of losing everything if the storm got worse like they said it could. But I’d deal with that later.
As soon as we stepped out of the broken screen door, all I heard was yelling. Mary Jo, the nice lady from next door who always made sure to save me a cookie and paid me for chores, was hollering at Carl, her boyfriend, to hurry. She jammed her hands into her hair, messing up all the black waves. But when she saw me, she smiled.
“Make sure you get Gabe to the high school, Lauralee,” Mary Jo called out.
“Mind your own fucking business, bitch.”
