Page 3 of House of Scarlett
Where is Ma?
Not even aware I moved, I fought through the crowd, getting whacked and shoved with every step.
More cops. More screaming. Bullhorns.
I couldn’t see. Someone ran into me and shoved me to the ground. I wrapped my arms over my head as someone’s shoe whacked my forearm hard enough to leave a mark.
“Ma!” I screamed for help, but rain lashed me from the sky and the wind screamed.
I crawled away, until someone grabbed me by the backpack and lifted me to my feet. I turned around, relief rushing through me, but when I saw the face in front of mine, the relief disappeared just as quickly.
It wasn’t my mom. It was a cop.
“Come on, kid. You need to get out of here.”
“But my ma—”
“She in the store?” he asked, reaching for the radio hooked to his shirt.
“I don’t know. We were going to the shelter. We ... got separated.”
“Go sit by the car. I’ll come back for you. Don’t go anywhere.” He shoved me toward the front of a squad car as a SWAT truck rolled up with a paddy wagon behind it, just like in the freaking movies.
I huddled against the bumper, getting pelted by rain, as the SWAT team controlled the crowd and handcuffed one person on their knees after another.
Ma was nowhere to be seen.
Until I heard the screeching.
Oh God. No.My stomach dropped to the oil-stained concrete below me, and I thought for sure that I would puke.
Ma held a broken bottle, jabbing it toward a cop while hugging more booze to her chest. He jerked back, narrowly missing her swipe at him with the broken glass.
No, Ma! No!
That’s when I realized the screeching was coming from me.
But no one could hear me over the wind. And no one could stop Ma from getting her liquor.
At least, not until a second cop grabbed her from behind, knocked the broken bottle out of her hand, and yanked her arms around her back to cuff her. The other bottles shattered as they hit the cement. She wiggled and squirmed, trying to get free, spitting at anyone within range as they marched her toward the line of people sitting on the ground.
I knew right then that my life would never be the same.
My ma was going to jail.Which meant I was going to foster care.
She promised me this would never happen. She promised she’d never let me get taken away.
She lied.
I sat there, huddled against the bumper of a cop car with a nasty storm bearing down, and tears slid down my face. I was glad for the rain, because at least no one could tell I was crying.
As they led her and the others toward the paddy wagon, I watched her, expecting her to look around frantically to see where I was. Worried about me. Her only son.
But I shouldn’t have bothered.
She never looked back.
Two
