fingers coiled round the door handle.
"I know you've been drinking," she says. "I can smell it."
Then she gets out of the car, and walks swiftly, with purpose, up the path and into her house.
3
Lenise Jameson can't sleep. The temperature seems wildly out of control and she flips between blankets on, blankets off, blankets on, blankets off until she finally gives up and tosses them aside and lies there in the center of the bed curled up like a whorl on a fingertip. She can't get the image of him out of her head, hurt, those sweet, soulful eyes pleading for help.
When he was a puppy she'd started out so strict, determined he would not become one of those weak dogs, the ones that suffer separation anxiety the moment they lose sight of their master. Such neediness was pathetic. Any animal she owned would be independent and resilient so on the very first day she brought him home she made him sleep in another part of the house. But she hadn't been prepared for the heart-wrenching peal of his lonesome and bewildered cries, night after night, as if he was lost and afraid of the dark. On the third night Lenise gave in. She let him into her room then onto her bed, where he became a permanent, warm, heartbeating lump curled up in the arch of her back.
And now look at what had happened. All because of that drunken Tresemme-haired bitch from across the road, Baby may never come home.
Downstairs she hears the key clatter in the lock and the front door open and close. She looks at the bedside clock, 3.30am. She gets up and goes to the kitchen. Cody is there, elbows on the bench, finger-scooping out brown goop from a jar of Nutella.
"Don't start," he says, without turning around.
"I wasn't going too."
He looks up.
"What then?"
She begins to cry. He looks shocked because he has never seen her cry before, especially not like this, with the rolling, breath-robbing sobs and complete lack of restraint.
"Baby was in an accident."
"You're joking."
She shakes her head and can't get the words out.
"What happened?" he says.
"Over the road, the neighbor. She hit him with her car, he's at the vet. I don't think he's going to make it."
Cody stands there, arms by his side, looking useless.
"He'll be okay."
"He won't."
She wipes her nose and pauses.
"Cody, there's something else."
"What?"
"I noticed money missing again."
He stares at her, then turns to walk up the stairs and she knows she has lost him.
"I already told you I'm looking for a job," he says.
"I'm just asking because I'm going to need it for the vet."
"Make the neighbor pay. It's her responsibility."
"I wouldn't take a penny from that woman," she spits.
"You're always on my back. It's not easy out there."
"We've all had to adjust. Cody, please, don't walk away when I'm trying to talk to you, it isn't polite."
"I'm not three, Mother," he says.
He shuts his bedroom door, leaving Lenise to stand alone in the hallway. She doesn't go in because once the door is shut, that's it, their unspoken rule is in force – if he's in his room she will not disturb him. After all, he's a young man, 24 years old, and needs his privacy. But tonight Lenise wants to heave the door open and force him speak to her, make him understand their already bad financial situation is made worse by him. She is doing all that is humanely possible to support them but he needs to realize she isn't invincible and, by the way, doesn't he know she's given him the best years, the very best years of her life, so perhaps he could show a little more gratitude. Sometimes he is so much like his father she can't actually bear to look at him but she forces herself to anyway, because he is her son and that's what you do for people you love. All she wants is for him not to take, no, steal from her. That isn't too much to ask after all she has done for him.
But Lenise says none of those things. Instead she pulls her robe tight and goes back to bed.
*
The next day she feels no better and wishes she could
"I know you've been drinking," she says. "I can smell it."
Then she gets out of the car, and walks swiftly, with purpose, up the path and into her house.
3
Lenise Jameson can't sleep. The temperature seems wildly out of control and she flips between blankets on, blankets off, blankets on, blankets off until she finally gives up and tosses them aside and lies there in the center of the bed curled up like a whorl on a fingertip. She can't get the image of him out of her head, hurt, those sweet, soulful eyes pleading for help.
When he was a puppy she'd started out so strict, determined he would not become one of those weak dogs, the ones that suffer separation anxiety the moment they lose sight of their master. Such neediness was pathetic. Any animal she owned would be independent and resilient so on the very first day she brought him home she made him sleep in another part of the house. But she hadn't been prepared for the heart-wrenching peal of his lonesome and bewildered cries, night after night, as if he was lost and afraid of the dark. On the third night Lenise gave in. She let him into her room then onto her bed, where he became a permanent, warm, heartbeating lump curled up in the arch of her back.
And now look at what had happened. All because of that drunken Tresemme-haired bitch from across the road, Baby may never come home.
Downstairs she hears the key clatter in the lock and the front door open and close. She looks at the bedside clock, 3.30am. She gets up and goes to the kitchen. Cody is there, elbows on the bench, finger-scooping out brown goop from a jar of Nutella.
"Don't start," he says, without turning around.
"I wasn't going too."
He looks up.
"What then?"
She begins to cry. He looks shocked because he has never seen her cry before, especially not like this, with the rolling, breath-robbing sobs and complete lack of restraint.
"Baby was in an accident."
"You're joking."
She shakes her head and can't get the words out.
"What happened?" he says.
"Over the road, the neighbor. She hit him with her car, he's at the vet. I don't think he's going to make it."
Cody stands there, arms by his side, looking useless.
"He'll be okay."
"He won't."
She wipes her nose and pauses.
"Cody, there's something else."
"What?"
"I noticed money missing again."
He stares at her, then turns to walk up the stairs and she knows she has lost him.
"I already told you I'm looking for a job," he says.
"I'm just asking because I'm going to need it for the vet."
"Make the neighbor pay. It's her responsibility."
"I wouldn't take a penny from that woman," she spits.
"You're always on my back. It's not easy out there."
"We've all had to adjust. Cody, please, don't walk away when I'm trying to talk to you, it isn't polite."
"I'm not three, Mother," he says.
He shuts his bedroom door, leaving Lenise to stand alone in the hallway. She doesn't go in because once the door is shut, that's it, their unspoken rule is in force – if he's in his room she will not disturb him. After all, he's a young man, 24 years old, and needs his privacy. But tonight Lenise wants to heave the door open and force him speak to her, make him understand their already bad financial situation is made worse by him. She is doing all that is humanely possible to support them but he needs to realize she isn't invincible and, by the way, doesn't he know she's given him the best years, the very best years of her life, so perhaps he could show a little more gratitude. Sometimes he is so much like his father she can't actually bear to look at him but she forces herself to anyway, because he is her son and that's what you do for people you love. All she wants is for him not to take, no, steal from her. That isn't too much to ask after all she has done for him.
But Lenise says none of those things. Instead she pulls her robe tight and goes back to bed.
*
The next day she feels no better and wishes she could
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