Chapter Four- Cade

Jaden shuts the door behind her with a loud thud. She’d been crying, sobbing. What am I supposed to do? Go after her? I turn to go after her, but stop. I don’t know what to say to her. She doesn’t tell me anything when I ask. Growling, I roll my neck and grab my keys. I have to be at the garage in fifteen minutes. I don't have time to babysit some eighteen-year-old spoiled brat.

Locking the door, I take the steps two at a time. My pickup is parked at the other end. It looks ridiculous with all of the expensive cars surrounding it. It’s rusted, beat-up, and old. But it's mine and she's been through it all with me. I bought it with my first job mowing grass when I was fifteen, and I worked hard to get her running. Those are the best vehicles, the old ones that purr when you start the engine, and take time to warm up. The ones that you have to fix with your own hands.

I race toward her, sliding against the gravel, sling the door open, and burn rubber out of the parking lot.

The gate guard gives me a go to hell look as I leave. I raise my hand out of the window and wave at him. He secretly loves it. Digging through my shirt pocket, I pull out a cigarette and light it. I take a slow, much-needed drag. Old habits die hard.

The drive to work only takes about ten minutes. It’s just up the road from our complex. I pull in with a few minutes to spare. Standing outside, I take one last drag and stomp the butt out.

Dan is on the phone when I walk in. He has that annoyed scowl on his face. You can barely see it from underneath his handlebar mustache. It doesn't take much to put Dan in a mood, so I don't pay much mind to it.

Two young girls stand at the counter. One, the brunette, keeps tapping her cell, checking it every time a notification comes in. I imagine it's TikTok or one of those other ridiculous time wasting apps. The redhead is staring Dan down as if she hopes he bursts into flames. It seems as if it’s the year of the rich Barbie's—they’re everywhere.

The brunette twirls her finger around her hair and lets out an annoyed sigh. Dan gives me a help me stare and jabs his finger over his shoulder toward the girls. Sighing, I open the swinging door and walk up to the counter. “What can I help you two ladies with?”

“Finally,” the redhead says.

The brunette lifts her finger to the other girl and turns back to me with a smile. “Yes, I need my oil changed. It’s the silver Lexus outside.”

Of course it is.

“Okay, I’ll have someone pull the car around. It should be,” I check the list, “about thirty minutes. Is that okay, kid?”

She pops her gum loudly and flutters her eyelashes. “Thank you, sir,” she purrs. She twitches off toward a seat in the lobby. They turn toward each other and start whispering in one another’s ears. Until their phones draw their attention, and all I hear is the sound of nails clicking.

“Those telemarketers won’t stop calling. If they’d give me a break, I might could get caught up on these books,” Dan grumbles, slamming his clipboard down before pulling out his glasses and looking down.

I roll my eyes. Having more time would only give Dan more time to screw up the books. He can’t keep track of anything.

“What we got?” he asks.

He scans the list with squinted eyes.

“Oil change,” I say.

Turning, he runs his fingers through his graying hair. He’s an old guy, but the best one in the world. He gave me this job even after looking at my rap sheet. I haven’t been … picture perfect my entire life. I’m not even there now.

“You want to get started on it for me? Johnny is late.”

“Again?”

He shrugs. “Just go, Cade. Don’t start.”

I shoo him away and gather my things.

“Did you see her cry?” the redhead says. “She ran out of class so fast, I don't even feel sorry for her. She's eighteen and needs to stop crying about everything."

“I know. She’s been like that forever. Such a crybaby,” the brunette says, acid lacing her voice.

“The only good thing about her is her hot brother. Adam. I don't understand how they're related to be honest. You know Adam slept with my sister last year, she said it was better than she imagined. Maybe, I'll try to make it to one of their parties, I hear they host a few a semester."

"Ewe, isn't that gross? Sleeping with the same guy your sister slept with?"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "It's not like he's putting it in at the time that was an entire year ago." The red-head shrugs but makes a disgusted face. When she looks up, she catches me staring at her. "I think he’s looking at us,” she whispers.

I turn before she gets the idea I’d actually consider her. Adam? They’re talking about Jaden.

I grab a wrench and try to listen, but they’re already talking about my tattoos. She ran out of her class today? Did they make her cry?

“Cade,” Dan yells.

“Coming.”

***

I clock out at eight. I worked John’s shift for him today and spent my break at the gas station next-door, scarfing down a burnt corndog and fries. My muscles ache, I smell like oil, and my hands are so dark I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get this grease completely off me.

“See you later, kid,” Dan yells from the opened lobby door.

I give him a nod and shut the driver’s side door of my truck. My baby purrs when I turn her on, and my fingers lace around her leather steering wheel.

The clock on the dash flashes eight fifteen. I need to get home, eat something, do my homework, and go to bed. But I don’t.

I put the car into reverse and head out of the parking lot. I stop and get some groceries on the way home and start to my mother’s house. My mother’s house—my childhood home—is located in a bad part of town, past the railroad tracks and stuck behind two abandoned houses. I don't even think it was anything to look at when it was first built. It's small, with 1960's tile flooring and faded off-white walls.

With Dad bailing when I was six, Mom couldn’t afford anything better. And when she started doing crack, she couldn’t even afford this. No bills were paid unless I paid them, which I did with stolen cash from school, until I was old enough to work. Then I earned it.

My mom’s old rusted firebird sits in the gravel driveway. Stray weeds grow around the tires. It doesn’t look like it’s been touched in a week.

All the lights are off, but she never has them on. Saves electricity she says, but it’s really, because it hurts her eyes when she’s blowed. And she’s always blowed.

Getting out, I grab the groceries I bought and lock my doors. The porch squeaks under my feet, and a stray cat scurries toward the dead bushes in front of the house. Opening the door, the smell almost knocks me over. She hasn’t cleaned in weeks—months. Who am I kidding? Probably years. Anger rushes through me, but I push it back. Getting angry with her doesn’t help; she closes up and recoils into her shell.

I push all the garbage lying on the floor out of the way with my boot so I don’t fall, like last time. “Mom?” I yell.

Nothing.

“Mom!”

Nothing.

I drop the groceries and flip on each light as I make my way through the house. The only reason the lights work is because I pay the bill each month. When I get to her bedroom, I flip on the light and see her on the bed. She holds her hand up to block the light and narrows her gaze.

“Turn that light off, Cade,” she hisses through her teeth, which look like she hasn’t brushed them in weeks.

I glance around the room. Her TV is playing lightly. Tissues, clothes, and a needle lie on her bed. She catches my gaze and throws the covers over the needle. “Can you turn the light off?” she snaps again. I walk toward her and stop abruptly in front of her bed.

“No, I won’t. Stop smoking crack, or shooting up whatever, and it won’t bother you. Do you need anything? Besides a bath? A trip to rehab, maybe?"

She jerks her head like she’s been slapped. Her thin fingers run into her faded blond hair. It leaves a grease mark against her face. God, when is the last time she’s looked at herself?

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m your mother, Cade.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say, picking up her dirty clothes and putting them into the hamper. I’ll wash them because I know she won’t. She watches me, and tears burst from her eyes.

Dang it. I drop her clothes and take her in my arms. “I’m sorry, Momma. Look, if you would just go to the rehab center you could—”

“No,” she says, pushing away. She crawls to the headboard and watches me through hooded eyes. “I’m not going to that effing place. I’m fine, Cade. I just need a couple more weeks, and I’ll be all better.” She twitches, scratching at her scalp. “Just give me a few weeks,” she mumbles, lying against her pillow. “Just a few more weeks.”

***

“Just a few more weeks, Damien !” my mother screamed at my dad. She was hunched down in the middle of her bed, cradling her head in her hands. She looked like a scared child. Not like the other moms. They looked nice. Smelled nice. Mom cried a lot more, too.

My hands were wrapped around a Ninja Turtle headband, while I stood at the doorway of my room. I watched as my dad walked back and forth between the door and their bed. “I’ve heard it before, Stephanie. I’ve heard it, and I’m sick of it. It’s always ‘a few more weeks,’ or ‘I promise I’ll get clean,’ but it never happens.”

Dad looked like a giant compared to Mom. I always wanted to grow up to be like him. Then it all vanished just as quickly as it started.

“I swear, Damien. I’m serious this time, please! I can’t take care of Cade by myself. I can’t afford it.”

Dad gripped his hair and pulled. “Because you spend it all on drugs, Stephanie. That’s why you can’t. It’s your own fault. I’m sick of living like this. Look at yourself! When is the last time you took a bath, huh?”

Mom sobbed louder and fell onto the bed, cradling the pillow to her face. Her sobs turned even louder as my dad grabbed his bag sitting by the door and slung it over his shoulder. “I loved you, Stephanie. I truly did, but I can’t take this anymore. I can’t take the torment of not knowing if you’ll live another day. I’m sorry … I have to leave.”

My mother shot up out of the bed, slamming her fists against his chest, and he let her. He watched as she beat him with her balled-up hands. After a few minutes, she dropped to the ground, holding her head.

Dad didn’t say anything as he passed by me, or when he stopped at the door. He just stood and stared, and then he turned and left.

***

Anger runs through me, and I fight the urge to throw something. Instead, I grab her clothes. “Eat something tonight. I brought you chili. I’ll be back in a couple of days with fresh clothes. I love you, Momma.”

She sniffles, looking at me like a scared Chihuahua. Shaking, hunched over, and crying. “Thank you, Cade. I love you, baby. Everything is going to be okay.”

Everything is going to be okay? I can’t even remember how many times I’ve heard her say that. I see red. Everything is blood red. Why is this happening? God, I just want to slap some sense into her. I begged for days, weeks, for her to go to rehab. She does the same thing each time and it breaks my heart more and more every minute.

If I can just get her back to normal. Bring her back to life; I may have a chance at saving our family.

I pull into Smiley’s and park my car at one of the front parking spaces. The lot is dead since it’s the middle of the week.

My forehead hits the steering wheel, and I screw my eyes shut. I know I need to go straight home. Straight into my bed, with a good night’s sleep. But just one drink won’t hurt, right?

Yeah, just one drink.