A Room on Lorelei Street - Page 9

“The usual. The stretch between Gorman and the refineries. They were right behind the last row of trailers at Sunset Gardens. She asked for it. They’re always there.”

Zoe shakes her head. That’s where they got Carly the last time. Why didn’t she learn? But who is she to judge Carly on faulty memory. It seems to be a Ruby staple.

She lies back in the truck, and Reid erupts with a long dramatic belch, then smiles and bows. Zoe tweaks her head to the side and feigns disgust but can’t restrain a smile. She loves him like a brother, but she can’t forget he was the last one. Carly doesn’t know. It still shames her when she thinks of it, and it continues to hang between her and Reid, thin, like a ghost, barely seen in fleeting glimpses, in the shadows, but always there in awkward pauses, brief moments of remembrance—how it was, the intimacy that is now a hazy dream.

“I’ll give her a call later,” she says.

“Nope. A hundred-and-fifty-dollar ticket means no phone either.” Reid lies down beside her on the gate. Together they stare into the weave of color over them, a shifting canopy of white-blue sky and quaking leaves of mesquite as the afternoon wind picks up.

“Well, I’ll see her tomorrow at school, then,” Zoe says.

“You’ll be there? Knew you were suspended today. You were the talk of the school. Everyone’s saying they would put up with Garrett all year long if they could have just been in that class yesterday. They’re saying they love you in one breath and that you’re fucking crazy in the next.”

Zoe sighs. “How many times are you going to call me crazy in one day, Reid?”

“You tell me. The day’s not over.”

She doesn’t answer. She wonders herself.

An awkward silence comes between them, and she is aware of his jeans brushing the side of her bare thigh, his head just inches from hers. She sits up and throws her cigarette down on the dirt, then stands to mash out

the fading embers. Reid changes the subject, and they talk about trivial things neither one cares about until finally Zoe looks at her watch and says she has to go home.

But she doesn’t go straight home. She can’t stop herself. She takes a brief detour—a detour down Lorelei Street—a detour that takes only fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes of dreaming and imagining, a detour that is really, now, her only route home.

Nine

The house is silent. She checks Mama’s room, and the bed is empty.

She went to work. Like she said. She really went to work.

Zoe goes to the kitchen and puts away the half gallon of milk and Chinese express she picked up on the way home. She clears the table of dishes, newspapers, bottles of antacids and washes away the crumbs, coffee rings, and dabs of grape jelly with a dishcloth that is gray and smells of mildew. The worn but clean Formica tabletop glistens with the dampness of the rag, and that glimmer somehow lifts her spirits. She turns on the radio on top of the refrigerator. Mama has it tuned to an oldies-but-goodies station, and Zoe leaves it there. She listens to Roy Orbison croon “it’s over” as she runs hot water to wash a few dishes.

She glances at the clock. Six-fifteen. Mama should be home soon. Sally’s closes at seven; the last shampoos are done by six-thirty. It’s only three blocks away, which Mama walks now that she can’t drive. Zoe pictures Mama’s withering legs. But the exercise is good for her, she thinks. She finishes the dishes and looks at the empty sink. It is stained and yellowed, but still somehow fresh-looking on this particular evening. She decides she will make sure it is empty every evening and begins drying the dishes. She looks at the clock. Five after seven. She wonders if she should have picked up Mama. She sets her towel on the counter and picks up the phone. She hesitates, then dials. Sally answers on the first ring.

“Sally? Has Mama left yet?”

“Zoe? That you, sweetheart?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Your Mama ain’t here, honey.”

“How long ago did she leave? I was just wondering if I should have picked her up.”

Zoe notes the pause.

“Your Mama hasn’t been here at all today. She hasn’t been in the shop for close to a month. Did she say she was coming in?”

Zoe stumbles, not fixing on Sally’s voice anymore. “No. I mean, I think I misunderstood her. That’s all. Thanks, Sally.” She says good-bye and hangs up.

Not there? Where…

A familiar fear grips her, then explodes out of her.

“Mama?” she calls as she runs to the bathroom. Damn! She didn’t check the bathroom. “Mama!” she calls again. She stops at the dark doorway, her hand whipping around to switch on the light. The curtain is drawn at the tub, and she jumps forward to tear it away. It’s empty.

Only a white tub and nothing more.

Tags: Mary E. Pearson
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