“It’s Mama’s validation sticker. Not yours.”
“Your Mama forgot to take care of it with everything that’s been on her mind.”
Always the spin.
“So I paid for it. And I guess, well, that does make it mine.”
Zoe doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Thinks. But there is no strategy. “I need the sticker,” she says. “Without it I can’t drive, and if I can’t drive I can’t get to work.”
“Oh, Beth. Don’t you worry. I’m going to give you the sticker. But with you being such an independent career girl and all, I know you’ll want to pay me back for it.”
“But I can’t afford—”
“Beth.” Grandma’s face changes. Small wrinkles soften her eyes. The trying grandma. The smoothing-over grandma. “Let me take care of this. Come home and let’s put all this behind us. Start fresh. Come on, now. Be a good girl.”
A good girl. She almost could. Except for the lost woman Grandma has become. Except for the lost woman in the photo over Mama’s bed. A good girl might come easy, almost, if not for that.
“How much?” she asks.
“Beth—”
“I’m never coming back. Get used to it. Never coming. Never crawling. Never.”
The hard face returns. Soft lines fold into stone. “Never say never, Beth. I learned that two lifetimes ago. So did your mama. So will you.”
“But I’m not you—and I’m sure as hell not Mama.” Zoe’s hands shake. Damn, she needs a cigarette. But she waits.
“Eighty-eight dollars.” Grandma holds her palm out.
“Eighty-eight dollars! For a lousy—”
“Twenty percent late fee penalty.” Grandma turns and walks back into the kitchen. “Plus toll road fees. Adds up doesn’t it? Still want it?”
Zoe pushes past her and grabs her purse from the counter. She counts out ninety dollars and snatches the envelope from Grandma’s hand. “Keep the change.”
She leaves, slamming the door, hoping it wakes Mama. When she says never, she means never, even though more than half her rent money now lies in Grandma’s know-it-all palm.
Thirty-Six
The road, too familiar. Too much of the sameness to hold her. It melts away. She glides through Ruby. Glides to then.
Flashes of light.
Screams.
Kyle’s startled cries.
She remembers.
Elbows.
Arms.
Clothes flying out the door.
Remembers.
Sharp pieces of memory.