My Daughter's Boyfriend (30 page)

When I realized how late it was, I stood up. “I need to get back home.”

“Do you?”

His brow furrowed. He stepped up to me and challenged me with his eyes, refusing to blink.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, I do.”

“What about—”

“Rain check?” My voice was crushed with softness.

He nodded, pressed his nose against my hair until I felt his heat.

“No.” I shook my head with as much gentle honesty as possible.

Brad lifted his nose from my hair. His eyes crinkled with questions. “Let’s face it, Brad. If it weren’t for this Aaron situation, I wouldn’t be here right now. And us getting together would take zero effort. But I don’t want to just go through the motions when it involves something so precious. Do you?”

I placed my hand on the front of his pants and squeezed.

Brad’s stomach and legs pulsated with tiny jerks, but he whispered, “I’ll get my car keys.”

Tracey 33

After enduring sleep not even fit for a drunk, I got up
grumpy and snapping at Lauren, who, not surprisingly, had overslept.

“Wake up, Lauren, I’ve been calling you three and four times,” I yelled, looking at the flashing lights on my clock radio. We’d had a thunderstorm during the night, and our electricity must’ve been disrupted.

“Mom, I am about to get up. It’s not my fault if my alarm didn’t go off.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hurry up, we’ll have to fight rush-hour traffic on both the Loop and I-45 to make it on time.”

I hustled from the apartment, trying to lug baggage. We dodged huge raindrops and ducked inside the Malibu. I tossed Lauren’s travel items in the backseat, then patted my face with tissue. Soon we were advancing toward the freeway.

“Damn, it’s coming down hard this morning. Turn on the radio,” I said.

Every station we heard was dominated by the weather: flash flood warnings, predictions of at least ten inches of rain within hours. “Don’t go out if you don’t have to,” one reporter said.

Some roads out in West Houston were getting to be impassable; detours were being mapped as fast as Harris County could figure out what to do.

“Wonder if your flight will be delayed.”

Lauren didn’t answer. Instead she looked at me with closely knit eyebrows. “Mom, I’m kinda hungry. I hate airline food, and I got a taste for a big breakfast and a sausage sandwich.”

“Uh-uh. No. Lauren, there’s no way we’ll have time to run by McDonald’s and get you to Hobby by seven.”

“But, Mom, yes we can. Since it’s raining so hard, there might not be a lot of people waiting in line. And if there is, I’ll just go inside and you can stand by. Only takes a few minutes.”

“Standing in line never takes a few minutes.”

“Please, Mom.”

“Ugh, that is so . . . oh, whatever, if you miss your flight, don’t blame me.”

She sighed and settled back in her seat.

The intersection of South Gessner and Braeswood had a malfunctioning traffic light. So we had to do the first-come-first-served thingy before we could make any headway. This unforeseen inconvenience caused traffic to bottleneck. I sighed and kept thumping the steering wheel and listening to various newscasts.

Finally we made it a few miles down the road to the restaurant on Braeswood and Hillcroft. Lauren ran in and emerged fifteen and a half minutes later with her white bag of grub.

“Better hold on and try to eat at the same time. Only a miracle will get us to the airport on time,” I snapped as I accelerated out of McDonald’s parking lot.

As I’d feared, there was a sea of red lights on 610. I gritted my teeth and gripped the steering wheel. The weather was in God’s hands.

I asked Lauren questions about the trip, but she acted like she couldn’t hear.

Instead, she nibbled at her food, eating a little bit of sausage and most of her hash-browns. The rest was left smiling and mocking her as it sat in the Styrofoam container.

“Hmmm, I don’t want any more. Just some orange juice.”

“I knew it, Lauren. Well, don’t leave your trash in the car like you usually do. We had ants crawling all on the carpet last time you did that.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” she said turning away from me and leaning her head against the passenger-side window.

We finally rolled onto the airport grounds. All I could think about was the plans I had for my two days of vacation: relaxing, reading, maybe doing a little shopping, probably at West Oaks Mall or somewhere out on Westheimer. But I was in such a sour mood by then that nothing appealed to me more than just going home and crawling under the covers.

I pulled up to the Southwest Airlines passenger drop-off. Lauren jumped out of the car and removed her belongings from the backseat.

“Uh, see ya,” I said halfheartedly, but Lauren didn’t say a word, just made a mad sprint toward the building. I felt a tugging in my heart and exited the airport grounds. Since there was a combination of flooding and dozens of construction cones on Airport Boulevard, I decided to take another route. So I made a left turn and prayed I’d be home within an hour.

I was anxious to get somewhere safe. Bad weather made me miss home, even if it was a small apartment. I couldn’t wait to get back to the familiar.

I had just turned down a road that looked free of cars.

“Cool,” I said, smiling. “Maybe I can make some headway.”

By the time I saw the water, it was too late. The road ahead was flooded, a foot or so, and there was no way I could turn around and go back. I looked out the window and estimated that the water level was probably at the bottom of my car door.

I winced, drove slowly, then put my foot on the accelerator and hoped I wouldn’t start floating away.

The waters slapped against the car, rocking us both into fear.

I had driven midway through the flood when the engine died.

“Oh God, no, no, no, please.” I pumped the accelerator a few times and waited a minute before trying the ignition.

I-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i . . .

A horrible sound of automotive constipation, an utterly hopeless sound that told me I wasn’t soon to go anyplace worth going.

I shivered and tried to wipe the condensation from the windshield and the driver’s-side window. Hell, I didn’t have the foggiest idea where I was. Just took a turn, not paying attention to street names.

It was so cloudy and dark I didn’t even have the benefit of knowing where the sun was. It was hidden away, cowering behind some gray and evil clouds.

I rubbed my temples with my fingers. My skin was moist from the humidity.

Think, Tracey, think.

Think, think, think.

Cell phone.

“Thank the Lord for cell phones,” I said aloud, and retrieved my precious little Nokia from my purse. I pulled out the retractable antenna. Pressed the one-touch speed-dial button that would get me to the one I missed.

Aaron.

At first I did a little bit of a dance while sitting in my seat, but frowned at the female voice that emerged from my phone. “The person you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Where is that guy? Doesn’t he know I need him? Doesn’t he even care? I put the phone down on the seat next to me. That was when I noticed the bag of garbage, the irritating leftover food that Little Miss Lauren had neglected to trash.

“Ooooh, she gets on my nerves. The ants will be crawling all in my car. I’m the one who’ll have to scratch my legs ’cause the stupid ants will be crawling all over me.”

I got so tired of sitting, so weary of being stuck in a small place that made me feel like I was suffocating. My butt was starting to feel like I was sitting on a block of cement. I was dying to stretch my rubbery legs. And I was afraid that if I opened the door to stand up, all the water would pour inside my car, rushing over my feet, wetting the carpet, and causing my Malibu to smell like mildew forever.

“Oh, this is starting to get annoying,” I complained to the window.

I looked at my Nokia, and it seemed to be talking to me.

Derrick.

Derrick? Call Derrick?

It was tempting. Derrick was always there for Lauren. Maybe he’d have mercy on me and at least call a tow truck if I asked. But I didn’t even know where I was. And even if I did, how could I possibly grovel well enough to persuade this man to help me? Nah, it ain’t gonna happen, I thought.

“Oh, forget it. Forget him,” I said aloud, as if the car would care.

Steve Monroe.

I laughed.

“Yeah, right. I can just see myself calling Steve Monroe. His new woman, wife, mistress, or whatever the hell she is, will answer the phone and curse me out. And if that happened, I’d deserve getting told off this time. Nah, better leave Steve and his dysfunctional family alone.”

I looked down at my clothes. In our rush to get to the airport, I’d thrown on the first clothes my hands could touch: a wrinkled denim shirt and some stained, stone-washed blue jeans; mismatched socks, one white, one tan; and my new running shoes. I’d slapped on Lauren’s bad-hair-day cap and called it a day.

Usually when Houston was attacked by these crazy floods, I’d be the one at home, sitting in front of the television, shaking my head, looking at all the people who were trying to roll their cars out of the bayou, who were forced to abandon their precious little Ford pickups in the middle of the freeway-turned-parking lot. There’d be reporters all over town, sticking a microphone in some old grandma’s face so she could tell how she was rescued from the top of a Metro bus, or some other dramatic story.

I shivered and noticed how my throat was starting to feel sore. Like I was coming down with the flu. I felt achy, itchy, cranky, and bad-weather blue. I wanted to get going. My fun-meter had died a half hour ago. Let’s call it a day and get me home.

Another thirty minutes passed. I was getting hungry. Last night I’d only eaten one piece of chicken. Lauren didn’t let the chicken stay in the oven long enough, and once I bit into the meat and saw the red and pink—well, chicken had never looked so bad. I ate some of the mashed potatoes she’d made, but basically I went to bed mad and hungry.

I thought about trying to call Aaron again. It had been a while since I last called him. I picked up the Nokia again, but when I tried to dial, I heard this horrid little beeping noise, the sound that lets you know you can’t make a call on this phone ’cause this here phone is good and dead.

Shoot!

I started to plug the cell-phone charger into the cigarette lighter, but hell, what good would that do? I slapped the phone and jabbed the cigarette lighter. Felt like kicking the console and throwing back my head and screaming. I felt like someone was playing a trick on me.

God.

I started laughing and talking at the same time.

“Oh, okay, okay. I know what this is about. Church. You’re mad at me because I haven’t been to church in a while. Well, hey, what can I say? If it weren’t for all the Christians, I’d have come to church. But you know how they are. Ha, they—oh, never mind.”

I hovered in fear, looking through the window, up at the sky. But it still looked dark, desolate, and eerie, like the Lord’s day off.

Right about then I wished more than anything that I had a Bible. I used to keep one in the car. For months and months it lay underneath the seat, but probably a couple months ago I’d thrown it somewhere in my walk-in closet. Hadn’t seen it or thought of it since. But now I just wished I could conjure up a word of hope, some scripture that would make me feel like I wasn’t alone.

“The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down, he maketh me to lie, aw shoot.”

If I’d been smart enough to leave King James where he should’ve been in the first place . . .

I picked up my Nokia again, rubbing it, pressing the little power button again and again. Ohh, how I wished my cell phone would miraculously come on. Then I could call, hmmm, oh, I could call . . .

Indira.

Indira was my buddy. Always there for me. She’d listen to me try to explain as best as I could where the hell I was. She’d try and come find me even if she didn’t know where I was. Rushing out the door, almost breaking her leg trying to get to me. Now
that’s
a friend.

Oh boy, my poor hands felt like they were about to go to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep on me now, hands,” I said, shaking them to rid myself of that tingly feeling. I blew hot breath on them, hoping that would wake them up.

My hands woke up, but then my stomach growled.

“I know, I know. Mom knows the baby’s hungry,” I said, patting my tummy. My voice caught. It had been a couple of hours now. Felt like weeks, though. Things were getting monotonous. Surely I wasn’t going to die out here on the road. I didn’t even know if my daughter got to Dallas or not. What if she decided she couldn’t go on the plane again and needed someone to come pick her up? What if she tried to call me but my phone was dead? Oh, I forgot. She wouldn’t call me first; she’d call tight-butt Derrick. He was the one Lauren turned to when she was in trouble.

I wiped away the hot tears that make a surprising appearance on my face. My face, the sliding board for tears. Hot liquid that humiliated me: their very presence was proving to the world that, yes, I knew I was a low-down, unfit, uncaring, and selfish mother. I deserved just what I was getting. Death by starvation. Disintegrating into the nothingness that I was.

What good does it do to have a mom, if she acts like she doesn’t love you? If she’d rather hang out with your boyfriend than with you? I hid my face in my hands and ducked my head. I knew that no one could see me, but it still felt like the entire solar system knew who I was.

“The clouds know my name,” I told myself, and laughed. It was amazing to realize that such notoriety wasn’t reserved just for the Creator.

I sat and stared at those clouds for the longest, praying that I could see over and above the clouds, believing that they could somehow reveal the secrets of what was happening in my life. Wasn’t it logical to think that clouds were physically closer to God than I was, and that maybe, just maybe, the Almighty had whispered something to his creation about me, something that his heavenly haze was willing to share so I could receive some type of answer about the puzzling events of my life?