Some Are Sicker Than Others (17 page)

A few minutes later, Rick stomped into the kitchen. His hair was wet from the shower and his skin reeked of cheap aftershave. He grabbed a ballpoint pen and tore off a sheet of yellow notepad paper, then sat down next to Angie and began to scribble. “Alright, you know the drill. No more than three boxes per store. Spread it out. Hit the Walgreens on Broadway, the CVS on Speer, and the Super Target in Glendale. And make sure you get the right stuff this time. Not that crap that says
PE
on the label. Make sure it says
Pseudoephedrine
, not
Phenylephrine
. Got it?”

“Yeah I got it. I know what to do.”

“You sure? Because you didn’t know last time.”

“It was one time, alright? I was in a hurry.”

“Yeah, well, because of you, I wasted an entire day on a batch of shit.”

“Look. I’ll get the right stuff this time.”

“You better.” Once Rick was finished scribbling, he dropped the pen, folded the sheet of paper then looked up at Angie and said, “What’s the matter with you?”

Angie sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You don’t look fine.”

“I said, I’m fine.”

Rick snorted. His eyes moved from Angie to underneath the kitchen table. “Well, take off those slippers and wash your damn face. You look like a meth head.”

“Screw you!”

Angie went to get up, but Rick grabbed her wrist and pulled her in close to his face. “Hey, do you want to end up in jail? You remember what happened to Greg don’t you? Ten years up in Cañon City. They don’t joke around with this shit.”

“You think I don’t know that? Just give me the list.” Angie pulled away and snatched the grocery list from Rick’s hand. She unfolded the paper and laid it flat on the table. “What the hell’s all this other stuff?”

“We need to restock.”

“Lantern fuel?”

“Yeah. Make sure you get the Coleman brand. It’s the best.”

“Where the heck am I supposed to find that?”

“It should be in the camping section with all the sleeping bags and tents and shit.”

“What about this?” She pointed to the next item on the list. “Drain cleaner?”

“Yeah. Be sure to get the kind with the skull and cross bones on it.”

“How much should I get?”

“Christ Angie, I don’t know, like two bottles a piece, whatever we can afford.”

“Well, what are
you
gonna be doing?”

“I’m gonna be busy doing the batteries. Look, do you wanna cook this stuff or not?”

Angie nodded.

“Well then stop asking so many jack-assy questions and hit the road, would ya?”

“I hate you Rick.” Angie flicked him the bird and shoved the piece of paper into her pocket then walked to the bathroom and began washing her face.

“You better not be taking a bath back there!” Rick shouted from the kitchen. “I told you to wash your face, not your damn ass.”

“Stop bullying me. I’m not a punching bag, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just hurry up. We’re losing daylight.”

When she was done rinsing her face, she dried it off with a bright yellow Coppertone beach towel then went into the bedroom and took off her robe. She threw on some jeans and one of Rick’s flannel, long-sleeve hunting shirts, then exchanged her slippers for a pair of snow boots. She stomped back into the kitchen and grabbed the keys from the bowl on the table then stuffed them into her pocket along with her cell phone.

“Better get going sweetie,” Rick said, as he laid out a box cutter and a couple packets of lithium batteries.

Angie stuck out her tongue and headed towards the front doorway, stopping to grab her white and red candy cane striped ski jacket from the living room floor.

“You sure that jacket goes with your boots honey?”

“Go to hell, Rick.”

When she got outside, she stomped across the yard towards Rick’s old, blue Chevy Camaro then unlocked the door and hopped inside. The seats were wet and rotting with mildew and the icy water shot like thorns through her jeans. That idiot. He forgot to roll up the frickin’ window. What kind of moron was she dealing with here?

She sighed and stuck the keys into the ignition then cranked on the engine, but realized she couldn’t see out the front or the back. As she slid on the defroster, she reached beneath the seat cushion, and pulled the little lever that popped open the trunk. She got out, walked to the back, and pulled open the trunk. All she saw was a bunch of empty mason jars and two liter bottles of Pepsi stained with a chalky white crust. Oh real frickin’ smart, Rick. Makin’ her drive around with a bunch of bottles caked with meth residue—what the hell was he thinking? Was he a frickin’ idiot?

She shut the trunk and jumped back behind the steering wheel, reached behind the seat and felt around in the back. Her fingers wrapped around the ice scraper’s plastic handle. She pulled it out and inspected both ends. There was a metal scraper on one end and a thistle brush on the other. This oughta do the trick.

She got out of the car and leaned across the windshield. The ice was about an inch thick, but was already starting to melt from the defroster. She finished the windshield, did both side windows, and a little of the back. That was good enough. Hopefully, it would melt by the time she got on the highway. The last thing she needed was to get into a frickin’ car wreck.

She hopped back behind the steering wheel and chucked the scraper into the backseat behind her then took a moment to catch her breath. As she pulled down the sun visor, she happened to glance into the vanity mirror and was completely horrified by the skin on her face. Her forehead was freckled with little red lesions that were bright in the center from droplets of blood. What the heck? She took off her gloves and lightly felt them with the tips of her fingers, but quickly pulled away when they began burning to the touch. “Ouch.” What the hell were they? Were they mosquito bites? Was it an allergic reaction? Did Rick do this? What the hell was going on?

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a little, wool beanie, then carefully fitted it around the circumference of her head. She checked the mirror to make sure the sores were hidden. They were. She looked almost normal, except for a bloody blotch in the corner of her left eye. Good God. What the hell was happening to her? Was it from the meth? Did she have some kind of disease?

She shut the mirror and began sobbing, the tears dripping down onto her jeans. No, wait, she couldn’t cry. She had to be stronger. The sooner she got the supplies, the sooner she wouldn’t have to feel any more pain. She wiped away the tears and put on her seat belt then threw the car in reverse and stepped on the gas.

Chapter 13

The Ingredients

AS Angie merged onto Highway 6, the tall buildings of downtown Denver began to appear in the distance, her daughter’s favorite towering above them all. It was the one that was shaped like an old-time cash register, curved at the top, and dropping down to a flat façade. Sarah had drawn a picture of it when she was in kindergarten. They had it up on the fridge for the longest time. Wonder what happened to that picture? It probably got thrown out after the divorce along with everything else.

She shook her head as she popped in the cigarette lighter then pulled out a cigarette and wedged it in between her lips. As she looked in the rearview mirror, she caught a glimpse of the mountains behind her. They looked like giant vanilla ice cream cones, their peaks covered with a layer of fresh, milky-white snow. Aw the mountains. She couldn’t remember the last time she went up to Breckenridge, or Aspen, or Copper, or even Vail. She was always trying to get Rick to go up there with her, but that lazy bastard never wanted to go anywhere. All he cared about were those god damn fertilizer tanks. He was obsessed with those frickin’ things, totally paranoid, scared that if he left them for just one second, they wouldn’t be there when he got back. What a jerk.

Bill used to take her up there all the time, her and the kids. That was back when she was young and beautiful…back when she had a tight butt and big, full tits…before all the shrinks, the lawyers, and doctors…the booze, the meth, and that loser, Rick. Back when life was simple…back when it was just her, Bill, the kids, and nothing else.

The cigarette lighter popped out and Angie grabbed it, then lit the end of her cigarette and took a deep drag. As the nicotine flooded her lungs, her mind began to wander back to that flicker of happiness, that perfect memory, that perfect place. The deeper she inhaled, the stronger the memories came back to her, as bright and warm as the Colorado sun shining down on her face.

It was summer. She was barefoot and walking down the pier at Lake Dillon, Bill’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her, and his chin nuzzled against her neck. He was such a gorgeous man—those sparkling blue eyes, that strong jaw line, and hair that turned blond in the summer like bales of golden wheat underneath a cloudless sky.

They pinched each other and giggled, as they trotted down the rickety, wood pier towards their boat,
Pegasus
—a twenty-five foot schooner, with a beautiful blue and gold sail and deep, cherry wood trim. It was Bill’s tenth anniversary present to her and cost him nearly an entire year’s salary. But, God was it worth it. It was such a gorgeous boat. It made all the other members at the sailing club jealous. They took it out almost every Saturday in the summer, early in the evening, just as the sun was beginning to set behind the peaks of the continental divide.

But this particular Saturday, the one that stuck with her all this time, was more special than all the others. It was the 4th of July, and the
Rocky Mountain Post
had promised a fireworks display more spectacular, more dazzling than any other in history. The kids were young then and they scampered out ahead down the dock like little raccoons crawling onto the bow of the boat. Their smiles were big and their eyes were bright as they gazed out towards the underbrush of the shore, hoping to catch a glimpse of a moose, or a beaver, or a wild coyote. The scent was sweet from the aroma of wildflowers growing in thousands along the banks of the lake. There were rows and rows of yellow alpine parsley, their purple bracelets reclining in the setting sun. Tangles and tangles of soft lavender blue stars curled over one another in a florid orgasm as manes of rusty orange mountain dandelions erupted into rivers of carrot colored molten magma. And the sky was magnificent. Dark purple clouds loomed in the distance, their fluffy dollops streaked with sharp ribbons of crimson and violet. Crowds of people assembled on the banks of the lake, preparing for the show, laying out their trays of hamburgers and hot dogs, containers of potato salad and coleslaw, baskets of biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, and apple pies.

Angie cradled her bag of goodies close to her chest. When she got to the end of the dock, Bill put his strong hands around her and lifted her effortlessly up onto the deck. He jumped up on board then began to untie the lines and cast them into the water, while Angie whisked her way down the steps of the galley, her little white boat shoes squeaking on the water slick wood. She placed her grocery bag down and began pulling out all her goodies, laying them out on the cherry wood bar. She called to the kids, announcing that dinner was ready, but the kids were too busy dangling their feet over the edge of the bow.

Once Bill was finished with the lines, he cranked on the engine and they pushed off from the shore. Angie put her hand to her brow and looked out towards the center of the lake. A cluster of boats had already gathered in their special spot. Bill pointed the bow towards the boats and inched the throttle forward. They picked up some speed and cut through the water. The waves splashed against the sides of the little schooner, sending a fine mist into the air. She came over to the helm where Bill was steering and stood in front of him, leaned back against his chest, and gazed out at the orange glow of campfires flickering throughout the park. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, so tight, it was almost difficult to breathe. But she felt safe and calm, like nothing in the world could harm her.

As they approached the little cluster of boats, Angie heard the first bang ring out through the park, echoing off the sides of the mountains. The crowd of people turned their heads upward, their eyes gazing out towards the abysmal darkness of the nighttime sky. They waited in anticipation for the next sparkle of light to illuminate their faces. Then it came. Three loud thunderous roars followed by a shower of red, blue, and green. They blossomed in the sky and rained down on the boats like thousands of tiny fireflies. Everyone in the crowd, including the kids let out a resounding “Oooohhh- Ahhhhh” followed by clapping and a demand for more. And more came, in all different patterns and colors. Blues that burst like bombs, reds that rained down like rose petals, and violets that vanquished the darkness, and lit up the kids’ eyes with wonder and awe.

After the grand finale, some of the boats headed back in for a night of eating, drinking, and dancing at the yacht club, but Bill, Angie, and the kids had their dinner by lantern light in the still calm of the lake. The air was cool and the water was quiet. They could see the reflection of the yellow crescent moon rippling across the surface. A gentle breeze blew through the forest. The trees swayed back and forth, and danced to a symphony of bullfrogs and crickets playing gently along the edge of the effervescent lake.

It was perfect. A perfect memory. A perfect time. A perfect place. What had happened? How did it vanish? Where did it all go so terribly wrong? How did she end up here in this shitty Camaro, driving around in the blistering cold, wet and tired, covered in lesions, her skin barely clinging to her face. And for what—some Sudafed and lantern fuel, so her idiot boyfriend could cook up some meth? Why? Why did this happen? She was a good mom and a good wife. She did everything for Bill and those children. She waited on them hand and foot for twenty years. She picked them up from school, took them to soccer practice, chauffeured them around to all their little dates—boy scouts, swim practice, gymnastics, everything. And where were they now? Why had they abandoned her? How could Bill do this to her? How could he be so selfish?  What did that little slut have that she didn’t? A tight butt and big tits? So what? She was the mother of his children. Didn’t that count for anything?