RE: Trailer Trash 58, Home is where the heart is. (Patreon)

/// The complete chapter 58. Only the last section is new if you've been reading through the teasers posted. Will fix links and go back through to make a complete 57 in the next couple days, things have been hectic IRL.

    As always, a trip to Springton’s Food Lion was a nostalgic affair. In her past life she had stopped shopping there when she moved out of the trailer for college—even after moving ‘back’ to the area, her apartment was over towards the other side of town. At that point she had gotten groceries at the Kroger in Fairfield, since it was closer. Memories of the Food Lion here in town from her past life now were scant—she maybe remembered following behind her father with the shopping cart, listless and annoyed to be there.

    Memories from her present life had stolen center stage, because this was where Tabitha hunted carefully for bargains and cross-checked coupon prices throughout this past summer. Her parents finally conceding the food planning to her had been one of the first instances of regaining agency and starting to feel like her life was in her control again, so they were positive memories. Even more than those ones, she remembered coming here for ice cream to celebrate right when they’d taken her home from the hospital.

    Was excited and just so… HAPPY. It was one of those rare moments where I felt like I was connecting with my ‘child’ self, Tabitha recalled, unbuckling her seatbelt.

    Riding in the back of a police squad car was a novel experience, because Tabitha hadn’t thought cops were allowed to use their patrol vehicles for personal errands. Apparently, here in Springton it was even somewhat encouraged; an off-duty officer was still an officer, and the presence of a police car throughout town was a reassurance to everyone, and in theory helped to deter crime.

    “Alright girls, looks like I can’t keep you under arrest,” Officer Macintire chuckled.

    The man opened the rear door for Hannah so that she could hop out, and with a wry smile Tabitha opened her side and also climbed out. Immediately the bobbing dark hair of Hannah crossed around the back of the vehicle and took Tabitha’s hand—then, Hannah led Tabitha to the waiting Officer Macintire and held his hand as well. The parking lot and crossing the street rules were in solid effect; they all had to be holding hands.

    Feel like this would be a funny kinda-sorta prank to pull on my friends, Tabitha thought. Sometime or other when we’re all together, and Hannah’s there. Since Elena got so fussy about teenagers holding hands during the movie.

    The trip down the row of parked cars to the storefront was difficult—or rather, Hannah was being difficult today. The little girl was pulling them both forward as if incredibly impatient to get there, and she even dropped down as if to hang her body weight from each of their arms once.

    “No, Hannah,” The girl’s father scolded. “Not this time. We can’t be swinging you like we used to—you’re eight hundred pounds now, and Tabitha’s not gonna put up with all your weight like that.”

    “Ugh! Fine,” Hannah pouted, instead swinging each of their held hands back and forth.

    Tabitha could almost picture it—a slightly younger Hannah exclaiming with glee as her feet lifted off the ground, swung between her two parents. It was surely something she was used to doing while walking with her father. Or, perhaps Hannah just wasn’t as behaved when she was around her dad, because Sandra was the one who was more quick to scold her in situations.

    “Thank you, Hannah,” Tabitha said, giving the little hand a squeeze. “In fact—just a little bit slower, please. I had a looong day at school, and even just walking here like this, I’m a little out of breath.”

    It was actually Officer Macintire who was having trouble matching the seven-year-old’s excited pace. He was walking about as steadily as she remembered seeing him walk yesterday when they went to the bus stop together, but it was still a sedate, careful walk. The man had been stuck in bed for most of the past several months and was just beginning to finish his recovery.

    Officer Macintire gave Tabitha a small, appreciative smile at helping cover for him, and Tabitha quickly looked away, blushing out of control.

    Wh-wha-what the fuck?! Tabitha felt a giddy rush. That was the most fatherliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s SO HANDSOME. That was like, THE father move of father moves. Except he’s not MY dad, he’s this hot older guy I’m living with. No, HE’S NOT HOT. He’s taken. He’s married already. Chill! Calm down. Ease off, hormones! He’s not on the menu. Just, uh yeah, SHEESH, okay Sandy fine yeah, your husband is very good looking.

    Tabitha stared intently down towards the pavement as she watched her new shoes take each step to cross the pedestrian area in front of the Food Lion. She’d had a few slightly starry-eyed moments with Bobby where she was feeling a little infatuated, and then she remembered a burst of this strange sudden attraction back when she first met Matthew Williams. That one had faded away, and surely this one would, too.

    I want to say I just need laid, but that is NOT happening anytime soon, Tabitha struggled to shove down the unwelcome feelings. If ever.

    I well, I maybe do need some sort of safe outlet for… THAT kind of stuff. Not even a SEXUAL one or like ‘private time’ or anything like that—those harlequin novels she gave me didn’t do much for me. I feel like getting the cast off and getting cleared to run again will help a ton. That’s a SAFE outlet. Feel like it helps stabilize all my crazy moods, gives them a way to… I don’t know, vent or something. Good exercise, getting my workout zen on, into that sort of meditation zone.

    They crossed up the small ramp cut into the curbside area, and Tabitha released Hannah’s hand, following behind the father and daughter pair as the way forward became too narrow to comfortably pass with the three of them side-by-side. Double-doors automatically opened for them, and directly above, a blower of some sort was installed and attempting to push back the January air from creeping inside. Officer Macintire began to tug a shopping cart out of the nested line of carts queued up, but Hannah slapped his hands away and put up a mighty struggle to pull one out herself.

    “Dad! I push the cart. Remember?!”

    “Hah—okay, okay. Can you get it out, though?”

    “Hnnnghh—yeah I can get it out. It’s stuck, though. Dad—”

    “Want me to get it? Here—”

    “No! I’ve got it. hnnn-nngghhh! Tabitha, help pull this—”

    “Here—” Officer Macintire tried again.

    “No! We’ve got it!”

    “Alright, Hannah,” Tabitha gave Officer Macintire an apologetic smile as she stepped forward and put one hand on the cart’s long handlebar alongside Hannah’s hands. “Are you ready?”

    “Yeah! I’m ready.”

    “One, two—”

    “Three!!” Hannah yanked with her entire body.

    The stubborn shopping cart disengaged from the one it was stuck in with a loud clatter as the metal mesh of that one dropped down—Hannah almost lost her footing and was bowled over as their prize rolled back into them, but Tabitha managed to scoop her up. Officer Macintire let out an over dramatic sigh for Hannah’s sake, and Hannah responded with a smile so gleeful it bordered on bratty.

    “See? We got it. All by ourselves!” Hannah said, taking the handle and swiveling the cart towards the inside of the store in a wild motion. “All by ourselves.”

    “Hannah!” Tabitha warned. “Careful, please. There’s other customers here, too.”

    “Oh, she’s fine!” An older woman beamed down at Hannah as she pushed a cart full of grocery bags out through the exit. “She’s adorable!”

    “I know,” Officer Macintire shook his head and let out another aggrieved sigh. “Hannah Piana, why don’t you let Tabby steer the cart for us today?”

    “I want to steer,” Hannah pouted. “And, it’s not piana, it’s pian-o.”

    “I think… she must just be excited to be out with you again, after so long?” Tabitha said with a wince. 

    “Pssh, no I’m not,” Hannah retorted, so much sarcasm dripping in her voice that Tabitha’s eyebrows rose up. “I just want to push the cart!”

    Yeah, I can tell—I was just trying to make excuses for you, Tabitha put on a strained smile. I’m not used to seeing THIS Hannah come out. I remember Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Macintire both warning me about what a little monster she can be, but I guess over time I thought they must be exaggerating. Nope! Here it is. She’s like an angel when she’s just with me, and kind of extra snarky when she’s with her mother, and then when she’s around her dad… apparently she’s more like this?

    It was hard to understand the change in dynamic, because Officer Macintire didn’t seem like a bad dad. On the contrary, he seemed like a picture-perfect sitcom father. He still chided Hannah when appropriate and was mindful of her and what she was doing, so it was hard to fathom where all of this sudden attitude from Hannah sprung up from, here.

    I guess… it’s just not something I can understand right away? Tabitha walked beside Hannah with her good hand guiding along the girl’s back. I barely even comprehend the weird situation between me and my own father, I can’t just assume I’ll be able to look at the Macintires and the way they act and GET IT all of the sudden. But, yeah. She’s seven, and sometimes she’s just gonna be a total handful. Need to appreciate how good she is most of the rest of the time.

    Tabitha realized she had been extraordinarily blessed to have seen so much of Hannah’s good side—but also now this was embarrassing, because she felt responsible for Hannah and wanted to help her be on her best behavior. As the girl’s live-in nanny, there with their family for the express purpose of helping them take care of Hannah, wasn’t that her duty? This made her feel awkward, inadequate, like she was all at once revealed to have been doing a terrible job. And, right in front of her dad! Ughh!

    “Hannah,” Tabitha asked in a gentle voice. “A little slower, please.”

    “We don’t have to go that slow,” Hannah said. “Look. See?”

    They followed the shopping cart together into the store proper, and Tabitha cast a wistful look across the long aisles of different products. There was always so much to take in; fluorescent lights high up above, the big promotional display of pepsi boxes. The antiquated terminals at each of the check out stations, the afternoon customers shopping, and the quaint aprons over uniforms each of the cashiers was dressed in. One of the heavyset women working over there even had orange hair which was almost the same shade as Tabitha’s own.

    That’s rare, Tabitha thought to herself, frowning as she watched for the woman to turn so she could see her face. She almost looks like—

    The step of her Nike Air Maxes slowed as Tabitha’s mind seemed to lurch to a halt, and the protective hand she had kept at Hannah’s back was suddenly reaching for air as the little girl moved on without her.

    Mom…?

    That couldn’t be, because it was impossible—but she recognized that cashier over there, and it was her mother. Shannon Moore. Except, her mother couldn’t be here working at a Food Lion, because that was completely impossible. Tabitha’s mind whirled as it attempted to compute what she was seeing, but only returned errors, because this was not something she could parse.

    What’s she doing here?

    Her mother was checking out a customer, passing item after item through the scanner and bagging them as if she was a cashier here. Which she couldn’t be, because her mother never left the house—Mrs. Moore had severe social anxiety and some form of agoraphobia. She was a shut-in, she always had been. In defiance of these facts, her eyes saw a very different reality, one where her mother was instead working at the grocery store here in town.

    “Tabitha?” Officer Macintire paused, sounding unsure as to why she had stopped.

    “That’s—” Tabitha wanted to let out a laugh of disbelief. “That’s my mom. Over there.”

    “What?” Hannah stopped and looked back.

    How is she out of the house? Tabitha’s mind was racing. How does she have A JOB. She’s never had a job before—not since back before I was born, whatever modeling or advertising stuff that didn’t work out. Acting and whatever. She never left the house after that—sh-she didn’t even get a job after dad passed. It was, she didn’t, this can’t—?!

    The timeline had changed, because in this divergent reality, her mother was able to get a job.

    She’s pregnant—I don’t know HOW I keep forgetting that, Tabitha swore to herself. Not even just that, everything’s different. The home situation. I’m not there, and we, we aren’t the same with each other, we kind of bonded a little, and I started to get her eating better. She OPENED UP about the stuff with her past. I think the logic of it is sound—she’s pregnant, and with another child on the way, they’ll need more income. Probably. It makes sense.

    Her mind could make sense of it maybe, but her heart could not. She was used to understanding her mother in certain ways that no longer applied, Tabitha’s mental picture of her mother was mapped into a box that she shouldn’t have been able to get out of. Things had changed, but Tabitha hadn’t realized how much they had changed, for her mother to be out here among people, working a job. The sudden dissonance was a startling wake up call—and guilt followed with it.

    She was in tears back when we had dinner at Applebees, and she took my side when we had Christmas, Tabitha wanted to groan with frustration at her own apparent ignorance. She was mad at dad, she’s BEEN upset with him. The day I left, she was sobbing, I remember seeing her yell at him. Tell us that of course we had their permission for me to stay with the Macintires.

    There seemed to be a sad combination of denial and detachment at play that clouded Tabitha’s perception in this direction, and it was incredibly frustrating to feel so out of touch with what was really going on. She knew her mother had changed, but also she refused to really accept it, believe it, internalize it as truth. The issues with her immediate family drove her to avoid thinking about them whenever possible, or to replace that sort of actual thinking with just a long series of unfavorable comparisons to the Macintires.

    “Oh,” Officer Macintire made a noise of surprise at spotting Mrs. Moore. “Wow—didn’t realize your mom worked here.”

    “...Neither did I,” Tabitha said, still stunned. “I didn’t know.”

    “You okay?” Officer Macintire asked.

    “I—yeah, yeah,” Tabitha tore her eyes away from her mother. “We can, um, let’s get everything we need. And then, if it’s okay—I’ll talk with her? We can check out in her line.”

    “Sure, yeah,” The man nodded. “So long as you’re cool.”

    I don’t think I’m cool.

    Tabitha wandered along behind Officer Macintire and a now very wary looking Hannah as they started for the side of the store where the wrapped packs of meat lined the open cooler displays. She didn’t know what to think or how to feel, but Tabitha knew she was not okay with this. No, that wasn’t right. It was good that Mrs. Moore had somehow broken out of her shell and was out amidst people; great, even. It was Tabitha who was in the wrong, for abandoning her mother so thoroughly and jumping ship to an easier life.

    That’s… not completely right, either, Tabitha thought, feeling like she’d swallowed a bug. I just. I don’t know. I couldn’t BE THERE. I needed time, and then even when all this time has passed, and—I haven’t put much of any honest thought towards even going back. Because things are so much BETTER at the Macintires, living with them. I was supposed to be working through things and resolving all of that, and instead I’ve just been off thinking about my NEW LIFE, not thinking about them at all. Because—I left them behind.

    Suddenly being made to confront a lot of uncomfortable truths had her head spinning, because she hadn’t been prepared to delve back into this at all. Tabitha was in her high school mindset, she had been thinking about Bobby, thinking about becoming popular, about her new friends and new life. Not much thought at all had been spared towards her actual parents, who still lived at the old trailer in the trailer park, as trailer trash.

    What do I say to her? Tabitha’s stomach fell. What do I DO, here? I honestly just want to keep running away from this, to run and run and run away from all of THAT and never look back. But also, I CAN’T. Because—I do love my mom. And my dad, I love both of them. Just, coming to terms with the idea that they’re not, I don’t know. The same? That he’s not the same stubborn infuriating dad who can’t listen to reason, that she’s not the insufferable trailer park despot she used to be. No, I’ve known she hasn’t been like that for a while, now.

    The boys, too! Tabitha’s heart fell. How long has it been since I visited them? Aside from that hour or two there at Christmas, I never go over there and play with them, any more. I don’t spend time with grandma Laurie, even after EVERYTHING she’s done for me. Sewing together like we used to, or looking through magazines for ideas, or just TALKING. I just… traipsed on out of their lives, because I had traded up for something better, basically. Left all of them behind.

    The thought of going back terrified her, and now the thought of not going back also filled her with dread. Tabitha had to do something, she knew she did, but she had no idea what to do.

    “Tabitha?” Hannah now looked frustrated to be stuck pushing the cart, and dropped one hand off of the handlebar there as if tempted to leave it behind. “Are you—are you okay?”

    “I’m—surprised?” Tabitha answered. “I guess.”

    “That’s your mom?” Hannah asked.

    “Yeah,” Tabitha said. “I uh, I think you’ve maybe met her? I don’t know if you would remember. From the hospital. I know you were both there the day they took me home from the hospital, we um, we visited your dad there before we left.”

    “I remember,” Hannah said, staring at her with an expression Tabitha didn’t know how to decipher. “Do you have to see her?”

    “I think so,” Tabitha frowned. “Yeah.”

    “Oh.”

    “Hannah Piana, s’not like she’s gonna just pretend she didn’t notice her own mom,” Officer Macintire chuckled. “We’ve all gotta at least stop through and say hi.”

    “Yeah.”

    Hannah took on a strange, almost manic look for a moment—a sudden sharp intake of breath as though she might suddenly start to cry, a hard look at the tiled floor of Food Lion as if forcing her eyes not to water. Then, Hannah pivoted on her heel and righted the shopping cart again, pushing it forward slowly now, purposefully. Bossy, bad behavior Hannah had been forcefully boxed away and shelved deep within Hannah’s psyche somehow. It was a fascinating scene and Tabitha would have loved to understand what was going through the little girl’s head, exactly, but her own thoughts were such a mess that she wasn’t even sure where to begin.

    She doesn’t want me to go back to living with them, obviously, Tabitha thought she understood. But, that’s not something that would happen anyways. Is it? I can’t even imagine leaving, at this point. On the other hand though, there’s some small part of me that I guess can’t imagine NOT leaving. Not going back, at least for a little bit. Not figuring out what is going on with them and me, resolving things there. Oh, lord. What am I going to even do?

    Tabitha’s decision paralysis only worsened as they looked through the steaks on display. She stood by and stared with a frown as Officer Macintire leaned in to peer over all the meat and remark upon how mouthwatering everything looked. Tabitha wasn’t sure if the man was just teasing Hannah, or if those were his genuine thoughts—the red slabs filling all of the little plastic-wrapped foam trays just looked like uncooked meat to her. The fact that Officer Macintire saw the cuts not as they appeared to be now, but for their potential was a… it was like. It meant… something?

    Half of an analogy failed to meaningfully bridge over onto a comparable idea and collapsed into confusion, unable to become metaphor. Tabitha couldn’t focus, and trying to turn her thoughts away from this predicament with her mother was futile, because… because…?

    Because like with Hannah steering the shopping cart, I don’t control where it goes? Tabitha tried. Oh, Hannah—stop, stop.

    The little girl had braced her feet where they stood beside the meat department and was swinging the cart back and forth in a restless way while her father was occupied. The movements were small, but they had the edge of the cart dipping out past their section of the aisle and potentially blocked off other shoppers from passing them. It wasn’t a big deal, but already Tabitha was swallowing back a stern reprimand, because annoyance had welled up inside her and almost burst out.

    “What about this one, what do you think, Hannah?” Officer Macintire presented a large sirloin steak for her approval.

    “No way,” Hannah sounded almost as frustrated as Tabitha was. “That one’s all bloody.”

    “Hah, well—yeah, they all look that way now,” Officer Macintire teased, returning to the row of meat and comparing the package in hand to another one. “But, okay. We’ll get one s’not too icky and bloody.”

    The good humor in his voice now rubbed Tabitha the wrong way—everything was getting under her skin all of the sudden. She wanted to step up and grab the nose of the cart that was slightly waggling back and forth and hold it in place, she wanted them to just pick whatever and immediately leave, she wanted to just not be here and to not have happened across this new problem today.

    No, not problem. My mother isn’t a problem, Tabitha grimaced. I just, I don’t know what to do here, and I don’t want to deal with it. Can’t handle confronting my mother right now. Getting into… all of this. All of that.

    Eventually Officer Macintire chuckled to himself and seemed to arrive at a decision—instead of weighing the merit of the steak in one hand against the other, he tossed them both into the cart. That he was so privileged as to not have to choose made something dark bubble up inside of Tabitha, and she had to carefully compose her expression so as to not let those overwhelming teenage feelings get the best of her.

    “We’re getting them both?” Hannah also seemed surprised. “Won’t that be too much?”

    “What can I say, I want ‘em both,” Officer Macintire said. “We can put one away for a bit and have it later on down the week, if we don’t finish the first one. You’ve gotta remember there’s four of us at home, now.”

    Hannah turned to regard Tabitha at the pointed reminder, and Tabitha wanted to open her mouth and refute it—to say that they didn’t need to buy more expensive cuts of meat just on her behalf. No words came out, she didn’t trust herself to say things right, and instead she simply felt awkward and embarrassed. Everything felt wrong.

    What do I say to my mother? Tabitha’s mind reeled through one unlikely option after another. Hi! Yeah, so nice to see you.

    No, a generic, impersonal greeting was completely out of place here, because it didn’t express surprise or interest at the unexpected circumstance of her mother working a cashier position all of the sudden. Tabitha didn’t know how to address that, because she was shocked, and it wasn’t as if she could just remark upon it off the cuff either without sounding incredibly rude.

    Mom. What are you DOING here?

    That was closer to Tabitha’s honest feelings, her need to know, but it was a blunt, bludgeoning method of inquiry that she had no way of delivering. Because the answer was obvious and self-evident; Mrs. Moore was working a job. People didn’t work minimum wage service positions like that on a whim or just for fun, they worked them because they needed immediate income, and actual better employment wasn’t tenable for any number of reasons.

    Like being pregnant. Why hire on for a more stable, long-term position if you’re just months away from maternity leave, or not planning on sticking around? I KNOW why she’s here, she’s here for a paycheck, and she’s here for a paycheck because there’s another mouth to feed on the way.

    Tabitha’s thoughts on the matter spun round and round without ever arriving on something conclusive, because she still wanted to demand to know what her mother was doing here. As if the logical, rational answers to her question needed to be set aside and disregarded, because they were impossible. Shannon Moore, the total reclusive shut in, had freed herself from the prison of her mobile home and fourteen years of steeping in her own bitter self-loathing somehow, and was out among people.

    No, no that’s not fair anymore, Tabitha couldn’t help but cross her arms tightly in front of herself—she told herself she was warding off the chill from the refrigerated display.

    Mom’s not like she used to be, I was already seeing that. She started WALKING with me. On the little exercise loop I was doing around the trailer park. There was that one time back during Halloween—she called my friends, planned for us to have a get together. When I had just thought it would be me and the boys. SHE TALKED TO ELENA’S MOTHER. She talked to Elena’s mother, after I told Elena’s mom that there was no way she would talk to her. So, I was already mentally unable to see my mother growing outside of the mental box I had put her in. Right from that there already.

    “Tabitha?” Officer Macintire prompted her.

    “Hm?” Tabitha jolted out of her thoughts.

    “Asked if you’re a fan of pork,” He gestured with a wrapped pack of what appeared to be reddish-brown mulch. “Pulled pork like for sandwiches, these ones’re already done up in spicy barbeque. We could do these instead of the turkey ones like you’ve been making, but oh man they can be a whole lot messier.”

    “Too messy,” Hannah cast her vote, eyeing the pulled pork with skepticism. “It looks gross, like it’s already been chewed. Gross.”

    “Oh, um,” Tabitha blanched. “Whatever you want—if you want pulled pork for sandwiches, I can make them.”

    He gave her a look she didn’t know how to interpret, like he was sad or concerned or aware of the inner turmoil she was no doubt failing to conceal, but Tabitha didn’t know how to engage with that. Parental figures weren’t supposed to pick up on those sort of cues, were they? Maybe it was because he was a cop? Tabitha wasn’t comfortable addressing her own obvious discomfort, so she turned her attention to the things he had already thrown into the cart.

    Sirloin steak, two different packages. A pack of Italian sausages; Tabitha wasn’t sure how she would cook those. Maybe they were things that were intended to be grilled? She remembered Sharon at the Springton Town Hall office had Italian sausages simmering in a crock pot full of spicy sauce in the break room for special occasions. They had filled the entire wing with a peculiar smell that was both appetizing and a little off-putting. Tabitha had never dared to try them, always sticking to ‘safe’ foods she was sure she liked.

    Every Christmas I think she had something in that crock pot going, and I never ever once even tried any of it, Tabitha remembered.

    She felt like her writer brain was trying to bridge that over into another analogy to help her grapple with her present circumstances, but Tabitha didn’t have a clue as to what it might mean. That she should try new things? What did that even mean, in this context? She had no idea what new approaches she might have for speaking with her mother. That whole impending interaction was a terrifying unpredictable distortion in the gellar field, where the insanity of the warp devoured plans, or courses of action, or things she might think of to say.

    Because, I have no idea what to say. Because—wait, you can’t GRILL pulled pork. It’s just messy little shreds of pork—they would slop down through the grate of the grill. How are we going to cook it? On a skillet? Or, does it bake in a tray?

    Although Tabitha was an accomplished cook, she was only accomplished at cooking things she had normally made for herself in the future. Experience outside of that was revealed to be a sudden blind spot marring her image as the competent cook who could make anything. On the one hand, this meant it was an opportunity for her to learn new things, to feel like she was growing as a person and becoming more capable. But, then on the other hand—it was really satisfying being the one who always knew everything and was able to teach things to Hannah. Darren Macintire said he was going to show them around using the grill, of course. Tabitha just wasn’t sure how she felt about being put into the role of a student by this strangely attractive father figure.

    No! Bad brains, Tabitha told herself. Focus, FOCUS.

    She couldn’t focus. They had been inching across the meat section of Food Lion for minutes but it felt like hours, she wanted out of here and for them to just leave right away, but also she would do anything to help stall them from going through the check out where she would run into her mother. Tabitha took a look at the prices of the various items in the cart—steaks, pulled pork, sausages, joined now by a two-pound back of ground beef that seemed enormous and a little wrapped row of ribs.

    This is… it’s a little ridiculous, right? Tabitha couldn’t help but just stare at all of them. NORMAL families would never buy THIS much meat, right? Meat’s super expensive. You’d just pick one or two things.

    “Alrighty, I think that does it,” Officer Macintire said. “What do you girls think, what else do we need? Pack of buns for the pulled pork and the burgers? Potatoes to go with the steak? Veggies?”

    “Nooo—” Hannah protested. “Not veggies. Anything but veggies dad, please.”

    “What do you think, Tabby?” Officer Macintire turned his charming grin her way.

    “Oh, uh,” Tabitha blinked. “Vegetables would be nice? Green beans. Peas? Maybe onions, if—”

    “Tabby, no!” Hannah tugged at her elbow with a horrified whisper. “Green beans?! No!”

    “And, um,” Tabitha fought to remember. “I think you had also mentioned that you wanted bacon, for—”

    “Right!” Officer Macintire’s eyes lit up at the reminder. “Can’t believe we almost forgot—we musta rolled right on by that section, lookin’ at other things. Bacon.”

    They made their rounds throughout the Food Lion, piling on more and more things into the cart—fresh vegetables, frozen vegetables, mashed potato flakes, a pack of bacon, sausage rolls and hamburger buns. The sheer expenditure of it all numbed Tabitha’s mind and wasn’t something she could process. Mrs. Macintire jumping at any chance to go shopping was bad enough, seeing the woman’s husband likewise just go on a shopping spree shouldn’t have shocked her. But, it did. Tabitha grew up in a poor family and then had lived a relatively frugal life on her own, so seeing pricy goods for feeding a family of four piling up was always going to startle her.

    They crossed the breadth of the aisle towards the front of the store, and then their cart was pushed into the checkout station Mrs. Moore was at.

    Mrs. Moore made eye contact with her and those eyes went wide with alarm—her mother looked every bit as stunned at this sudden unexpected encounter as Tabitha did. The woman froze in panic partway through scanning a carton of orange juice for the customer just ahead of them in line—then Mrs. Moore accidentally scanned it twice in a fluster, and had to stab at her terminal keys with frantic motions to correct it.

    Yeah. Yeah. Right there with you, Tabitha empathized, feeling the same panic. I, uh, I didn’t expect we’d run into you, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I—I have no idea what to say to you.

    “Hey there! Fancy seein’ you here,” Officer Macintire greeted casually, having no such compunctions. “Have you been workin’ here long?”

    “I—I—hah, well—” Mrs. Macintire stammered out with a forced smile, looking back and forth between her present customer and the man speaking to her as if unable to handle both things at once. “I’m new! I’m, it’s my—I just started here. Actually. Hi Tabitha.”

    “Hi,” Tabitha squeaked out.

    “Dad,” Hannah elbowed his leg, having the good sense to know he was making things awkward for everyone.

    “Ow!” Officer Macintire teased, ruffling her hair. “Here, baby—help Tabby get all this up on the checkout.”

    That was a strange thing to ask, because as a seven-year-old Hannah had to climb her sneakers up onto the caster bar beneath the cart to even be able to reach over the front and manage to grab the contents. Tabitha helped her, passing things along to set them on the conveyor belt, while Officer Macintire leaned his weight on the cart’s handle so that Hannah wouldn’t tip the cart. Tabitha felt horrifically embarrassed—they were buying what felt like a comical amount of expensive food, right in front of her low income mother. Even worse, Tabitha felt like she was acting the part of a Macintire daughter, right in front of her own real mom, like she was rubbing the woman’s nose in the fact that she was part of a different family now.

    Oh God I can’t do this. I just want to duck down beneath the counter and out of sight and NOT BE HERE.

    Mrs. Moore recited the total for the other customer, received a ten dollar bill, put it into her drawer and made change for the man. It was bizarre seeing her mother put on a customer service voice, even a frazzled, uncertain one like this. Tabitha suspected Mrs. Moore was feeling humiliated to be caught working here like this, but Officer Macintire seemed intentionally oblivious to this and was just smiling along like everything was normal and okay.

    “Th-thank you, Hannah,” Tabitha said in a stiff voice as they got everything up onto the checkout.

    Her mother snuck a look over in their direction at hearing her speak, and Tabitha averted her eyes. Then, Hannah noticed that, and the little girl put on a frown of confusion as she attempted to process the sight of Tabitha sheepishly studying the scuff marks on the floor tile and admiring the sturdy design of the shopping cart’s wheels. Once again Officer Macintire’s body language and demeanor suggested that to him, nothing at all was out of sorts.

    “So, um, hi,” Mrs. Moore greeted them properly as the previous customer strode off. “I didn’t expect to see you guys, here! I—hah, I, I just started yester—yesterday, that was my first day. Technically. My first day on the clock, before it I was, there was—”

    “Oh nice, nice—Tabby just started back to school too, right ‘round the same time,” Officer Macintire responded. “She said it’s all been okay.”

    Tabitha’s cheeks burned as all of the blood in her body rushed to her face. It was as if he was unaware of the awkwardness, but also aware, because he had simply stepped up and spoken on Tabitha’s behalf. As if he knew she didn’t have the right words right now.

    “Good, good,” Mrs. Moore struggled to split her attention between conversation and the slow but steady blip blip blip of items passing through the bar code scanner. “I was—I was so worried about her. I knew that, um, that she was going to be back at school. I thought about calling, but…”

    “Definitely!” Officer Macintire nodded. “Yeah, anytime. Our line’s always open. Sure she’d love to what from ya.”

    “Dad,” Hannah reprimanded him from where she balanced at the front of the cart.

    “Careful on the cart, hon,” Officer Macintire said. “Why don’t you help her with those bags?”

    “I—I can do it,” Tabitha blurted out. “I’ve got it.”

    “Oh—well—thank you,” Mrs. Moore managed, hurrying to arrange the pack of bacon in hand into the next grocery bag. “H-here.”

    “You’re… you’re working,” Tabitha said.

    Out of all of the unintelligent things she could have said, Tabitha mentally decided that this was the dumbest, worst set of words that she could have picked. But, as Tabitha locked eyes with her mother, she blanked on everything else and didn’t know what else to say.

    “I—yeah, I, I had to,” Mrs. Moore panicked as well. “I had to do something.”

    Tabitha’s throat constricted at hearing that, and her body froze up. Did that mean Tabitha’s flight from the family had been what filled her mother with the sudden impetus to find a job? There was raw desperation in her mother’s voice. Was jumping into the work force prompted by the baby on the way? It seemed like a cry for help, but was it just for money, or was it for independence?

    Oh my God. Is she… is she thinking of splitting up with dad?!

    They had been fighting, but were things that severe? Tabitha certainly wasn’t happy with her dad of late, but by no means did she think her parents should actually separate. And, if they did—it would be completely her fault, a product of her actions, something that came about from the changes Tabitha had wrought upon them in this new lifetime. Tabitha wasn’t sure she could shoulder all of that.

    “Well hey, good for you,” Officer Macintire’s admiration sounded honest. “It’s hard gettin’ yourself out and about and back to the grind, believe you me, I know. I’m just now tryin’ to get back into things, myself. Even walking around leaves me winded—who knew all the, you know, the everyday little things I used to take for granted would ever get so tough?”

    “I-it’s great to see you’re doing so much better!” Mrs. Moore said. “To think, just, well, just a few months ago you’d been shot. You’re already walking around and back to normal! That’s a blessing!”

    The unfamiliar lines coming out of her mother’s mouth felt bizarre and alien to Tabitha, and after a split-second of introspection, she realized it was because she wasn’t used to seeing her mother interact with others. At all. Mrs. Moore spoke in a familiar way with her husband, and she talked down to her daughter, and on rare occasions she griped at grandma Laurie—but, that was it. It was strange and surreal seeing her mother out of the trailer.

    “We’re almost all back to normal—Tabby’s cast comes off in, what, just a few more days?” Officer Macintire looked towards Tabitha, as if indicating she was now welcome to join in their conversation.

    “Um. Yes,” Tabitha managed. “I think so.”

    “But hey, we were about to have some kind of a cook-out,” Officer Macintire explained, waving across the last few items as the belt fed them over towards Mrs. Moore. “Celebrate gettin’ back on my feet. You’re welcome to join us! What time does your shift end, here?”

    Wait, what.

    “Oh, u-um,” Mrs. Moore let out a nervous laugh. “Two and a half hours ago? Almost three hours ago? My shift was supposed to be over. Th-they said I need to cover a bit longer, because I think someone else called off? I’m not sure when they’ll let me go. I’ve been here since nine, nine this morning.”

    “It’s past four o’clock,” Tabitha stood up straight with a jolt. “It’s—it’s almost five. You’ve been here since nine? They’ve given you breaks? A lunch hour?”

    “Uh, I did have my one break!” Mrs. Moore winced as she rung up their last item and bagged it. “I was actually supposed to get two, but… they weren’t able to give me my other one, since—”

    “Where’s your manager?” Tabitha said, already turning to search across the store for someone in charge. 

    * * *

    I—I can’t even keep up with what’s going on! Mrs. Moore fretted to herself, staring with a vacant expression at the stacked bills beside her empty drawer.

    Food Lion’s back office was a much more welcoming place when Manager Bob was sitting at the desk with her instead of Manager John. He checked through her till’s count together with her, and they found that the drawer had exactly the right amount of money in it, down to the last cent. This time Tracy was with them in the room, but she was on the phone chastising the apparent one responsible for today’s mess—Manager John from the morning shift.

    This all just happened so fast! Mrs. Moore cast a nervous glance through the open door of the office out towards the employee break room.

     The innocent inquiry of a fourteen-year-old girl asking to see the manager had been met with polite but somewhat apathetic deflection by the Food Lion workers, because nobody there was in charge of dealing with problems related to shift scheduling. ‘Maybe come back in tomorrow and ask to speak to Manager John,’ they had said—until the amused man standing with Tabitha at the checkout had revealed his badge, and asked them if they were in violation of labor law.

    The appearance of apparent authority immediately escalated the dilemma from shrug and sigh minor situation to being an all hands on deck emergency for Food Lion’s staff—all of the sudden postures straightened everywhere; answers were promised, calls were being made. Mrs. Moore was pulled off of register right away, Officer Macintire and the two young girls with him had been invited to sit in the employee break area while everything was sorted out, and one of the stockboys had been tasked with taking their shopping cart full of bought and bagged groceries and wheeling the whole thing into the dairy cooler so that everything would stay refrigerated while they waited.

    “Uh-huh, yeah?” Tracy’s bulldog expression was set in a grim smile as she spoke into the phone. “Well, I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. We’ve got a police officer in here inquiring about labor law violations based on a schedule you signed off on. Come up with whatever excuses you like—Mister Kay ain’t gonna care ‘bout a word you say if his store gets a violation on record and has to pay a thousand dollar fine. S’your neck on the line, bucko.”

    The stout older woman had been pulled off of another register to help deal with the fiasco here—although she was a cashier, Tracy possessed some form of seniority here due to working at this Food Lion for many times longer than anyone else here. She had been the first one into the back office and on the line with Manager John, and Mrs. Moore suspected it was simply for the opportunity to chew him out.

    “Your drawer’s good to go, if you can sign for it right here,” Manager Bob spun the checksheet towards her with his fingertips and passed her a pen. “So, from what I can tell—hah, you weren’t called in to cover someone’s shift.”

    “I um, there was—” Shannon Moore tried to stammer out an explanation. “Manager John, he said that well, that because somebody else called off, I needed to stay on that register, until they could find someone else to cover the—”

    “That’s just it,” Manager Bob spread the series of timesheets across the desk. “Tried to figure out who in the heck called off that you were bein’ asked to replace—and, it turns out, no one. No cashiers in front end called off today. No one else was scheduled for your register. The individual timesheet says you’re on for a four and a half hour training shift, but then the shift scheduler spreadsheet over here says you’re not in training, and also that you’re pulling a double—ten hours. These two sheets are supposed to match up, and when they don’t, it means there’s a problem.”

    “Oh,” Mrs. Moore said. “So, I’m—I’m not in trouble?”

    “Oh, Lord, no,—but someone sure is,” Manager Bob chuckled. “There’s been some uh, some ‘creative accounting’ at play, here, and the store manager—John, he’s gonna get some kind of write up, I imagine. By store policy, you’re not even supposed to be on register alone yet, and for the past couple hours you weren’t under any supervision. According to this, Cindy was with you on register for the first part of your shift? Checkout seven?”

    “Um,” Mrs. Moore blinked in confusion. “On my register? Seven? No, she—she was working right next to mine, Cindy was in the next one over. She was working checkout six, but even then—she clocked out a few hours ago.”

    “Hah, oh man—that’s just great!” Manager Bob shared a conspiratorial grin with her. “Damn. At this rate, he won’t be getting off with just a slap on the wrist. Not this time. I mean, holy cow. We all knew he adjusted the timesheets a little here and there, but, no—these books are cooked.”

    “I been sayin’ it!” Tracy put one wrinkled hand over the phone receiver so she could chime in along with what Manager Bob was telling her. “All those hour sheets he signs off on are baloney. S’been a long time comin’—I been sayin’ it and sayin’ it, that he’s fixin’ to get us audited.”

    “Well, I sure as heck can’t make heads or tails of it,” Manager Bob laughed again, arranging the timesheets against the reported schedule for comparison again. “Half of this crap he has down doesn’t match up to anything I see printed over here. I mean, look at this. What is this?”

    “S’his dirty little tricks to keep labor costs down,” Tracy’s smoker rasp answered again. “Puts less people on the schedule, and just has ‘em spread out havin’ one person doin’ what’s s’posed to be several different people’s jobs. Twice the work or three times the work, but for the same old minimum wage. He’s been doin’ it forever ‘tween Dairy and Frozen, havin’ those boys cover both departments at once. It’s not right. I been sayin’ it.” 

    “In any case,” Manager Bob leaned back in his chair and threw his hands up. “It’s out of my hands. Up to Mister Kay and whatever he wants to do—I know him and John are all buddy-buddy. Shannon, you’re good to go here, and you can go ahead and clock out. We’ll see you in again on… looks like Thursday? Sorry again for this whole mess.”

    “No, it’s—it’s alright,” Mrs. Moore stood up from her seat beside the desk, still feeling bewildered. “I’ll—I’ll clock out, then. Thank you.”

    Shuffling out of the office and towards the break room, she was met with stares as Officer Macintire, his daughter Hannah, and Tabitha all looked up at her. Shannon was for a moment overwhelmed with feelings of relief, shame, gratitude and fear, which each fought back and forth for dominance within her heavy heart. She paused in the doorway as she struggled to process all of that, and found herself wringing her hands—the familiar motion kept others from seeing the nervous tremble there.

    Oh goodness—and, I’m starving.

    Over the long hours the restrictive apron strings which tied over the blouse of her Food Lion uniform had begun to dig in, until now she was feeling like she was trussed up to be put on display. Lightheaded, awkward. Weak and inferior. Back when she had enjoyed the years of safety and comfort of never leaving the mobile home she had been a stress eater, but since stepping back out into the public eye, she had instead felt too stressed to eat. She didn’t remember feeling this way back before when she was a young, social thing, but then again the confidence and bravado had been effortless when she was thin and beautiful.

    “I think that, uh, that I’m good to clock out, now,” Mrs. Moore told them with a wincing smile. “Thank you again—thank you so much.”

    “Well, that was all exciting!” Officer Macintire joked. 

    “No it wasn’t,” Hannah retorted in the matter of fact delivery of a child unburdened by conversational nuance. “That wasn’t exciting at all. We all just sat here! And it was forever.”

    “Well, I think it was exciting,” Tabitha said. “Your daddy swooped in and saved the day, here. Since… no one wanted to listen to me.”

    For a moment the absurdity of the situation here was forgotten, because Mrs. Moore found herself transfixed by her daughter’s voice. She remembered hearing the way Tabitha spoke to her little hellion cousins—the tone and cadence she used with them had always been more casual and relaxed than when the girl addressed her parents. The voice Tabitha used with Hannah was again something new beyond even that; calm, patient, and filled with endearment. For a brief instant, it wasn’t impossible to imagine Tabitha in the role of a mother herself, and that strange dissonant idea caused another wave of conflicting emotions.

    “Well, hey—benefit of the badge,” Officer Macintire said with a wry smile. “You start wavin’ one around, people start to see it as their get into jail free card. I did tell them somebody’d be in touch ‘bout all of this. So that, you know, so that they’ll stay on their toes.”

    Officer Macintire rose up out of the hard break room seat, and his movement there was almost natural, but there was also a bit of ungainliness there as he straightened up—as if after bending forward slightly to stand, he needed a moment’s pause to carefully un-bend. Mrs. Moore saw that Tabitha caught this as well, because the redheaded teenager was quick to step in and assist, lending a hand to help him balance.

    I assumed he was all better now because he’s out and about—seems like he’s actually still recovering?

    “Really?” Hannah asked. “Do we get all our things for free, then?!”

    “No, Hannah banana,” Tabitha shook her head. “We did already pay for the groceries. Remember? We went through the check out? They can’t just give us things for free because he’s a police officer, because going that far would be an abuse of his power.”

    “Exactly,” Officer Macintire agreed in good humor. “Get things for free?! I’m just a police officer, not the mayor.”

    “Then, does the mayor get things for free?!” Hannah giggled, seeming to already realize her father was teasing her. “Daaad. He does not.”

    “She does not,” Tabitha corrected. “I believe our current mayor is a woman: Barbara Kowalski. Do you remember seeing the little signs some people have in their yards on our street? They say ‘please re-elect Barbara Kowalski.’”

    “I saw there were signs,” Hannah said. “The white ones? I just, I didn’t read them yet. We’re—it’s usually ‘cause we’re going by them too fast. Otherwise, I would. I read lots of signs. I’m actually a really good reader already.”

    “I know!” Tabitha said. “You really are.”

    Oh, shoot! Mrs. Moore jerked forward with a start. I’d better actually punch out, before I forget.

    The monitor display for that was right there thankfully, and with a few steps and quick grab of the nearby computer mouse, she guided the cursor across the screen to her name and clicked once to clock out, then again to confirm. Instead of the four hour shift she had originally signed in for, the readout showed almost eight. Now that the work hours were over she allowed herself to feel a little ambivalent about them—or at least possibly anticipate more money on the paycheck then there would have been otherwise.

    “My Hannah, she just knows all the fast food signs by heart,” Officer Macintire chuckled, sharing a smile with Mrs. Moore.

    She tried to smile back, because it seemed like he was trying to keep her included in the conversation… but for the life of her, she didn’t know how to even begin to butt in. This trio here in front of her today were so at ease with one another they were like a real family. This kind of back and forth banter had never seemed so casual back when Tabitha was living with the Moores, and seeing how her daughter seemed to belong instead with the Macintires was of course its own kind of heartbreaking.

    “No, no, not just those ones—it’s just that those ones are the best,” Hannah insisted. “Actually, can we stop by—”

    “No, Hannah,” Tabitha interrupted with a smile. “We just bought up all of those things to grill! There’s no way we’re doing McDonald’s tonight. You just had McDonalds, not too long ago! It was yesterday!”

    “Hah, oh yeah,” Hannah beamed. “Grill stuff is okay too, I guess. So long as it doesn’t take forever. But—is it going to take forever?”

    “Forever and ever and ever,” Tabitha teased the girl in a solemn voice.

    “Oh, man,” Hannah’s head tilted back to stare at the ceiling in an exaggerated sigh. “I really hope not.”

    “Any-who,” Officer Macintire cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve got all that mess cleared up for now… how ‘bout joining us for dinner? Kinda just went on a silly shoppin’ spree, ‘cause they haven’t let me eat any real food! If you, or you and your husband came by and we called it a proper cookout, or a get together—well, then my wife wouldn’t be able to call me out on it. You’d be doin’ me a real favor.”

    “Oh, um,” Mrs. Moore fretted over how to politely reject his offer. “I, I really couldn’t. I just couldn’t impose! Especially not after uh, after everything you’ve—”

    “Mom, please?” Tabitha interrupted with such a serious look that Shannon felt her attempt at refusal go cold in her throat.

    “I’d really like you to come over,” Tabitha continued. “To, ah, for you to see how I’ve been living. To… yes, to reconnect.

    “I haven’t been a great daughter to you, and I realize I’ve neglected to call and check on you, or to stop in and say hi, or anything. I’ve been selfishly just… getting myself caught up in high school nonsense and immersing myself in that, and not even sparing any thoughts for you. When really—all the things I’m going through, all the people I’ve met and all the friends I’ve maybe made—they’re really things I should be sharing with you.”

    Mrs. Moore was shell-shocked by Tabitha’s words, and before she could even delve into appreciating how mature and grown up her fourteen-year-old was, she realized that Hannah seemed equally shocked by what was said. The little girl’s brows furrowed in cute consternation, and there was a flash of raw panic there as she looked from Tabitha to Mrs. Moore and then back to Tabitha again.

    I suppose she never had any reason to have any kind of good impression of us—or, maybe she’s worried we’ll make Tabitha come back and live with us? As if I could even dare to say that now, seeing how much better off she is. The Macintires, they take good care of her, they protect her. Listen to her. I’m sure they never give her any of the kind of grief she got with us. Oh Lord, how did everything ever go so wrong…

    “I… I guess I can join you?” Mrs. Moore found herself saying. “If that’s really alright. I, um, I’ve just been walking to the store, here, since it’s just a little bit across town from the trailer court. But—”

    “Hey, no problem,” Officer Macintire nodded agreeably. “You need a lift home so you can change outta your work clothes, or so we can rope in your husband along, too—no problem. We’ve had the kiddos in the back of the cruiser anyhow, plenty of room up front.”

    “Oh, um, okay,” Mrs. Moore nodded. “Thank you. That would be great. I, I think we can just grab your cart from the dairy cooler? It’s right over this way.”

    She was new enough to working here that guiding others anywhere felt a little baffling, but none of the dairy boys were around when she tugged open the big insulated door and backed the shopping cart out of it. There the handlebar was passed over to Hannah, and together they began to file through the back hallway, past the restrooms for customer use, and return to the proper grocery store area.

    “I… don’t know that I’m ready to sit down and play nice again with my father, just yet,” Tabitha admitted, appearing to very carefully choose her words. “I would like a chance to, uh, to just be able to catch up with Mom about everything. Without him… being there to ruin it.”

    Officer Macintire’s eyebrows went up and he looked amused, but the man didn’t see fit to comment as they walked down the aisle together. Hannah, on the other hand, went from looking slightly concerned to instead wearing a mighty frown—which in turn Tabitha noticed right away and then responded to with a sheepish smile. It was fascinating to witness the silent interplay, to see how mindful each of them were of each other, how close they were, and Mrs. Moore’s anxiety over all of this was even beginning to give way to pangs of jealousy.

    If Tabitha was willing and ready to allow her mother back into her life, Shannon decided she needed to be there for her no matter how awkward or difficult it was.

    “Hah,” Mrs. Moore involuntarily let a laugh slip out. “He’s, well. Your father’s sure been good at that, lately! So, of course—whatever you want, Tabitha. I can just leave him a note!”

    * * *

    “Look, Hannah,” Tabitha gestured with a finger out the window of the police cruiser. “This is where I grew up.”

    Rolling down the hill from the gas station and into the lower park was both dissonant and nostalgic. There was a certain comfort to be found in revisiting what was once so familiar, but then also the circumstances of her situation were so different that everything felt strange. Tabitha didn’t live here anymore. She was riding in the back of a cop car, with a seven-year-old girl clinging to her side in a possessive way. Her mother was sitting up in the passenger’s seat looking extremely uncomfortable and occasionally letting out nervous laughter in response to Officer Macintire’s awkward attempts at casual conversation.

    “I know,” Hannah remained stubbornly pressed up against Tabitha’s arm and refused to budge. “I’ve been here before. With Momma Williams.”

    “Ooh, you’re right,” Tabitha nodded, feeling distracted as she peered between the passing mobile homes with interest. “This was where we met, wasn’t it? Mrs. Williams asked you to say ‘hello to Tabitha,’ and you said—”

    “Hello to Tabitha,” Hannah recalled. “Yeah.”

    “Hello to Hannah,” Tabitha said back, patting Hannah’s shoulder. “You were so little and cute, back then!”

    “Thanks?” Hannah grumbled, trying not to pout.

    “Well,” Tabitha watched as the car navigated slowly around the loop and across the first of the trailer park’s speedbumps. “This time, would you like to come inside and see my house? Where I was living?”

    “Okay,” Hannah said, peeking out the windows and not appearing very impressed.

    “Ev-everything’s just the way you left it!” Mrs. Moore twisted in her seat to share a wincing smile with Tabitha. “We, uh, we haven’t touched a thing. Since you left. I’m sure there’s, well, I’m sure you want to grab some more of your stuff.”

    “Maybe some more changes of clothes,” Tabitha admitted. “Something I’ll be able to go running in. Oh! We’re this one, here. On the right.”

    “This one?” Officer Macintire pulled in next to the front of their trailer and put the cruiser in park. “Alrighty. Take whatever time you need—and Hannah; best behavior. I’m gonna stretch my legs here jus’ a bit, but gimme a holler when you’re all ready.”

    “We will,” Tabitha promised. “Thank you. We won’t be long! We have groceries, here.”

    Everyone opened their doors and disembarked—Hannah had scooched over across the rear bench towards Tabitha and then followed her out of the vehicle on that side. The mobile home was more or less as Tabitha remembered it. Aging and worn but not quite decrepit. Their aluminum siding had a greenish patina of mold that was beginning to speckle with moss, but the discoloration was faint relative to the blackish grime buildup on the neighboring trailers. Their front ‘yard’ seemed more spacious than Tabitha recalled, since Uncle Danny’s car was no longer occupying it, just a swath of gravel and bare dirt for the most part. What tufts of weeds did manage to grow had been trimmed back with the weed eater somewhat recently, and there was no obvious discarded trash laying about here to embarrass Tabitha.

    It doesn’t look that bad, Tabitha told herself. I guess some part of me was worried that as soon as I left, it would all immediately fall back into ruin. But no, it still looks… pretty nice. Considering. I’m really glad I spent time squatting down everywhere and picking up all the years of cigarette butts and little pieces of garbage everywhere.

    Hannah however looked a little horrified, her little hand was gripping Tabitha’s extra tight and she was looking around at everything with wide eyes.

    Mrs. Moore was digging through her pockets for a key in a fluster, while Officer Macintire surveyed the trailer park with a thoughtful look before slowly ambling on down the street. He was headed in the direction of the far side of the lower park—it was clear to Tabitha he wanted to revisit the scene where he had been shot. A brief flurry of emotions went through her at realizing that, and she was tempted to go with him just so that he wasn’t alone. A little over three months had passed since the shooting and so much had happened, but while Tabitha had had time to revisit the site of the South Main shooting since then, to process things, Officer Macintire was just now back on his feet and out and about for the first time.

    “I’ll try to be quick!” Mrs. Moore said, finally getting the door open and swinging it wide. “I, uh, I just want to change. Out of my work clothes. Come inside, come in. Please.”

    “Watch your step, Hannah Banana,” Tabitha called, leading the girl up the steps and into the trailer.

    The floor creaked beneath their weight in a way that was familiar to Tabitha—but alarming to Hannah—and as Mrs. Moore bustled down the back hall towards the master bedroom, the age-old sound of the joists and flooring shifting slightly could be heard. Old mobile homes simply were not quiet or all that sturdy, and revisiting her old place after being gone since Thanksgiving had Tabitha feeling almost as though she was standing up on the unsteady deck of a boat.

    Need to regain my sea legs? 

    She recalled how oddly open and expansive the Macintire home had seemed when she was first trying to adjust over there, and so naturally coming back to the trailer everything felt incredibly cramped and oppressive. The living room and dining table area here combined together was still a space smaller than Tabitha’s bedroom at the Macintire’s; in fact the square footage of the entire mobile home here was just a tiny bit bigger than the Macintire living room.

    “It’s really small, isn’t it?” Tabitha prompted. “For three people.”

    Hannah gave her a speechless nod.

    The curtains were pulled back from the windows and tied back just the way Tabitha remembered leaving them, but no one had attempted to vacuum the carpets since she left. Paper, envelopes, and unfamiliar clutter were left here and there across the kitchen table and then one side of the sofa, indicating that someone had been sitting in front of the television set, but that her parents had not been sitting there together. As she glanced around, there wasn’t much else to discern—the faded wallpaper hadn’t changed. The dingy furnishings were the same.

    At least they kept in the habit of bringing dirty dishes back to the sink, Tabitha quirked her lip as she brought Hannah on to pass by the kitchen and head towards her room. I guess I managed to train them well?

    Some intrusive part of her brain saw the refrigerator and identified it again as her fridge; the one she had inherited and taken with her to her first apartment. Tabitha gave it a wry smile as they stepped into the back hall. This too was a stark reminder of how different things were, because mobile home hallways were a deceptively narrow two-and-a-half feet wide, designed for shuffling through single-file. Out of habit Tabitha steadied herself on the old particle board wall panels as she continued, touching them in the same spots she always had. Her feet were ingrained with the knowledge of where to step, but Hannah’s were not and the little girl sharply inhaled as she discovered one of the soft spots in the flooring.

    “Oh! Careful, Hannah,” Tabitha said. “Here, this is my room. Well, it was. This is where I grew up.”

    She turned the knob and slowly swung the door open. Little had changed; get-well cards were arranged upon the dresser just in front of the faded mirror. The Reeses Cups from Halloween in their distinctive gold foil wrap were still there as well, but someone had put them in a ziplock sandwich bag. The bedcovers were still turned back from the exact moment when Tabitha had crept out of bed for her daring mission to intrude upon Aunt Lisa in the shower and grab the handbag with heroin in it. The abandoned Flounder pillow stared from where it rested on the foot of the bed with a vacant expression.

    “Is that—Princess Ariel?” Hannah asked, peeking out from behind Tabitha’s hip.

    “Oh! Yes, I was Ariel for Halloween,” Tabitha said. “I think I told you about it, but I guess you never got to see it? Good eye.”

    Lacking her own closet after some unknown past renovations, the Ariel dress was hung up on display from the curtain rod of the far wall, backlit with dim January light from the window. The room was cold and the air here was stale, but more than anything else it was jarring how tiny the space was. Seven feet by nine feet, with scant space to stand since the dresser and the bed occupied much of the room’s footprint. Tabitha’s room was slightly larger than the walk-in closet Sandra had pulled Tabitha into at the Macintires, back when they were hunting for sandals to match an outfit.

    But, only slightly, Tabitha mused. “Here, Hannah. You can sit on the bed. I just want to grab a few things.”

    “You have to take the Princess Ariel dress,” Hannah insisted. “You have to.”

    “Okay—I will,” Tabitha promised. “We’ll be able to play dress up together. Mulan, and Ariel!”

    She situated Hannah up to sit on the thin old bed mattress, and then crouched to the side so that she could pull out dresser drawers—doing so just about eliminated the last remaining rectangle of floor space, but Tabitha was used to dealing with that. The ‘nice’ clothes had already been grabbed up last time when Tabitha had been shoving things into her bookbag, but she rediscovered several pairs of underwear it would be handy to have, as well as some of the larger shirts she would be able to lounge around the house in. She also made sure to grab her awful old cut-off redneck tees that had neither sleeves nor sides; her old exercise outfits. They were a little trashy, but then again over at the Macintires she had almost nothing but dressy clothes—she would soon need stuff that it was okay to sweat and get gross in.

    REALLY looking forward to running and exercising again. Can’t come soon enough.

    “Tabitha?” Hannah asked.

    “Hm?”

    “It’s really… different here,” Hannah observed, showing remarkable restraint. “Like—a lot more than I thought. Not bad different. But different. It’s really really small. Like, it’s all Hannah-sized.”

    That was the term Mrs. Macintire had used to describe Hannah’s pair of playhouse cottages, and Tabitha struggled not to grimace at the unflattering comparison.

    “I know, I know,” Tabitha let out a small chuckle. “I grew up very poor. I guess part of me wanted you to see the differences—so you could understand a little bit where I’m coming from. Does that make sense?”

    “Yeah,” Hannah blinked owlishly across the tiny room. “But, like—you don’t want to come back here to live. Right? It’s really small. And old. It’s like, really old. Really old and small. Super small.”

    Yes, Hannah. I GET IT.

    “This is what I was used to, growing up,” Tabitha explained in a patient tone. “So, moving in to live with you guys—that felt very strange to me. Getting up to go to the bathroom at night, even just walking all the way across each of your big huge rooms felt very strange. Can you see why?”

    “Yeah?” Hannah forced a smile and then allowed it to turn into a wince. “I guess. Is it like—which way do you like more? Living here, or living there? Which is better.”

    “I think by now, I feel a little out of place in both,” Tabitha admitted. “This feels like an itty-bitty cardboard box, and your place feels like, well, sometimes to me it’s still this big palatial mansion.”

    “Plal—pla-lati-al?” Hannah tried. “Plalatial?”

    “Pal-at-i-al; like a palace,” Tabitha explained.

    “Oh. I knew that. Like a palace.”

    “Like—like in Alladin. He went from being the very very poor street rat, to living in the big fancy palace.”

    “Yeah, and like—Cinderella, too,” Hannah nodded. “Cinderella was like that, too. Beauty and the Beast? Kinda.”

    “Mm-hmm,” Tabitha nodded as she refolded the garments in her lap and smoothed out the wrinkles with her good hand. “Rags-to-riches stories are very popular. But—Hannah bug, I don’t want you to ever think I’m staying with your family just because of your big nice home. Even if—”

    “I know! I know,” Hannah assured her. “You’re not.”

    “Even if we all lived together out in your little plastic cottage playhouses, I’d still love you guys to pieces,” Tabitha finished. “And—I love my family here, too. Just. Things were difficult, for a while.”

    “Because of your Aunt,” Hannah nodded. “Yeah.”

    “Yeah,” Tabitha sighed. “It’s complicated.”

    “It’s not that complicated,” Hannah insisted in that blunt seven year old way. “I understand it all already.”

    “Hah, then—well, then at some point we’ll have to have you sit down and explain it all to me, because to me… everything’s complicated,” Tabitha said, tucking the folded clothes against herself and rising to collect the Ariel dress as well. “I think this is everything?”

    “Don’t forget to take Flounder, too!” Hannah grabbed up the plush fish. “And—is that your chocolate? Peanut butter cups?”

    “Oh—well,” Tabitha winced. “I think we should maybe throw those out. They’re from allll the way back from trick-or-treating. It looks like my mother bagged them up, but maybe she should have tossed them in the freezer?”

    “It’s already freezer in here,” Hannah shrugged, squashing Flounder into a hug.

    “Already freezing, and yes, a little,” Tabitha sighed. “We keep the heat down pretty low here, so that bills aren’t so bad. We’d just wear socks, put on sweaters.”

    “Are bills that bad?” Hannah was skeptical. “It’s super cold. Like the same as outside.”

    “Bills aren’t bad when you’re seven!” Tabitha laughed. “C’mon—I think I have everything. But, I mean. Hannah if you had to make the choice between turning the heat up a bit more, or buying more toys—which would you choose?”

    “Toys,” Hannah didn’t need to pause to think about her answer.

    “Well, there you go,” Tabitha said. “Socks and sweatshirts during the winter isn’t so bad—and, at night you’re cozy under blankets anyways. It seems silly spending a whole bunch more money to heat up the whole place, if most of the day we’re either at work or at school. Right?”

    “I guess?” Hannah said. “So—if we turn off the heat at home, we can use that money, to buy a whole bunch more stuff?”

    “Hmm,” Tabitha pursed her lips at Hannah’s naked greed.

    “Hmmmm!” Hannah teased back.

    “Hmmmm!” Tabitha made an exaggerated pout. “Hannah, I don’t think so.”

    “Why not?!”

    “You guys have an actual house; it holds heat a lot better than an old trailer like this. It’s not so bad for you guys to run the heat, because your walls and windows and everything retain heat so much better. Here, they don’t. Thin old walls, without much insulation. Little teeny gaps along the frames of the windows and doors, and such. It’s just different—we each live according to our means.”

    “Hmm,” Hannah looked around again. “I guess.”

    “C’mon, Hannah bean,” Tabitha nodded in the direction of the hall again. “Let’s go see your papa and see if he’s ready to get going. I think he headed on down towards, um. Towards the end of the street.”

    “Towards the end of the street?” Hannah echoed.

    “Where I met your father for the very first time, technically,” Tabitha winced. “Do you remember from the pictures in the newspaper? It’s where he… got shot by the bad guy.”

      “Hmm,” Hannah said.

    “Would you mind carrying this for me?” Tabitha asked, offering the Ariel costume to Hannah.

    The little girl accepted it with a solemn nod, and she followed Tabitha out of the cramped little bedroom and back down the hallway. The spare clothes collected into Tabitha’s arms were transferred into a grocery bag for ease of carrying, and Hannah cast uncertain looks about the kitchen and then regarded Mrs. Moore with a wary look when the woman joined them. Mrs. Moore had changed into a comfortable but somewhat frumpy pair of sweatpants and an oversized red and green holiday sweater, and her rigid smile began to falter beneath Hannah’s attention.

    “I left a little note,” Mrs. Moore told Tabitha. “By the bedside. For your father.”

    “I grabbed some clothes,” Tabitha reported, hefting the bag.

    “Of course! Of course.”

    “I guess we should get going?”

    “Sure, yes. Of course.”

    Tabitha felt mortified by the way Hannah’s brow furrowed at their awkward exchange, so she quickly ushered them forward as if to move past their clumsy difficulties. She didn’t know why it was so difficult to interact normally with her mother. Their halting, mechanical dialogue felt unnatural to the extreme. Mrs. Moore was acting as though she had forgotten her lines and was waiting for someone off-stage to prompt her, while Tabitha was like a caffeine-addict writer who had suddenly switched to decaf—her words were tenuous stabs into the fog of incomprehensibility.

    With my mother here, it’s like I’m in writing burn out. Way past where I can pour heart and soul or even real proper thought into what I’m saying. Just—yeah, squeezing out words, forcing some out. Like I’m trying to draw blood from a stone.

    The three went out the door and down the steps, Mrs. Moore pausing behind them to wiggle the handle of the front door to confirm it had locked behind her. The bag of clothing was placed upon the hood of the police cruiser for now, and after a moment it was joined by the Ariel dress, Hannah lowering it into place to fold over itself with careful reverence so it would not drape over the hood and down the side of the car.

    “Hands,” Hannah reminded with a stare, reaching out towards both Tabitha and Mrs. Moore.

    “Right,” Tabitha felt a flash of relief and grasped the little offered hand. “Mom—c’mon. I think he went just this way, down the street. Officer Macintire. We have to hold hands.”

    “Oh—okay?” Mrs. Moore took Hannah’s other hand, linking them all together. “Alright.”

    Then, they walked side by side through the trailer park together, savoring some silence as a respite from the awkward situation. Tabitha’s eyes darted across the lower area of Sunset Estates in active search for distraction. She had left her family after what now felt like a series of rather dramatic confrontations, and now none of the different tacts she chose felt right. Being too polite felt like she was forcing distance between them, denying any familiarity. Acting close and pretending nothing had happened would feel like just as much of a lie.

    “I used to walk this way,” Tabitha finally said, giving the young girl at her side a glance. “The trailer park is a little loop, so I’d go around and around and around.”

    “Why?” Hannah turned a baffled look from the aging rows of mobile homes to Tabitha and back again. “Like, around in circles?”

    “Yes. I walked so that I could run,” Tabitha explained. “I was running away from who I used to be, or running towards who I wanted to be. I miss it—I’m looking forward to being able to run again, soon.”

    “I’m so proud of you,” Mrs. Moore surprised her by speaking up. “I, I gave you nothing but grief when you started going around. But, you went around anyways. And look at you—look how far you’ve come. You’ve grown so much. I’m so proud of you. I—I could never do what you’ve done. I just hid myself away from everything.”

    “No—you needed time, and then you needed help,” Tabitha said. “To, um, to get you back going again. To get you out of the rut you started to get trapped up in. We all need help, sometimes. I spent years hiding away from everything, too. I’m no different. I had help.”

    Silence fell between them again.

    That was Mike’s trailer, there, Tabitha observed. The little barefoot kid I kept running into this past summer. Whatever happened to him? Would Mom even know who he was, if I asked?

    They found Officer Macintire standing there with his hands in his pockets in the distance, staring across the barren breadth of dead grass beside the road where he had almost lost his life.

    Little had changed here since October—the shoulder of the road there was the same black grime and gravel. The stretch of vacant land beside it wasn’t a wide enough plot to park a mobile home on, and there weren’t bushes or shrubs or even a fence to delineate where Sunset Estates ended. It was just a forgotten, neglected place without much of a purpose at all, shaggy with weeds. The road on the other side where Officer Macintire had pulled that white Lincoln Continental over wasn’t a particularly important one, or vital access to anywhere, so no one in the trailer park loop ever bothered shortcutting through the empty lot there with their vehicles.

    Nothing ever happened here except the South Main Shooting, Tabitha walked with Hannah and her mother over until they were standing just a few feet away from the officer. A nowhere, meaningless spot, notable for only one single event, and now more or less forgotten by almost everyone.

    “Doesn’t look like much, does it?” Officer Macintire let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

    “This is where it happened?” Hannah asked.

    “Yep, far as I can tell,” Officer Macintire said, crouching down. “Musta been… right about here?”

    “Alicia and I were right over… there,” Tabitha pointed. “I was going to show her how I did butterfly kicks.”

    “Butterfly kicks?” Hannah asked. “Like—is that for swimming?”

    “Taekwondo, actually,” Tabitha smiled. “I was, um. Trying to teach myself some of the forms. It’s kind of silly.”

    “I remember that day,” Mrs. Moore said. “I was rude to Tabitha. Right in front of her friend. I think I embarrassed her, so she took her friend and they went out to play. I don’t know what I was thinking, back then.”

    “Well,” Officer Macintire chuckled to himself. “...Guess it’s probably good that you did?”

    “We heard the shot, and it was so loud,” Tabitha said for Hannah’s benefit. “And then, when we looked over, the bad guy was already driving away.”

    “The bad guy?” Hannah asked.

    “Mm-hmm,” Tabitha nodded. “We ran over to see—and somehow Alicia snapped a picture with her camera. Thankfully. Rather than waste her film on me doing stupid kicks—and I, I tried to stop the bleeding. Just by putting my hands over the wound. I, um, I don’t think I really knew what I was doing?”

    “Saved my life,” Officer Macintire murmured.

    “And, um, then Alicia helped me call it in,” Tabitha finished. “Since I, uh, yeah. Hands weren’t free. The little radio he wears on his belt, I think it was? We reported it, and then Officer Williams showed up after just a little bit, and—then yeah. All the rest is a big crazy blur. Paramedics took over. My hands were all, hah, they were. Bloody. Officer Williams had a jug of water in his trunk, he helped me wash everything off. Reporters showed up. I was just sort of in shock, and it got dark out and I was just staring at everything and maybe babbling and I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a lot.”

    “Tabitha,” Officer Macintire said. “You saved my life. Scott and some of the others were tellin’ me—if I’d lost another liter or so of blood, would’ve been a preterminal event and they’d have had a real hell of a time keeping me alive.”

    “A liter is a lot,” Tabitha winced. “You uh, maybe would have—”

    “Liter’s not a whole lot when you’ve got a couple holes in you,” Officer Macintire grinned. “Well, anyways—thank you. I mean it. It was a big and bloody ordeal, you saved my life—so let’s celebrate with some of those big bloody steaks. Yeah?”

    “Daaad—gross!” Hannah giggled. “Gross.”

   * * *

    Meat sizzled upon the grill in the Macintire’s backyard, and together Tabitha and Hannah squinted through the streamer of steam and smoke to watch it, each of them wearing aprons and ready with their own pair of tongs. She’d never actually cooked on a proper grill before, and the apparatus wasn’t pristine shining metal lattice like she imagined from seeing people grill in commercials and such. The interior of the grill was caked with grayish white ash residue, the bars were a bit cruddy with old char. She had briefly attacked the surface with a wire brush, but her efforts did little to clean everything away.

    “So—you were almost a movie star, you must know some big name actors,” Officer Macintire remarked.

    “Turn it?” Hannah motioned to poke at the steak with her tongs.

    “Not yet,” Tabitha cautioned.

    “Oh, um,” Mrs. Moore sat upright in one of the loungers. “I met a few? But it was just meeting them very briefly, I doubt any of them would remember me.”

    “Oh, c’mon—who, who?!” Officer Macintire goaded her on. “These’re celebrities we’re talkin’ about.”

    “I shook hands with Charlie Sheen?” Mrs. Moore blushed. “He was, of course, he was very handsome, back then. A big heartthrob.”

    “Hey, I’ve got Red Dawn, I’m poppin’ it in the VCR tonight for sure,” Officer Macintire chuckled. “Great movie. Charlie Sheen’s a big deal.”

    “I, um, on the set honestly I didn’t talk with the boys there, much,” Mrs. Moore admitted. “I hung out with the other new girl there, and we talked together.”

    “Kerri Green?” Tabitha asked. “Okay Hannah—I think you can flip it now.”

    “Flipping it!” Hannah reported, rising up on her tiptoes as she grabbed the steak with her tongues and turned it over.

    “Good job!”

    “Kerri Green—she sounds familiar,” Officer Macintire muttered. “The Goonies?”

    “Um, well, yes, but I never met her,” Mrs. Moore hurried to say. “Kerri was after me, um, she actually was brought in to replace me. When I left. The one I hung out with on set was Winona. She was a lot like Tabitha! I keep thinking that, lately.”

    “Wait—Winona? Winona Ryder?” Tabitha stopped and turned around to stare. “You knew Winona Ryder?!”

    “I did,” Mrs. Moore winced. “I had her phone number, even. We, uh. I didn’t keep in touch. After everything, after leaving all that behind. She was nice, though? Very young. Shy, she loved to read. Struggled to fit in. She was from Southern California, I think? Ryder wasn’t her stage name then, it was something—oh, shoot. Something that ended with a witz. Berkowitz? Maybe?”

    My mother knew Winona Ryder, Tabitha fell into a daze for a moment. Holy shit. BEETLEJUICE. Edward Scissorhands. Stranger Things. Oh, shit—right in the 2000s is when she has that shoplifting scandal, isn’t it? That set her career back. If mom still has her number somewhere, she should call, maybe? HOLY SHIT.

    “She’s pretty famous,” Officer Macintire laughed. “Wow. She was just in a big one not too long ago. Alien Resurrection?”

    “She is,” Tabitha agreed, a little perturbed. “She’s super famous.”

    “I doubt she’d even remember me,” Mrs. Moore let out a bitter laugh. “I only even knew her for a few weeks. We were the newbies on the set of Lucas.”

    “Has Hannah seen Beetlejuice?” Tabitha asked.

    “Ah, no way,” Officer Macintire shook his head. “Bit too scary for her, I think.”

    “What is?” Hannah asked.

    “Hmm,” Tabitha frowned. “Maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if she watched it with me?”

    “We don’t want her having nightmares,” Officer Macintire shrugged. “She had—what was it, The Neverending Story? She watched it, and we had to put that one away for good, gave her nightmares. You remember, Hannah?”

    “Yeah,” Hannah pouted. “With the wolf. Who hunted them across Fantasia. But, I was six. I’m almost eight, now.”

    “Think your momma had to fast forward through that ugly bit with the horse sinking into the swamp, too,” Officer Macintire shook his head. “That bit was makin’ everyone choke up. They weren’t messin’ around!”

    “When’s your birthday?” Mrs. Moore asked. “Hannah?”

    “March fifteenth!” Hannah reported. “I’m gonna be eight. It’s already almost March.”

    “Uh-oh,” Officer Macintire straightened. “You know what I hear?”

    “What?” Hannah asked.

    “I think I hear Mommy.”

    “You’re gonna be in so much trouble!” Hannah gloated.

    Turning to look, Tabitha saw movement beyond the glass door. A moment later it was pulled open, and then Sandra leaned out with a stern face.

    “What in the world’s going on out here?!”

    The woman’s voice was angry but also a little teasing—Tabitha put on a bemused smile and allowed her eyebrows to rise as she pointed her tongs towards Officer Macintire. Hannah immediately followed suit, and the man managed to look incredibly aggrieved by them throwing the blame for their impromptu cookout squarely on his shoulders. Before Mrs. Macintire could continue performing her outrage however, she noticed Mrs. Moore—and her face lit up with surprise at their unexpected guest.

    “Oh! Hello there,” Mrs. Macintire stepped the whole way out and offered her hand. “I guess my husband dragged you out here, too?”

    “They um, they ran into me when they were picking up everything to grill,” Mrs. Moore explained in a fluster. “I hope I’m not a bother!”

    “Of course not, just—” Mrs. Macintire shook hands with her but turned and arched an eyebrow at her husband. “What do you think you’re doing, grilling?! You’re supposed to be eating soft foods, buster!”

    “I am!” Officer Macintire laughed, holding up his hands. “I told the girls—I said girls, cook ‘em nice and tender for me, please.”

    “Flip?” Hannah elbowed Tabitha.

    “Is it my turn?” Tabitha checked the other steak. “Ooh, this one’s ready to flip. Okay. Thank you.”

    “I see you got your cruiser back,” Mrs. Macintire sounded exasperated. “So, I suppose you think you’re all better, now? Huh, mister?”

    “I parked in the street,” Officer Macintire sounded defensive. “So you could park in the drive. I thought—you know, maybe we could celebrate?”

    “Hmm,” Sandra shared a glance with the girls.

    “Hmmm,” Hannah agreed.

    “Hmmmm!” Sandra finally let out a laugh. “Okay, fine. But, you should have called! I would’ve grabbed some wine on the way home. Shannon, can we get you anything? Water? Beer?”

    “Oh, no, I’m fine!”

    “I can get everyone glasses,” Tabitha offered, passing her tongs to Hannah. “Can you watch those for me, please? Thank you. I’m going to go set the table.”

    “If you’d waited another week, we could’ve been celebrating Miss Tabitha getting her cast off,” Mrs. Macintire reminded her husband, crossing the patio to give him a kiss on the cheek.

    “Shoot, you’re right,” Officer Macintire gave her a lopsided smile. “But, y’know what? We covered our bases, freezer’s got a whole bunch more stuff we can cook. This is uh, this is our test run. Gettin’ Tabby all familiar with the grill. Figure for when she celebrates, she’ll want more notice so she can invite some of her friends over. Right?”

    “Hmmmm…” Mrs. Macintire teased.

    Dang, Tabitha froze partway through the motion of removing her apron. That actually DOES sound like it could be a lot of fun. Willow watch party, and then barbeque?

    While Officer Macintire seemed intent on them having only steak for dinner tonight, Tabitha was certainly not. She knew the contents of the Macintire kitchen better than anyone, and had insisted on adding greens to the cart during their impromptu shopping trip today. Right after hurrying through the sliding glass door and over to the kitchen, Tabitha grabbed a pot and the colander from the drawer beneath the oven and set them up in each side of the sink.

    The pot she started filling from the tap, their salt container was grabbed from the overhead cabinet, and while the pot filled with water Tabitha crossed the kitchen to grab glasses from the other cupboard. She rounded the counter and started to set five places at the dinner table, and when she returned, she shut the water off and tilted two shakes of salt into the pot. The pot of water was set upon the stove and the heat turned to high—Tabitha knew from the progress of the steaks on the grill outside that she didn’t have much time.

    Oh, shoot. Lid, lid—where’s the lid?

    With her hand still in the cast opening the silverware drawer, Tabitha was also crouching down below the stove to find the lid for the pot so that it would boil faster. She was no stranger to multi-tasking in the kitchen, but she was also feeling a little flustered and out of sorts tonight while her mother was here visiting. The lid was discovered and applied to the pot, and simultaneously Tabitha’s good hand was scooping a handful of forks, and then knives out of the tray in the drawer.

    Another dash over to the table and Tabitha pulled napkins out of the holder in the center, then she swooped around the table setting utensils on top of napkins at each seat. When returning, a peek through the glass door showed Hannah was still standing over the steaks with diligence—then the bag of fresh green beans and the water purifier pitcher was withdrawn from the fridge. Green beans were dumped out into the colander, pitcher placed on the counter for her next trip in the direction of the table. Instant potatoes box grabbed from the pantry shelf above where the cereal boxes were lined up. Stack of plates acquired from the cupboard, whose door was still hanging ajar. She remembered to close it, nudging it shut with her elbow in passing. 

    The green beans would be washed of any dirt or pesticides in the colander, then briefly put in the pot boiling water, and then Tabitha could simply rinse the colander and pour ice cubes into that to finish blanching the green beans. She would then also already have boiling water from the pot to put instant potato mix into. Dinner rolls were absent, but perhaps she could substitute a few of the hamburger buns they had on hand? Tabitha mulled it over with a serious look as she mixed and turned over the green beans beneath water from the spigot with her good hand.

    “Tabitha?” Mrs. Macintire had pulled the sliding glass door open and peeked inside. “Did you need a hand setting the—oh. Oh, I see you’re also preparing an entire banquet. Hmmm.”

    “It’s just side dishes for with the steak!” Tabitha protested with a smile. “Umm. It’ll all be ready, I promise. Just give me until the water boils, plus… three minutes?”

    “Hon!” Mrs. Macintire called over her shoulder. “Keep an eye on Hannah, we’re gonna help Tabitha cook. Shannon?”

    “Oh! Of course, I’ll help.”

    “Cook?! Whaddya mean cook, we have enough strip steaks for—”

    “They’re just little side dishes!” Tabitha called with a giggle. “I’m going to be quick.”

    “We don’t need side dishes, we’ve got the grill goin’—hey, hey wait Hannah, not you too! You can’t all be abandoning me?!”

    “Turn those as soon as they’re ready!” A stern seven-year-old voice instructed him.

    Then it seemed like everyone was bustling inside to join Tabitha. With the greens washed, she tried to bring the plates and pitcher over to the table, but the mothers intercepted her and took everything off her hands to carry over. By the time Hannah also scampered inside eager to help, there wasn’t much of anything left to even do. With an exasperated smile, Tabitha brought the step-stool over towards the stove and prepared a wooden basting spoon there, so that Hannah could mix the instant potatoes as soon as it was time for them.

    “Just look at her go,” Mrs. Macintire teased, exchanging a glance with Mrs. Moore. “Was she always like this?”

    “She did almost all of the cooking for us,” Mrs. Moore admitted, looking both proud and embarrassed. “We’ve certainly missed her!”

    “I bet,” Mrs. Macintire chuckled.

    The praise—and the admission that she was missed—made the moment feel terribly awkward for Tabitha, all of the sudden frantic for some kitchen busywork to fill her hands with.

    Ice! For blanching the green beans. 

    The Macintires had an automatic ice and water dispenser set into the door of their fancy fridge, but no one ever used it. The trigger for ice was loud and crashing and more often than not threw cubes across the tiled floor rather than into an offered cup, and the thing for water gave only tap water—dog water, according to Sandra—when the family here typically used the filtered water from a pitcher instead. Still, the contraption in the top of the freezer always dumped ice into a bin-like tray until it was full, and Tabitha eased the whole thing out and then set it on the counter beside the sink.

    Navigating her way around so many neglected luxuries here at the Macintires was a culture shock long since behind her, but it did cause Tabitha to pause and wonder just what impression the huge house with all of its nice furnishings was leaving on her mother. Was she intimidated? Would she be looking about at everything in a total daze?

    A glance over in that direction was even more startling—because, Mrs. Moore was just watching her, and didn’t seem to even notice anything else around. She was here visiting, but only seemed to have eyes for her daughter. The proud but wistful look her mother was giving her felt like a slap to the face, it smacked away any of the preconceptions around stark difference in class Tabitha wanted to build up, and it in no way allowed Tabitha to frame this situation around her trailer trash mom as a shut-in paralyzed by social anxiety.

    Because… Tabitha swallowed back her unease. She’s not, anymore. She’s working a SERVICE POSITION job. Somehow. Working with people all day. Which still seems impossible. If—wait WAIT HANNAH NO—!

    “No no, hold on!” Tabitha intervened just before the little girl could dump a cup of instant potato mix into the pot. “Hannah honey, we’re going to use that for blanching the green beans, first. And, it still needs to boil. Remember, we have to add the instant potatoes after the water boils?”

    “Oh yeah, boil,” Hannah pouted. “I forgot.”

    They had worked together making instant potatoes for dinners before here, and Tabitha was very proud that Hannah had picked out a measuring cup and even seemed to pretend to read the box for the suggested serving size. Was Hannah anxious to show off how useful and helpful she was in the kitchen, since they had a guest over?

    Or, wait, Tabitha wanted to flush in embarrassment. Am I the one anxious to show off? I was really gripped with the sudden urge to rush in here and, yeah—get a bunch of stuff done, all of the sudden. Even when I’m pretty sure no one else cared whether or not we’d be having side dishes to go with steak tonight.

    “Good job being helpful, Hannah,” Mrs. Macintire praised. “Shannon—just about every night, Tabitha’s been with Hannah, teaching her to cook. Those two are just adorable, Hannah sticks to her like glue. Do you want to see—”

    “I do not!” Hannah protested. “Not like glue.”

    “—Do you want to see some photos we took?” Mrs. Macintire rolled her eyes. “I got them developed, but we haven’t sat down and fit them into an album yet. Karen wants to get me into her whole scrapbooking nonsense, all those ladies get together and go nuts over that stuff.”

    “I’d love to!” Mrs. Moore agreed, lighting up. “You have photos already?”

    “Y-you what,” Tabitha found herself just as surprised. “Since when?!”

    “I’ve snapped a few here and there,” Mrs. Macintire said with a smirk. “I’m sure you remember some of them—don’t you remember getting pictures taken when you two were painting up that bookshelf?”

    “Oh,” Tabitha’s shoulder sagged, because now she did remember. “Right.”

    So, while Sandra ducked off into the master bedroom to grab photos, Tabitha closely examined the pot of water on the stove for bubbles or steam as if that endeavor took her full attention. Mrs. Moore stood near the dining table as if struggling to broach conversation or think of something to say, while Hannah seemed to soak up the awkward atmosphere and translate it into fidgeting and discomfort of her own.

    You should say something, Tabitha told herself. She’s lost more weight, I think. She’s—yep, she’s still pregnant. Still weird, I guess I figured she would just gain everything back and then some. She’s working. She’s OUT OF THE HOUSE.

    “You’re back to school, now?” Mrs. Moore broke the tense silence first.

    “Yes,” Tabitha answered, relieved at an easy topic. “It’s different, this time. It’s going to be different. I’m, um. Paying attention to the people, this time. Not just the assignments and schoolwork. Forcing myself to talk to people, get to know new people. Maybe make friends.”

    “We bought a towel,” Hannah added. “Show her your towel.”

    “Oh, I, uh, yes we bought a towel, too,” Tabitha winced. “I have Personal Fitness. For first period. I already took it into school, though. For the locker room. It’s a Coca Cola towel—with a polar bear on it. Like in the commercials.”

    “It’s cool,” Hannah said. “I helped pick it out.”

    “Personal Fitness?” Mrs. Moore asked, looking concerned. “Do they—”

    “I have a doctor’s note,” Tabitha quickly assured her. “I’m not doing anything active, yet. But—yeah. Soon. Coach Baylor is very nice. I have some friends in that one—Vanessa. Marisa, Grace, Tiffany. Bobby.”

    “Bobby is her boyfriend,” Hannah confided.

    Tabitha couldn’t help but shoot a horrified look down at Hannah for that betrayal, but Hannah seemed oblivious and instead gave her a supportive nod of the head. 

    “Bobby is a friend,” Tabitha hurried to clarify. “You, um, you might have met him at—shoot. No, I guess you haven’t met him, yet. He’s a friend from school. He’s nice. His brother works at the gas station just above the trailer park.”

    “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Moore remarked with interest.

    “Bobby’s in her same league, though,” Hannah insisted. “Big leagues. She said she actually likes—”

    “Hannah!” Tabitha hissed.

    “Photos!” Mrs. Macintire saved the day with her return, waving a small stack of four by six inch prints. “You’re gonna love these.”

     Hannah squeezed in beside her mother as the two women slowly went through each of the photos. Tabitha wanted to peek as well, but wasn’t comfortable crowding in and settled for Mrs. Macintire’s commentary as she paced around the kitchen, watching both the stovetop and peeking out to gauge Officer Macintire’s progress on the grill. The situation was unsettling her, and Tabitha eventually forced herself still in an attempt to hide her agitation.

    “This is them and that bookshelf,” Mrs. Macintire narrated. “They designed it and put it together all by themselves—Tabitha wanted one that would fit Hannah’s big storybooks.”

    “And they painted it?” Mrs. Moore wore an expression of admiration as she gazed down at the photo.

    “It actually wasn’t as messy as I was afraid it would be,” Mrs. Macintire hummed.

    “Tabitha’s not messy,” Hannah chirped. “She’s always cleaning and organizing things. She’s not messy.”

    “This was them out in the yard,” Mrs. Macintire continued on to the next photo. “They squared off a little area for a flower garden, but I think the rest of that plan is on hold until spring?”

    “Vegetable garden,” Hannah corrected. “We’re gonna grow vegetables—that we’re gonna eat.”

    “Oh, you’re gonna eat veggies?” Mrs. Macintire teased.

    “Yeah—just the ones we grow ourselves,” Hannah insisted. “They’re different when you grow them yourselves. They’re gonna be really good.”

    “This was—hmm, I think in this one we were playing dress up,” Mrs. Macintire flipped to another one. “Oh! I remember. She’s wearing my sandals, here. This was the day we were getting all fancy and fashionable so she could go to the mall with her friends. She was so excited!”

    “I went, too!” Hannah added. “I went with Matthew. And Casey. But we all met at the food court. Tabitha was with Alicia and Elenia.”

    “Elena,” Mrs. Macintire corrected.

    “She looks lovely,” Mrs. Moore commented. “She has those great blouses—she sews them up herself. From dresses.”

    “Not by myself,” Tabitha interrupted. “I just help finish re-hemming them, really. Grandma Laurie does most of the work. Thrift store dresses.”

    “Well, they are gorgeous,” Mrs. Macintire looked up at Tabitha with a smile. “Maybe we’ll have to make a trip to the thrift store with our little string bean?”

    “I wanna go,” Hannah nodded. “Can we go tonight?”

    “I think maybe over the weekend,” Mrs. Macintire chuckled. “Or, we can go through your closet and see if there’s any old dresses we can redo?”

    “Yeah,” Hannah nodded again with a serious frown. “Maybe.”

    Officer Macintire shut off the grill and came in with a plate of steaks before Tabitha was finished with the beans and potatoes—the women at the table going over photos from her birthday party distracted her. Tabitha had not remembered anyone taking pictures, and it felt like that should have been something that stood out.

    Because, back here in the late nineties, photography was an involved process with a camera and film cartridges that needed to be taken to a specialist to be developed. Snapping a quick shot wasn’t as simple as pointing an early two-thousands device towards something and thumbing the screen, or evoking key phrase cheese in the twenty-forties and having the gem bauble on your bracelet PC capture a panorama of most everything around you to save as a still.

    But, then again—my mind was EVERYWHERE ELSE during the party, Tabitha remembered as she hurried to finish the potatoes. It felt like my first dry run at hanging out with a big group of teenage peers, so my focus was on them and the adults kind of seemed to fade into the background.

    She no longer saw herself as a grown-up in fourteen-year-old disguise. However, she also acknowledged that she was much more self-aware and mature than she had been when she was originally this age. Maturity was a mixed bag with different benchmarks all over the place—both of the Macintire adults were wise beyond the years but also often displayed downright juvenile streaks. Their seven-year-old sometimes displayed a rather shrewd intelligence amidst her normal childishness. 

     It’s even harder to gauge among my friends, Tabitha thought to herself. Elena looks to Ziggy as if she has all the answers—when in reality Elena is so much more put together and on top of things that it’s not even funny.

    The photos were set aside as they all sat down to eat, and the meal was amazing.

    In her past life, Tabitha hadn’t learned how she liked her steak until it was practically too late—into her mid-thirties. On the rare occasions she was ever asked how she liked her meat, her reflexive answer was well done and not much thought was put into it. Realizing that well done was equivalent to dining on shoe leather most of the time made having steak a transformative experience.

    Oh, wow, Tabitha’s eyes watered and she gave Officer Macintire an appreciative nod as the juicy mouthful of steak blossomed into sheer decadence with each chew.

     He nodded back, too busy eating himself to give her any words, and Mrs. Macintire joined in by making an appreciative sound. For several minutes little else was heard around the table by the clinking of silverware against plates.

    I guess, in the back of my mind my assumption was that medium well and medium rare meant UNCOOKED, and uncooked meant UNSAFE TO EAT. BLOODY. GROSS. When the reality is… a little more complicated than that. The reality turned out to be a whole lot more delicious than that. This is friggin’ AMAZING.

    “Hm hmm?” Tabitha asked, gesturing towards Hannah’s plate.

    “Yeah,” Hannah slid it towards her—with fork and steak knife in death grips she had wrestled to saw off one chunk of her strip steak so far. “I mean. Yes, please.”

    “Mmh hmmhh,” Tabitha nodded.

    Taking the fork in her hand still enveloped in the cast was tricky, but Tabitha was able to pin the steak down and then quickly slice the thing apart into a dozen bite-sized morsels for Hannah. Mashed potatoes were also on the plate but untouched so far, and Hannah was not interested in trying the green beans. Ketchup was also sitting on the plate in an aberrant little red pile—Hannah didn’t like A1 sauce and instead insisted on eating her steak with ketchup.

    Tabitha slid the plate back towards her young ward, trying hard not to judge her.

    She’s the reason we have instant potatoes instead of real potatoes, too, Tabitha wanted to shake her head. I bet if we made real mashed potatoes together, and I could get her to try it, she’d love it. But, that’s the rub, isn’t it? Getting a picky eater kid to actually try something. I was the same when I was her age, wasn’t I? Maybe worse. At least Hannah didn’t want her steak well done, hah. I bet Officer Macintire never even let her know that was an option.

    “This is,” Mrs. Moore paused to swallow. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

    “Mm-hmmm,” Officer Macintire nodded with enthusiasm, ripping into his second steak already. “God, I’ve missed this. Shannon, we’ve done one up extra—for you to take home with you.”

    “I can put it in tupperware,” Mrs. Macintire nodded. “You can give it to your husband, or—keep it a secret, save it for later for yourself! That’s what I would do.”

    “You would not,” Officer Macintire teased. “You always save me the best.”

    “Uh-huh,” Sandra smirked. “It’s good that you think so, at least. You should see the stuff that doesn’t get set aside for you.”

    “Yeah,” Hannah nodded. “The best stuff is for me.”

    How often have my parents had… NICE food? Tabitha wondered. We had steak all the time, growing up. Sort of. Well, we had ‘steak’. With either an asterisk beside it, or sarcastic air-quotation marks. Because, it was Banquet or Hungry-Man salisbury steak, the ones in frozen dinners. Which are made to loosely resemble steaks, but can’t really be called actual steak. More like a ground beef patty, except it’s leftover beef bits and pork and bread crumb and fillers and… it’s just like a meatlike mashup of cheap ingredients. Not this. This is STEAK, real steak.

    “Oh! Thank you, really,” Mrs. Moore looked touch. “Thank you. You really don’t have to. He’ll, well. He’ll love it. It would be a good peace offering, hah. We haven’t been getting along.”

    Because of me, Tabitha almost dropped her fork as what felt like a bombshell killed the rest of her appetite. Of course. Of course they’re fighting—I knew they were. I guess. I just haven’t wanted to think about it. About how fucking stubborn dad was being over the whole LISA issue. I’ve packed all of that up and basically chucked it over my shoulder to put it behind me. Don’t really even want to revisit it. Any of it.

    “Men are so stubborn,” Mrs. Macintire said, after visibly restraining herself from expressing much more vilifying comments. “Your husband… especially so.”

    “I’m sure he meant well,” Officer Macintire shrugged. “Always gonna be tough when it’s family. See it all the time. I’ve had to tell parents their kid’s been caught breaking and entering. Grand theft auto. Lots of kids get into—you know, pot, pills. Huffing paint and God knows what else, these days. Havin’ to tell the parents? Seeing that wall of disbelief just spring up into place? Always tough. Sometimes it’s worse, because they know deep down that their little boy or little girl has gotten themselves into real trouble, but they’ll think if they actively pretend hard enough otherwise, then that’ll make it the truth.”

    “Uh-huh, texas shoeshine,” Mrs. Macintire nodded along. “This was a couple years back, all the kids were into huffing. Absolutely insane. Paint, propane, that uh, what was it? Cleaner fluid, the video head cleaner stuff? Had a little rash of those cases pop up in Springton.”

    “In Springton?” Mrs. Moore let out a noise of disbelief. 

    “Oh yeah,” Officer Macintire bobbed his head. “We got that all nipped in the bud, though. Everyone and their uncle ‘round here knows somebody or other who can get them pot, but the pills, the huffing nonsense, stuff like heroin? We shut that down hard.”

    “And this with Lisa was heroin,” Mrs. Moore said in a small voice.

    “Well,” Officer Macintire paused. “It has no place in Springton. It was a minor case of Shelbyville problems leakin’ on out of Shelbyville. It happens, we know who to go to, it gets taken care of here. Not much else we can do.”

    “I’m from Ohio,” Mrs. Macintire revealed with a wince. “So—the drug stuff, the hard drugs? Yeah.”

    “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Moore shook her head. “Wow. Ohio.”

    “What’s Ohio?” Hannah asked.

    “It’s not a place fit to talk about in front of children,” Mrs. Macintire teased, shaking her head in dismay. “It’s an awful place, full of very bad people.”

    “Ohio is where we go when we visit your mae-ma,” Officer Macintire indulged his daughter with a better answer. “You’ve been there before. Your mother grew up there. I went to college, there. But, yes, otherwise it’s an awful place.”

    “Oh,” Hannah played with her mashed potatoes. “I remember visiting mae-ma. It wasn’t that bad.”

    “Yeah, for you,” Sandra muttered under her breath. “Anyways. Tabitha, your aunt Lisa is in a program at a good place, and they’re gonna help her however best they can. It’s not something you or any of your family should worry about now. Thoughts and prayers, that’s about all you can do right now.”

    “We weren’t close,” Mrs. Moore admitted. “I didn’t much care for her, to be honest. She’s my sister-in-law, and—my husband’s brother had already gotten himself locked up last year.”

    “Mm-hmm, we heard,” Officer Macintire nodded. “And, they had kids?”

    “Four boys,” Tabitha remarked. “I, um. I was trying to be there for them as much as I could. They’re all in elementary, still.”

    “She bought them each Gameboys for Christmas,” Mrs. Moore said. “Or—well. I suppose you all bought them?”

    “No, no,” Mrs. Macintire shook her head. “That was Tabitha’s money. Not ours. We just set up a little advance on her settlement money.”

    “Oh,” Mrs. Moore blinked. “Wow. Well, I can tell you each of the boys was just over the moon about them. They’re crazy about those handheld things, I’m told they’ve barely set them down. Your grandma Laurie said it’s more peaceful and well-behaved over there then it’s ever been.”

    “Hannah has one of those same ones,” Mrs. Macintire chuckled. “Pokemon? She sits on the sofa and plays away at it. It looks fun.”

    “It is,” Hannah reported. “Tabitha plays, too.”

    “For the four boys, it feels like trying to put a band-aid on a much more serious problem,” Tabitha admitted. “I’m glad that it’s helping, but. I want to get them some better direction in their life, some more positive influences. I was thinking either boy scouts—cub scouts?—or taekwondo classes, or—I don’t know, something.”

    The Macintire couple exchanged glances at that, and both of them shared a small smile that Tabitha wasn’t sure how to interpret.

    “Little league? Soccer?” Mrs. Macintire suggested. “I’m sure Springton has all sorts of youth programs, right? I guess I’d have to ask Karen about them—she seems like she has a finger in all that stuff around town. Church groups?”

    “Maybe,” Tabitha said. “You mentioned you normally go to the same one with the Williams? Springton United Methodist?”

    “Mm-hmm,” Sandra had the good grace to look guilty. “Well, sorta. It’s been a while.”

    “My fault, I’ve been stuck here at home,” Officer Macintire said. “Bedrest. Ugh.”

    “We tried going to the Presbyterian one in town,” Tabitha said. “But, I’m not sure anything really clicked.”

    “Your friend Elena’s church,” Mrs. Moore nodded. “Your father said he liked that one. I thought it was okay.”

    “Would you want to try out Methodist?” Tabitha asked.

    “Whatever you want to do is fine,” Mrs. Moore said. “I’m sure if both the Macintires and Williams go to it, it must be a good church.”

    “Kids Tabitha’s age, too,” Mrs. Macintire pointed out. “They have a pretty big youth group, there. Matthew, Casey. What was that other girl’s name? The real cross-looking one.”

    “Olivia,” Tabitha supplied. “She only looks cross—she’s actually very sweet.”

    In no time at all, everyone’s plates were cleared. The green beans were pleasant enough, but the grilled steaks really stole the show—they were just that good. Tabitha had hoped that using the water she’d boiled the green beans in to hydrate the potato mix would give them some kind of faint flavor to detect, but the stubborn starch paste seemed intent on tasting like nothing much at all.

    “Well, again—thank you so much for having me over,” Mrs. Moore said. “Dinner was wonderful. I’m so glad I got to catch up with Tabitha again, so really—thank you.”

    For how tense and nervous Tabitha had felt this entire time, the thought of her mom just leaving now filled her with a sense of panic and loss. They hadn’t really had much of an opportunity to talk about anything, and she wasn’t even sure what she had expected. A private conversation that resolved all of her lingering family issues? A heart to heart that really reconnected them again? Some small part of Tabitha was wishing that her mother would ask for her to come back, to express some sort of need for her presence in their life, over there.

    “I—” Tabitha felt just as surprised as everyone else when words started coming out of her mouth. “I could spend the night over there. At the trailer park. Every now and then, or um. Whenever. Just ride the bus I used to for school, and then take the other bus back here. So that I’m not troubling anyone for a ride, or—”

    “Of course, of course,” Mrs. Macintire nodded. “Yeah, I mean—whatever you want to do.”

    “Oh, well,” Mrs. Moore seemed stunned. “Tonight? Tabitha, I’d just love for you to—”

    “No!” Hannah interrupted them with a raised voice—when Tabitha looked over she saw Hannah’s normally adorable little face warped in anger and fear like she’d never seen it before. “NO! No, no, no! You CAN’T leave. YOU CAN’T!”

( 57, The girls locker room. | RE: Trailer Trash | Next, 59 pt 1 )