RE: Trailer Trash 8 pt 5 (Patreon)

   “Matthew baby, could you get the gosh darn phone?” Karen Williams hollered. “It’d be so gosh darn nice if you would, please.”

   Her husband’s mother and sister were here in town with them visiting before Thanksgiving—Granny June and Auntie Carol, while here she herself retained the coveted title of Momma Karen—and that meant sipping wine and gossiping late in the warm light of her tastefully-appointed den late into the night. Mostly, discussion kept wandering back towards Matthew and this young girl he thought he could date in secret, with each of the ladies obviously having their own input and advice and anecdotes to share.

   “I just don’t like that he’d keep it secret,” Granny June shook her head in dismay. “Keepin’ it secret certainly means they were up to things they were too ashamed to talk about, and—”

   “Mum, it’s his first relationship—of course he’s not gonna talk to us about it,” Auntie Carol argued. “You think I kept you in the loop on all the boys I was seein’? Why, when I was that age—”

   “Well, of course you did,” Granny June tittered, knowing full well how untrue it was. “I raised you up good an’ proper, and you weren’t courting any boys until Roger. We—”

   “Oh, please,” Auntie Carol rolled her eyes. “Don’t even bring up gosh darn Roger. He had his head stuck so far up his you know what that his—”

   “Carol,” Granny June chided her with a half-hearted smack on the forearm.

   The constant gosh darns were a joke that never got old— as the night went on and lips loosened they knew each of the Williams ladies could and would swear like sailors, and to poke fun at each other they would correct one another with gosh darns and giggle at each other like much younger women. Mrs. Williams was only partway into her first glass of wine tonight, and determined to not slip and say the first dirty word in front of her hilarious in-laws. Not after last year, at least—that had gotten so out of hand it’d even made her husband blush.

   “Ooh, I never heard about Roger,” Mrs. Williams leaned in with delight. “I thought your first guy was... gosh darn, what was his name? Jerry? Went on to manage that—”

   “My first boyfriend was Jerry,” Auntie Carol laughed. “I didn’t start seeing Roger until—”

   “Oh, shush,” Granny June waved dismissively before taking another sip from her wine glass. “Roger was the first one that counted. Dating before high school isn’t real courting, it’s—it’s children’s games. Like playing at being doctor, it’s not real.”

   “My son is in high school, though—he’s a sophomore already,” Mrs. Williams sighed. “They grow up so gosh darn fast. So, is this with this Casey girl real, or is it—”

   “Real doesn’t mean forever,” Auntie Carol snorted. “Now, I don’t mean to make light of him an’ his feelings, havin’ his first puppy love, but if you think about—”

   “Real should mean forever,” Granny June frowned. “I don’t like all this playing around at it I see on television. Why, it’s just terrible what they teach kids these days, the state they treat relationships these days.”

   “It is the nineties,” Mrs. Williams chuckled, taking another sip of her own glass. “The times, they are a’changin’.”

   “For the worse, if you ask me,” Granny June huffed. “Why, if this thickheaded dummy here had married Roger, she’d—”

   “Oh, please,” Auntie Carol rolled her eyes. “Married Roger?! Even if we had, we’d have never lasted. I know you never believed in divorce, but—”

   “Well, I don’t believe in divorce,” Granny June insisted. “It goes against God. Marriage is a sacred institution, and the more people just—”

   “Uh, Mom?” Matthew approached to interrupt the older women with reluctance, presenting the cordless phone to his mother. “It’s—”

   “Who is it, dear?”

   “Tabitha Moore,” Matthew replied. “She asked for you, said it was an emergency.”

   “Now I’m not defending divorce, but—” Auntie Carol stopped as Mrs. Williams held up a hand.

   “Hello?” Mrs. Williams felt her hackles raise up as she imagined what the emergency might be. “Tabitha honey?”

   “I… I hate to impose, so close to the holidays,” A small voice said through the phone. “But, Mrs. Williams—there’s, um. I really need help.”

   “Honey, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Williams demanded, rising up out of her comfy seat in alarm. “Where are you? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

*     *     *

   “Tabby has it in her head to be all dead-set against Lisa,” Mr. Moore grumbled. “Can’t seem to even stand the sight of her.”

   “Hmm,” Mrs. Moore let out a thoughtful hum and buried her cheek deeper in the pillow. “Well, Lisa did wake us all up at twelve in the morning.”

   “Twelve at night,” Mr. Moore said.

   “That’s the same thing, and you know all of us are cross at her,” Mrs. Moore muttered. “So, what is it? What’s wrong now?”

   “I’m worried about Tabitha,” her husband admitted. “‘Bout her and… y’know, all that money. That’s a whole lotta money to go to a young girl’s head all at once.”

   “You’re worried it’s gonna go to her head?” Mrs. Moore blinked one eye open.

   “Hasn’t it already?” Mr. Moore sighed. “She’s got it in her head for a while that anything from—well, you know, humble origins is all low class, and she gets herself all set against it. Lisa just seems to really rub her the wrong way, and Tabby isn’t even willing to give her a chance.”

   “Alan—you know I’m not exactly thrilled with Lisa, either. Hitting her son like that—that was out of line.”

   “I know, I know,” Mr. Moore mumbled. “But, she is goin’ through a rough patch right now. With Danny bein’ where he is and all. And, she is family.”

   “Uh-huh,” Mrs. Moore responded with a noncommittal grunt. “So, what are we gonna do about her?”

   “Lisa asked for help, and she’s family, so... I think we’ve gotta do what we can to help her.”

   “She asked for help—she asked for help how, exactly?” Mrs. Moore asked, her sleepiness subsiding.

   “We’re just about to come into more money than we’ll know what to do with, and Lisa sure could use some of it to help gettin’ back on her feet. Tabitha’s hospital bills’re already just about all taken care of, and leavin’ all that money for a thirteen-year-old girl to do who knows what with—that’s irresponsible.”

   Leaving the money to TABITHA is irresponsible? Shannon Moore said nothing to that, but she was now fully awake and alert.

   Tabitha, who was talking me through home repair and all the specific expenses she had planned here? SHE’S irresponsible? According to who? LISA? Did Lisa just repeat TABITHA’S THIRTEEN AND IRRESPONSIBLE to Alan until he started getting suckered into believing it? TABITHA, IRRESPONSIBLE? Are you fucking kidding me?

   “I think we should take out some to help out Lisa an’ the boys, maybe a tiny bit of spending money for Tabby to do whatever she wants with. And the rest? Needs to go into a college fund or a trust fund or somethin’ ‘till she’s older and can right make up her mind on what’s best to do with it. When she’s older and we explain what we did—she’ll understand. Lisa’s family. She didn’t run off ‘cause she wanted to, an’ she sure as all heck isn’t a druggie or anything like that.”

   “Alan,” Mrs. Moore sat up in bed, shucking off the covers so that she could glare at her husband. “What part of our Tabitha is any less responsible than Lisa? Huh?”

   “Now you know that’s not what I meant,” Alan rose up onto one elbow. “Tabitha, she’s—she’s still a child. She’s thirteen years old, she doesn’t know what from what.”

   “Fourteen in a little over a week, and you know damned well she’s more mature than that,” Mrs. Moore growled. “She’ll always be our baby girl, okay—but, Tabitha is not a child anymore. She’s a young woman, an’ there’s no way you can say otherwise! Listen to yourself, Alan. In what freaking world is Lisa or your lousy brother Danny more mature and responsible than our daughter? Who’s to say Lisa isn’t a druggie? Huh? Who’s to say where she’s been or what she’s been up to these past months?”

   “Now, hold on—” Mr. Moore protested. “I’ve sat down an’ talked things through with Lisa. She’s been workin’ where she can, things haven’t been easy on her, alright? No matter what, she’s family and we’ve gotta do what we can to look out for her.”

   “Just a few months ago we gave her all that money for a car that don’t run!” Mrs. Moore pointed out, growing angry. “What all happened to that, huh? We’re the ones who look after her boys when your mother doesn’t. Where’s she been all this time? She kept sayin’ she was livin’ with a friend— she never made no mention of a name or that it was a woman. Who’s to say she isn’t living with some other man now that your brother’s locked up? Huh?”

   “Lisa definitely wouldn’t—”

   “Alan, I love you to pieces, but your heart’s so much bigger than your head that it’s not even funny,” Mrs. Moore let herself fall back against the pillow and then turned onto her side so that she was facing away from her husband. “If Tabitha doesn’t wanna support Lisa’s mistakes with that settlement money, then that’s that. It’s Tabitha’s money. Not ours. Not Lisa’s. Our Tabby doesn’t owe her one goddamn red cent. Tabby’s got no obligation to throw pearls before swine, and as far as I’m concerned, neither do we.”

   “Mistakes?” Mr. Moore frowned. “That’s not what I’d—”

   “Goodnight, Alan,” Mrs. Moore called over her shoulder.

*     *     *

   Nervous tension had filled Tabitha’s room until it became suffocating, and it wasn’t until after her parents had gone to bed that the sign she’d been waiting for finally came. Her Aunt Lisa started up the shower, after having dickered around in the bathroom doing who-knows-what for almost a half hour. Having been pretending to be asleep already, Tabitha had simply been waiting in the darkness for the sound of the shower. Waiting, with the flathead screwdriver from the kitchen’s junk drawer in hand—waiting for the right moment to strike.

   With her heart in her throat she quietly opened her bedroom door and tiptoed out into the hall. The only light here was coming from beneath the locked bathroom door, and it was dark enough that she couldn’t see the little line in the center of the doorknob—she had to feel it out with the head of the screwdriver. It made a small noise as metal met metal, but Tabitha didn’t freeze. She was committed, now. The tab swiveled, the doorknob turned, it was unlocked. The screwdriver was dropped down to the floor where it would be out of the way, because she only had one good hand, and she was going to need it.

   Tabitha opened the door and burst into the bathroom.

   “Hey—what the hell?!” Aunt Lisa crowed from the other side of the shower curtain.

   There. The woman’s purse was up on the counter, yawing wide open and unattended. Beside it was a worn and faded Batman thermos, of all things, likely borrowed long ago from one of her son’s plastic lunch boxes. On the porcelain lip of the sink lay a disposable lighter, a blackened, filthy spoon, and yes, the real smoking gun itself—a syringe.

   “Tabitha?”  Aunt Lisa called. “Hey—Jesus, I’m in here a’showerin’, you know?”

   The woman pulled back the edge of the shower curtain, just in time to peek around and discover Tabitha hurrying to pluck the syringe up with careful fingers and toss it into the open purse.

   “Hey—HEY!” Aunt Lisa shrieked. “What the fuck do ya think yer doin?!”

   The spoon and the lighter followed the syringe into the purse with the quickest snatching motions she could manage, and then Tabitha grabbed up the Batman thermos and shoved it inside, as well. The thermos was one of those squat, cylindrical ones with a little plastic handle for the cap so that it could double as a tiny cup, and thankfully it had already been screwed shut. She could feel the contents of the thermos shift in the brief instant it was in her hands, but it didn’t feel like liquid inside—it was as if Aunt Lisa was keeping clumps of dirt in the thing. Heroin, obviously. Hopefully. If this was her Aunt’s stash of instant coffee grounds, then—then Tabitha didn’t have time to worry about that right now.

   “HEY! WHAT THE FUCK DO YA THINK YER—” Completely naked, Aunt Lisa jumped out of the shower and lunged for her.

   The plan had been to also gather up Aunt Lisa’s abandoned clothing there, so as to forestall the woman’s pursuit, but there just wasn’t enough time. Tabitha bolted out of the small enclosure with the purse pinched closed with her good hand and held against her. She ran down the hallway in what felt like an instant, but she could hear Lisa’s heavy footfalls, chasing her anyways, and then the light coming from the open bathroom door was blocked and she knew the woman was right behind her.

   Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit—

   Terror and dread were freezing up her movements and locking them up in raw panic, but Tabitha managed to hold the purse against her and wrench open the front door of their trailer. In the periphery of her vision, she saw Aunt Lisa, naked and soaking wet, was just behind her, mere feet from catching up with her at the door.

   “HEY!” HEY!” Aunt Lisa shrieked.

   To Tabitha’s immense relief, a car waiting outside flicked its high beams on as Tabitha raced outside. From the sound of her Aunt’s hoarse, continuous screaming, the trailer trash had paused in the front doorway, unwilling to run out naked into the night air in the midst of November.

   I-I made it. It worked. It worked. I have the evidence, I think, and— I made it.

   “Get in, get in!” Mrs. Williams looked absolutely furious, and the police officer’s wife started slamming the horn on her Ford Taurus to drown out Aunt Lisa’s screaming and hollering. “Jesus Christ, we’re gonna—are you okay? Are you okay?”

   “I have it,” Tabitha confirmed as she hurried into the vehicle. “I’m okay, just—let’s get out of here.”

   “Close your door, let’s go,” Mrs. Williams slammed her foot on the gas pedal and they plunged forward and past the trailer down the street, putting Lisa out of sight. “Get your seatbelt, honey.”

   “I, I—thank you,” Tabitha choked up. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t, I didn’t know anyone to, to go to about this. All of this. I didn’t—”

   “Sh-sh-sh-sh, you’re fine, you’re fine, honey, let’s just get you out of here, okay? Are you okay?”