She fixed herself a tuna sandwich on toast and had a few chips and a diet Pepsi. She cleaned up the kitchen and went to bed. But she didn’t sleep. She wondered what had gone wrong with Mitch and her mother.
The deterioration was pretty fast. Nicole could remember a time when it took her mother five or six days to get to the screaming, stomach-clutching, glass-smashing state in need of a boost.
This time, she made it in two days. She didn’t go to work either one: the first day, she didn’t even get out of bed.
Nicole missed another day of school.
She got in her car and drove over to a section where she was sure she could find plenty of drugs. She’d taken three hundred out of the ATM machine. She wasn’t sure how much drugs cost but she figured that three hundred would be enough to buy something.
The trouble was that the street people scared her. She was always seeing TV new stories about car-jackings. Even with her doors locked, she didn’t feel safe. She cruised the black streets but the angry curiosity of the faces — spoiled little white girl from the suburbs, what the fuck she doin’ down here, fuckin’ bitch — soon pushed her back onto the expressway.
She would have to convince her mother to go into the detox program run by one of the local hospitals.
But by the time she got back home, she found her mother drunk and belligerent. And the moment she brought up detox, her mother went into one of her violent frenzies.
Nicole stayed in her room all night.
The next morning, she called in sick to school and went to see Mitch.
He was using his Stairmaster again. Blue running shorts, white T-shirt. He didn’t bother playing the suave host this time. He invited her in. He kept working out on the machine.
“Let me guess why you’re here,” he said. His tone was sardonic.
“You were right.”
“I was? About what?” He was sweating and panting a little bit.
“My mother was very happy while you were there. The happiest I’ve seen her in a long, long time.”
He smiled icily. “And you want me to come back.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her. “She tell you why I left?”
“No. Just that you’d had a fight. I thought maybe you’d tell me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’d better let your mother tell you.”
“I’m a big girl, Mitch. I can take it.”
He smiled. “You go ask your mother.”
“I want you to come back, Mitch. I’m sorry if I acted like a bitch. You made her happy.”
He came off the machine so quickly, she was hardly aware of him at first. Sliding his arms around her back and waist, finding her mouth with his tongue, easing her against the wall so that she could feel his groin pressing against her.
She pushed against him but he was too strong. She tried bringing her knee up but he knew how to block it.
Finally, she bit his tongue. He fell back from her, cursing, dabbing his tongue with the tip of his finger. Then he laughed. “I knew you were a tough one, Nicole.” He held up his finger. “Blood.”
She walked to the door. Jerked it open. Walked out into the hallway. Slammed the door behind her.
When she came in the back door, she saw several empty glasses smashed on the floor. Mom had been on a rampage again, the need getting overwhelming.
She went upstairs. Sobbing sounds came from the large bedroom.
A weariness came over her. It was odd to be this young and yet be so worn out. She felt as if she were ninety. On the way over, she’d thought about Mitch grabbing her and kissing her. Then she’d thought about the argument Mitch and Mom had had. She had a pretty good idea now what it had been about.
She stood outside the door a long moment and listened to her mother cry. Only a few days ago, Mom had looked young and vital again. And was busy and productive. True, there were peaks and valleys in her mood and addiction level, but on balance life was good and happy again.
You couldn’t beat having a live-in pusher, she thought.
She went into the bedroom. Kate peeked at her from behind a hand that lay against her face. “Go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“I need to talk to you a minute, Mom.”
“I can’t talk now, honey. I’m sick. My whole body. Sick. You go downstairs or something.”
“I think I know what you and Mitch were arguing about.”
She sat down on the bed. Took her mother’s hand. Held it to her own face. She could feel warm tears on the hand.
“I want to thank you, Mom.”
“For what, hon?”
“For not asking me to do it.”
Kate didn’t say anything.
Nicole said, “He wanted me to sleep with him, didn’t he?”
Kate didn’t say anything.
“That’s what you had the argument about, wasn’t it?”
Kate didn’t say anything.
“If I agreed to sleep with him, then he’d stay and keep you in drugs. That way, when he got bored with you, he’d sleep with me.”
“He isn’t a bad person, sweetie. He just looks at sex different from how we do.”
“He’s a creep. He took advantage of you and now he wants to take advantage of me.” She kissed her mother’s hand. “Thanks for not asking me to do it.”
“I knew how you’d feel about it, honey.”
“I appreciate it.” She gently put her Mom’s hand back on the bed and said, “Why don’t I make you a little soup?”
“I don’t know if I could hold it down.”
“At least, let’s give it a try.” She hesitated. “Then I want to talk to you some more about rehab, Mom. You can’t go on like this.”
Kate looked beyond exhaustion. Something had died in her. The gleaming eyes, the happy voice of a few days ago were gone. “Maybe that’s what I need. Rehab, I mean.” She spoke in a dazed voice, staring tearily out the window. “Maybe I should quit fighting it.”
“Why don’t you take a little nap? I’ll bring the soup up in a half hour or so.”
Kate held her arms out. Nicole slid into her sleep-warm embrace.
Nicole was watching the MTV Top Ten countdown. Eight of the songs were rap, with sneering black guys pushing their faces into the camera. Nicole was too romantic for rap. She liked the ballads, especially by the black girl groups, who were as romantic as the boys were unromantic.
She yawned. She was exhausted and looking forward to bed. Three hours ago, she’d served her mother chicken soup and a glass of skim milk. She’d tucked her into bed and turned on the electric blanket. When Kate was in withdrawal, she got the chills bad.
She was just about to click off the TV with the remote when the gunshot exploded and echoed.
Her first impression was that something had blown up. Stove. Or water heater. Something like that.
But in the next moment, she realized what had really happened. Gunshot. The gun from Mom’s drawer. Upstairs. Mom.
Fear blinded her.
She took the steps two at a time, tripping on the last of the stairway, grabbing the banister to keep from falling over.
Mom Mom Mom, she kept thinking.
The master bedroom was empty.
The smaller bedroom was empty.
She ran into the bathroom.
Her mother, completely naked, vomit covering her chest and stomach, her head twisted drunkenly to see Nicole, sat on the edge of the bathtub, a gun in her right hand. The top of her head was dusted with plaster from the hole in the ceiling that the bullet had made. A half-full bottle of J&B lay at her feet.
Nicole could never remember her this far gone. She stared at Nicole but with no recognition whatsoever showing in her eyes. Huge goosebumps covered her arms and legs. “No more fucking detox, kiddo,” she said to no one in particular. “No more fucking detox.”