This Mess We''re In

  After driving Zoe to work and putting Rose down for her morning nap, I took a quick shower and then rifled through my chest of drawers for clothes. When I went to my top drawer, I took out a pair of panties but couldn’t find my money. My heart pounded into my head. I pushed everything aside. The money wasn’t there.

  Cold washed over me and my nerve endings stung. My head felt like it was being squished by a sadistic giant. I left my room and walked down the hall out of earshot of Rose.

  “Fuck!” I screamed at the bottom of the stairs. I dropped my clothes on the floor around me. Someone took my money. Almost three hundred dollars, gone. The electric company kept threatening to shut us off as the late bill inched higher and higher.

  I stomped up the stairs and flung open Regan’s bedroom door. She wasn’t there. Regan’s room was a disaster. There were drawings and writing all over the walls, and her clothes were everywhere except her closet, which was piled with weird crap. I glanced at her bedside table; a syringe sat amongst the beer bottles and chip packages.

  No. No, this wasn’t happening. I marched to the bedside table. A few drops of light brown liquid remained on the inside of the syringe. Not this, anything but this…

  I ran downstairs, flung open the front door, and ran around to the back of the house. I slammed open the garden gate. Bradly barked at me and dropped a ball at my feet. Seeing his big, trusting eyes made me wither. I fell to my knees. Sobs broke free and enormous tears dripped down my face. I flopped on my ass and curled my knees up to my chest, crying into my lap.

  If she’d done what I thought she’d done… I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t. I shook hysterically, sucking in air just to bellow it out again in horrible, broken sobs.

  Finally, I realized the neighbors could probably hear me, so I forced myself to calm down and go back in the house. My mind raced, but my body was numb. I curled up on the couch and didn’t move. I was so tired. So tired. My stomach hurt from crying and my face stung from the salty tears.

  I was silent and still. I wanted to disappear. I wanted it all to go away. This wasn’t what my life was supposed to be. I was supposed to be a designer. I was supposed to be cool and independent, hanging out with posh people doing chic things.

  The world tilted around me and came crashing back. I took a deep breath, swung my legs off the couch, and sat up. I would not have a breakdown.

  I grabbed my waxed pink fabric and took it to the tub outside. My body was still raw, but my mind was laser focused. Filling the tub with water, I poured the dye and pressed the cloth into the purple water.

  I built a fire in the campfire pit in the side yard and placed a second tub of water in the flames. When the fabric was done dyeing, I pulled it out and rinsed out all the excess dye.

  Once the water ran clear, I placed the fabric in a tub over the fire pit. Carefully, I moved the steel tub to the gravel driveway to let it cool. The wax floated to the surface, and I peeled it away. I hauled the dripping cloth from the water, satisfied with my dyeing job, and took it to the laundry room to dry.

  Rose woke from her morning nap, and I spent the next several hours with her. We hung out in the living room and picked vegetables from the garden, and she watched me while I pulled weeds from the rich, dark earth of the raised beds. I gave her fresh, sweet snap peas and strawberries that she ate with dirty hands. At one year old, Rose still needed two naps a day. I put her down for her afternoon nap at two and went back to work.

  My fabric was dry by then. I spread it out over the kitchen table and began pinning a dress pattern to the twice-dyed textile. I’d made this dress so many times it had become mechanical. I had the basic stitching finished.

  Regan stumbled through the front door. She looked drunk. Hot fury melted my brain, and I couldn’t speak. She sauntered past me and crashed onto the couch, turning on the TV. She lay there watching baseball with the flickering, crappy reception.

  I pulled out a needle and thread to finish the hem. My forehead and neck felt cold but my chest felt burning hot. I jabbed the needle into the dress and pulled the thread through the other side.

  “What are you doing?” I said calmly. My eyes were on my stitching.

  “Nothing.” Her voice sounded heavy.

  “Are you feeling alright? You don’t look so good.”

  “I said it’s nothing!” she screamed

  Rose burst out crying, and I stood to go get her. It took every particle of will to keep from losing it. Regan was taking drugs. She brought them into my house. She stole my money. I glared at her slumped form, resisting the very violent urge to punch her in the face.

  I ran up the stairs and took my daughter out of bed. I felt drained from work and weeping. Pacing back and forth in my bedroom, bouncing my crying daughter in my arms, I wondered if I should confront Regan. I cringed, thinking about her using my money to buy drugs. My heart pounded and sweat trickled down my forehead.

  I paced toward the window and stared outside. I wished Zoe would come home so I wouldn’t be alone. Rose finally calmed down, and I set her on the bed to crawl around in the pillows. She was naked except for a diaper, after getting dirty in the garden. I hadn’t had the energy to put new clothes on her.

  I flopped down on my back, and Rose crawled onto my chest. “Momma,” she said. I sighed, hugging her. What could I do? I didn’t have any proof Regan took the money or that she was taking drugs.

  Even if I did have proof, could I really kick her out? Where would she go? What would she do? If she stayed, there was always a chance that she’d eventually get her act together. If I kicked her out on the street, what chance would she have?

  Still, I had to do something. I had to say something, even if it meant provoking her wrath. This was my home, and I wasn’t going to be made a prisoner by her insanity. I rolled over with Rose in my arms, put some fresh clothes on her, and went downstairs.

  Regan sat on the couch watching TV, curled around a bowl of microwave popcorn. Kernels lay strewn across the couch and floor. I seared with anger, looking at the mess. I knew she wouldn’t clean it up. Quietly, I put Rose in her playpen and gave her a sippy cup of juice while thinking of what to say to Regan.

  I drank a big glass of water and sat on the couch. Regan didn’t look at me. I stared at the television, trying to get up the nerve to speak. I didn’t want to have an outburst directed at me, especially with Rose in the room. We’d had too many to count in the last two years.

  “Regan, I wanted to talk to you about something that is concerning me.”

  “Yeah,” she said, not looking away from the TV.

  “I had some cash in my top drawer last night. I looked in there this morning, and it was gone.”

  “That sucks.” She shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth.

  “Do you have any idea what might have happened to it?”

  She stared at me with a nasty look on her face. I could see the anger in her eyes, but her lips were curled in a smooth smile. “Why would I know anything about it? It’s your money.”

  “There has to be some explanation. I doubt Zoe took it.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m simply asking if you know anything about it. You had a boy over last night. There was a hypodermic needle in your bedroom with drops of brown liquid in it.”

  “Why were you in my room?” Her voice rose in volume and pitch.

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Don’t go in my room.”

  The threatening edge in her voice made me suck air into my chest. I didn’t want to go on, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “So do you think Toby took it?”

  Regan threw the bowl of popcorn in the air, sending kernels in every direction. She got up abruptly, her energy enraged and chaotic. She turned to me and began to vomit words.

  “Why is it always my fault? I didn’t do anything. Toby didn’t do anything. He’s a decent guy. I think you’re just jealous because no boys like you. Tha
t guy that came over last night was obviously more into me than you. You need to get over yourself, Claire. Fat chicks with saggy boobs will never be popular. Maybe you should learn to put out or something. Don’t take your sexual frustration out on me.

  “You know you never should have had a baby. You’re way too young, and immature, and stupid to take care of a kid. Rose would be better off in foster care.

  “I can’t believe that you would accuse me of taking your money. You probably dropped it somewhere. You’ve always been like that. Totally irresponsible and clueless.”

  She went on like that for what felt like centuries. The words cut like razor blades into my heart. They were the words of a person who knew me better than almost anyone. She used that knowledge to hurt me more than anyone else ever could. Her illness didn’t matter in that moment; nothing could take away the sting of her verbal assault. I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as my heart shattered all over the living room floor, mixing with the spilled popcorn.

  Chapter Ten: Damien

  The gang came back Sunday afternoon, looking wiped out and hung over. Most of the guys went to bed early. The others ordered pizza and watched sports on TV.

  I stood in the kitchen, sliding a piece of pepperoni pizza onto a paper plate. It was from one of the club-owned restaurants in town. The pizza tasted good, but I would have preferred something healthier.

  Martel walked past me and upstairs to his office. I took a bite of pizza and chewed on Martel’s relationship with my dad. Questions swam through my mind. I wanted to know why Martel had really brought me here. Any moron could give the kinds of tattoos most of these fuckers wanted.

  The more time I spent with them the more I realized that the majority of the guys that hung around the club were lackeys or hangers-on. The inner circle consisted of only a few guys, Martel being at the center of them all.

  I let my pizza plate slide into the overflowing garbage can and headed upstairs. Soft moans and the sound of a headboard rhythmically knocking against a wall leaked from behind a closed door. The smell of cigarette smoke and pot smoke wafted through the hallway.

  Martel’s office door was slightly ajar at the end of the hall. I pushed it open and leaned into the frame, letting him see me standing there. He was bent over a business ledger. He glanced up at me through reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  With his salt-and-pepper gray hair and plain black shirt, he looked almost like a regular businessman sitting behind his desk.

  “What is it, Cruz?” he asked, not showing irritation but not showing kindness either.

  “I want a word with you.”

  “Alright. Come in and shut the door.”

  I pulled the door closed behind me and sauntered into his office. I puffed up my chest and spread my shoulders to their full width. Settling into the chair with easy confidence, I rested my elbows on the arms and pressed my hands together in a V. I wasn’t going to let him think I was intimidated or afraid of a fight.

  “Yes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, Martel, here’s the thing. I shouldn’t be here.”

  Martel looked at me blankly and leaned back, cocking his head to the side. He crossed his arms and sized me up. I tapped my index fingers together, not letting him see that my heart rate had jumped.

  “From where I’m sitting, you should be wherever the fuck I tell you to be.”

  “Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You want to tell me how you knew my father?”

  I could see the surprise in his face even though he tried to hide it. I had him by the balls. I knew my dad meant something to him. He sighed and rested his forehead in his hand, then leaned back to stare at me again.

  “Who told you?”

  “No one.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Does it matter?” I shot back.

  He sighed and turned his head to look out the window to the side of his desk. “A long time ago, before you were born. After we served in the military in the eighties and came back to an economic recession, your dad and I used to ride together. We were rogues back then. We played by our own rules. No affiliations to any clubs; we even made our own vest. He and I did a lot of jobs together. Got into a lot of shit. Your dad was a good man. A good friend.

  “I met my old lady, moved north, and got involved with the Black Blades. Your dad stayed in LA. Before he died, he asked me to look after you.”

  “So your way of looking after your buddy’s kid is to send your goon squad to blackmail me?”

  “I needed a way to get you up here. I knew you wouldn’t come on your own.”

  “Why the hell do you want me here?”

  “Your dad was like a brother to me. I made a promise to him I’d look after you like my own kid.”

  “And this is how you would treat your own kid?”

  “I needed to see what kind of man you are. I needed to know if you’d keep your mouth shut or if you’d pussy out and run off. You’ve shown me you’re the kind of man I want in my club.”

  “Why would I stay? I had a good life in LA until you fucked it up.”

  “It was what your father wanted, Damien.”

  “My father was an idiot con-man criminal who had me doing felonies before I could legally drink.”

  “Give it some time. You’re off tat duty, and we’ll get you a room upstairs. A clean one. We can even set you up with a shop in town. I think you will find it quite lucrative to work for me. I’ve also heard you’ve been hanging around a little girl named Claire MacKenna. Sweet kid.”

  “What do you know about her?” I felt a surge of anger that he would even say her name.

  “This is a small town. Everyone knows everyone. I know she’s got a baby and two sisters she takes care of. She’s a nice girl. A good girl. A woman worth staying for.”

  “This isn’t over,” I said, standing up. I’d lost my cool and couldn’t talk to him anymore. Rubbing my jaw like I’d been punched, I left the room without another word.

  That night, some of the flunkies helped take my things upstairs. I felt indifferent. There wasn’t anywhere to go, really. I might as well take the room. Being taken off on-demand tattoo duty was a nice change of pace, and my new digs weren’t bad at all.

  I had a big bed, a flat screen, and a bathroom of my own. Martel wasn’t lying when he said he’d hook me up. The bed was almost nicer than the one I had back in LA.

  I lay on my new black sheets and stared at the television screen. A wilderness survival program played vividly in HD video. The more I thought about it, the more I was willing to consider taking Martel up on his offer.

  I didn’t know if I wanted to be a member of his gang. I didn’t know anything about the inner workings of the club. I didn’t know if they were criminals. All I knew for sure was that they owned businesses in town and rode Harleys.

  Maybe Leggetville would be a nice change from LA. The area was starting to grow on me. I didn’t have a lot to go back to in LA. I had no place to stay, only a few hundred dollars in the bank, and no other prospects.

  And there was Claire. I thought about her sweet round face and gorgeous almond-shaped eyes. She was so damn cute and so damn sexy at the same time that it was an unbearable combination. I wanted to go to her right then, but I knew I needed to wait until Monday. Showing up on her porch again probably would give her the wrong idea.

  Chapter Eleven: Claire

  I felt so nervous I thought my heart would fly out of my chest and flutter away. Damien would be at my house in a few minutes to give me a tattoo. I’d considered putting on something sexy, but changed my mind. I didn’t want to give him any ideas. Instead, I wore a pair of jeans and a tank top under a hoodie that zipped in front.

  I trotted down the stairs. Zoe played with Rose in the living room. It made me happy to see them enjoying each other’s company.

  “What time will he be here?” Zoe asked. Was she trying to make me more nervous?

>   “Six.”

  I could feel my stomach turning in knots.

  There was a knock at the door. I looked at Zoe with huge eyes and my cheeks puffed out.

  “Answer it!”

  I let out the breath and opened the door. There he stood. He wore a leather jacket and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. His blue eyes gazed down at me like the sun on water. I vaporized. My knees almost buckled. I hoped my face didn’t reveal my emotions.

  I could smell the spicy musk of his cologne mixed with the smooth scent of leather. It made my heart crash against my ribs and my mouth salivate. I felt the tiny pinpoint between my legs swell. We stood in the doorway staring at each other awkwardly. I was like a doe caught under the magnetism of an alpha wolf.

  “Hi,” said Zoe, holding her hand up in greeting from the couch. Rose cooed in baby talk, her gummy grin wide.

  “Doggie,” she said, pointing at Damien. Zoe and Damien laughed. I felt mortified.

  “Not doggie, man,” I corrected, taking her little hand in mine and kissing her pudgy pink cheek. My hair tumbled around my shoulders.

  “She got me, I’m a shape-shifter,” he said behind me.

  I turned to look at him, flicking my hair behind my back. His grin gleamed in his eyes. I tilted my head to the side and smirked. “I can see it. Bradly did pick a fight with you when we met. Now I know why.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes,” he said, staring me down.

  “I’ll take Rose upstairs,” said Zoe.

  “Thanks, Zo.”

  “Just call me if you need anything. I’ll be in your room.”

  I felt shy under his gaze. He seemed to be eating me up with his eyes; it sent a thrill through me and made me feel utterly open and completely vulnerable.

  “Should we set up in the dining room?” he asked.

  “That sounds good.”

  He turned a chair around so that the back faced the table. He told me to straddle it while he pulled his equipment from his backpack, setting dyes and a tattoo gun on a stainless steel tray. He brought one of the lamps from the living room and pointed it at my back, then pulled up a chair to sit beside me.