The Big Picture by Jenny Jones

Author:Jenny Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Navigators
Published: 2008-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty - five

WHO KNOWS WHAT TIME MY mom got in last night. As they say in Texas, she must’ve stayed out with the dry cows. Whatever that means.

I run my flatiron down the last section of my hair, and give it a small mist of spray. My stomach turns a small flip as I think of once again being the new girl at church, the new girl in town. Of course, it helps that this time I don’t have a rap sheet that says breaking and entering. I didn’t exactly make the best impression when I first landed in In Between. But still, I won’t know anyone. Won’t have anyone to sit with. Won’t be able to look up at the choir loft and see Millie’s sweet smile. Or glance behind me and catch Maxine sneaking bites of Cheetos during the invitation.

My crutches stab into the linoleum as I make my way across the trailer and into my mom’s room. I knock. Loudly. You never know. And in case her boyfriend came back with her last night, I don’t want to barge in and see something that will scar me for life.

I finally hear her rustling around, then her feet thud onto the floor. “What?” She cracks open the door.

“I’m going to church, remember?”

“Yeah?”

“You said you wanted to take me.” I wait for her brain to join us in the conversation.

“Oh, yeah. Uh-huh.” She lifts a hand to push back her tangled hair. “Gimme a sec. I’ll be right out.”

The door shuts, and I limp back to my room to get my toothbrush and beg God one more time for some confidence. Maybe I’m rushing this. I mean, do I really need to go to church the second day here? I’m sure James would understand my taking a Sunday off. I’m tired. I’m depressed. And my mom has satellite TV.

I brush my teeth over the kitchen sink, watching some kids do donuts on their bikes in the street.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Mom ties her knee-length robe closed and reaches for her coffee pot.

“Some of your turbo-charged coffee would be nice.”

“You can’t get that at no Starbucks.”

We share a tired grin. “Nope. Nobody makes it like Bobbie Ann Parker.”

“Got you some Pop-Tarts, too.”

“Aw, Mom. You do care.” But I will have to reconsider if she serves me the s’mores kind. The taste of graham cracker does not belong in breakfast. “So where did you go last night?”

She doesn’t bother looking up from the toaster. “Work. I told you.”

I hope it’s the legal kind. “You must’ve gotten in pretty late.” Or early, if you want to get technical.

“I stopped by the salon then had some errands to run.”

“What if child services had shown up?”

My mom stills. “Can we have one peaceful moment together? Is that too much to ask? Is it?”

“No. I worry about you, though.”

“Well, don’t.” She snaps up my Pop-Tart and plops it on a napkin. “John’s church starts in fifteen minutes. You’d better eat in the car.”

I ask her one more time to go with me, but she refuses.

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