Alice
Eleanor’s puttering about in the kitchen when I come in the front door. Off in the living room, the electric glow of the television illuminates an empty couch. My mom must be in bed.
“You’re home early, Alice. Are you ok? You look unwell.”
“I’m fine. I left early. The party at the bar started getting out of hand and they didn’t really need a bartender anymore, everyone was sort of serving themselves.”
It surprises me how level and calm my voice sounds. Inside, I’m still in turmoil from the chaos earlier in the night.
“Well, sit down, let me make you some tea. Your mother just went to bed.”
“I’ll be ok, Eleanor. You don’t need to worry about me. Why don’t you go home? Call it an early night.”
“I was planning to watch some of my shows. My husband isn’t expecting me back for a few hours and, with your mother asleep, it’s perfect for a little binge watching. Why don’t you join me?”
“I really need some time alone, Eleanor. I’m sorry.”
“Sure, dear. But please keep it quiet so you don’t wake up your mom. You know, she’s really been sleeping easy since that man of yours made her those brownies. Half the time now, if she’s not talking about that special agent on that TV show of hers, she’s talking about him.”
“Yeah, Thrash is a pretty good guy.”
Eleanor smiles slyly. “Does his ass really look that good in jeans? Your mother said some scandalous things about him.”
“It does,” I say. I can’t lie to her, especially about something that’s as obvious as how attractive Thrash can be. At least on the surface level.
“You better lock that shit down. Pardon my language.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Look, Eleanor, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really feeling like being alone right now.”
“Alright, dear. Are you sure everything’s ok?”
“Yes, I just need some quiet, that’s all,” I say. “It’s been a rough day.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she says as she gathers her purse and heads to the door.
It shuts behind her with a quiet click.
Tomorrow.
A new day. One where so many of my problems will be memories. Where my path upward will be a reality, where I’ll no longer have to worry about the crush of debt and the calls of creditors.
A new start.
Without him.
The man who’s making this possible for me. With one hand, he’s lifting me up from the bottom. With the other, with his lies, he’s shoving me away.
I don’t know how long I sit there at my kitchen table thinking about the possibility of the future and the regrets of the past, but, eventually, a knock at the door pulls me to the present.
Riot’s on my front doorstep. A duffel bag in hand.
“Alice, you can probably guess what this is,” he says, handing it over to me.
“Holy shit,” I say, taking the bag from him. It’s weighty, substantial, full of promise. I sniff the air. Something smells intensely like smoke. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Things got a little out of hand getting this from Hammer’s place. People are dead — which wasn’t unexpected, we figured on it getting rough — but we didn’t figure on Hammer’s place getting burnt to the ground.”
I’m incredulous. “You burnt down Hammer’s house?”
I can’t imagine the levels of fury that’ll come from that already intensely-angry man. His head just might explode.
“Like I said, it was pretty messy. But, Thrash and Creole are both ok. It’s going to be fine, you just need to lay low for a while. Don’t attract attention and don’t start spending this until the coast is clear.”
“Thanks, Riot.”
“Don’t mention it. And call us — any of us — if you feel like you need some extra protection, ok? It’s going to be dangerous for a while and we have to look out for each other.”
“And Thrash is really ok?” I say. I can’t help wanting to know how he is. Without him, I wouldn’t have this chance at starting over.
Riot hesitates. “If you really want to know, you should call him. Take care of yourself, Alice.”
I take the duffel and set it on the counter and just look at the damn thing. It’s hard to even conceive of having this much cash. It’s unreal. And the sight of it, along with trying to figure out just how the hell I’m going to manage it all, is enough to send my anxiety levels spiking. Who knew relief would bring this kind of stress?
There’s tens of thousands of dollars in drug money just sitting on my kitchen table. Money that men killed for.
And now it’s mine.
I sit down in my dark kitchen and I rest my heads in my hands. I thought that getting this would help me feel free, that I’d have financial independence and be able to live my life without worrying about whether or not I’m going to have money in the bank the next time mom’s capricious insurance company decides they don’t want to cover something or, heaven forbid, I decide to do something extravagant like buy more than a couple day’s worth of groceries or treat myself out to a nice dinner.
But now that I have it, now that I have more money than I’ve ever had in my life, I feel broke on the inside.
This money and everything wrapped up in it cost me a man who had so much potential, a man who made me feel damn good about myself even though I’d hit rock bottom, a man who did so much good for my mom. In his eyes, even though I was broke and felt worthless, I was priceless.
But that’s over. It’s time for me to start again.
My head and heart are both in turmoil just thinking about him. About the mistakes we’ve made, about the truth we’re not able to tell one another, about the harm we’ve done to each other.
I need to get out of here and clear my head.
I need peace and distance, the chance to reflect and consider my future with a quiet heart.
I head to the door to my mom’s room and open it.
She sits up sleepily in bed. “What is it, honey?”
“Get dressed, mom. We need to leave.”