then, but Mom wouldn’t let me check. She wouldn’t let me go to basketball practice, either, but at least let me use her phone to call Coach and tell him I was sick.
I was in my room doing homework I was supposed to have done over the weekend when Carla came in. Lulu must have been in the living room with Mom. I knew Carla had gone to court that afternoon for the arraignment, but she hadn’t called to say what happened.
She collapsed on my bed next to me. When we were younger and she did that, I was supposed to rub her head, brush her hair, braid it, that sort of thing. Play massage parlor and beauty salon.
She smelled like cigarettes and restaurant grease. She must have gone to work after court. I scooted away.
“So how did it go?”
Carla sighed. “They read the charges. The judge continued the recognizance bond and they assigned me a court-appointed lawyer. That was about it.”
She started in on the apologies again, and I understood why Mom had told me she didn’t want to hear it, because I didn’t, either. Those “I’m sorry’s” were nails on a chalkboard.
“Never mind about all that,” I snapped. “Just tell me one thing. Did you know?”
Carla stiffened. “About the drugs? God, no. Of course not. I was so out of it. I must have had four or five beers, and some bong hits. And you know what a lightweight I am —”
“Whatever,” I interrupted. “Just tell me what you want from me. I have work to do.”
Carla got that hurt expression she is so good at. It didn’t work, though. I had a feeling it might never work on me again.
“OK,” she said. “I deserve that. I know I do.” She pulled a flattened pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of her jeans. She threw a couple of broken cigarettes in the trash can — which I would have to empty before Mom saw — and tried to straighten and reshape one that was still intact.
“You mind?” she asked.
I did mind but didn’t want a fight. “Whatever.”
She lifted the window and then the screen, leaning outside to light her cigarette and holding it out there when she wasn’t puffing on it. She made sure to blow her smoke outside, too. If I wasn’t suspicious of her before, I sure as hell was now. It wasn’t at all like Carla to be thoughtful like that.
“So?” I asked.
“So,” she said. “So I’m going to jail.” She stopped to wipe her eyes, but the tears were already pouring down her cheeks, leaving tracks in her makeup.
“God damn it, Carla.” I yanked a tissue out of the box beside my bed and handed it to her. “What about Lulu?”
“Either Mom takes her in or Social Services takes her.” She shook her head, took another long, wet drag on her cigarette, and blew it out.
“Of course Mom will take her,” I said, my insides going cold at the alternative.
Carla nodded and flicked ash out the window. “That’s what she said.”
We were quiet for a long time. I couldn’t believe this was happening — not to us. Not to me.
Then Carla sniffled. “She’ll be seven when I get out, you know. I won’t be there when she starts kindergarten. I’ll miss all those birthdays and Christmases. And it’s going to kill Mom. How can she handle two jobs and taking care of Lulu all at the same time?” Now she was sobbing. “And it’s not fair to you, either. I know that. I feel terrible.” She couldn’t talk anymore from crying so hard.
I handed her a fistful of tissues this time. “There’s nothing else they can do? To keep you out of jail, I mean?”
She shook her head again. Then she stared at the lit end of her cigarette. “Well, the lawyer did say there was one other option.”
“What?” I asked, wondering why she was being so cagey. “Carla, whatever it is, you have to do it. Lulu needs you.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I mean, it’s not something
I
can do.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew out a stream of words along with her smoke. “Look, I’m not asking you to do this,
I was in my room doing homework I was supposed to have done over the weekend when Carla came in. Lulu must have been in the living room with Mom. I knew Carla had gone to court that afternoon for the arraignment, but she hadn’t called to say what happened.
She collapsed on my bed next to me. When we were younger and she did that, I was supposed to rub her head, brush her hair, braid it, that sort of thing. Play massage parlor and beauty salon.
She smelled like cigarettes and restaurant grease. She must have gone to work after court. I scooted away.
“So how did it go?”
Carla sighed. “They read the charges. The judge continued the recognizance bond and they assigned me a court-appointed lawyer. That was about it.”
She started in on the apologies again, and I understood why Mom had told me she didn’t want to hear it, because I didn’t, either. Those “I’m sorry’s” were nails on a chalkboard.
“Never mind about all that,” I snapped. “Just tell me one thing. Did you know?”
Carla stiffened. “About the drugs? God, no. Of course not. I was so out of it. I must have had four or five beers, and some bong hits. And you know what a lightweight I am —”
“Whatever,” I interrupted. “Just tell me what you want from me. I have work to do.”
Carla got that hurt expression she is so good at. It didn’t work, though. I had a feeling it might never work on me again.
“OK,” she said. “I deserve that. I know I do.” She pulled a flattened pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of her jeans. She threw a couple of broken cigarettes in the trash can — which I would have to empty before Mom saw — and tried to straighten and reshape one that was still intact.
“You mind?” she asked.
I did mind but didn’t want a fight. “Whatever.”
She lifted the window and then the screen, leaning outside to light her cigarette and holding it out there when she wasn’t puffing on it. She made sure to blow her smoke outside, too. If I wasn’t suspicious of her before, I sure as hell was now. It wasn’t at all like Carla to be thoughtful like that.
“So?” I asked.
“So,” she said. “So I’m going to jail.” She stopped to wipe her eyes, but the tears were already pouring down her cheeks, leaving tracks in her makeup.
“God damn it, Carla.” I yanked a tissue out of the box beside my bed and handed it to her. “What about Lulu?”
“Either Mom takes her in or Social Services takes her.” She shook her head, took another long, wet drag on her cigarette, and blew it out.
“Of course Mom will take her,” I said, my insides going cold at the alternative.
Carla nodded and flicked ash out the window. “That’s what she said.”
We were quiet for a long time. I couldn’t believe this was happening — not to us. Not to me.
Then Carla sniffled. “She’ll be seven when I get out, you know. I won’t be there when she starts kindergarten. I’ll miss all those birthdays and Christmases. And it’s going to kill Mom. How can she handle two jobs and taking care of Lulu all at the same time?” Now she was sobbing. “And it’s not fair to you, either. I know that. I feel terrible.” She couldn’t talk anymore from crying so hard.
I handed her a fistful of tissues this time. “There’s nothing else they can do? To keep you out of jail, I mean?”
She shook her head again. Then she stared at the lit end of her cigarette. “Well, the lawyer did say there was one other option.”
“What?” I asked, wondering why she was being so cagey. “Carla, whatever it is, you have to do it. Lulu needs you.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I mean, it’s not something
I
can do.” She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew out a stream of words along with her smoke. “Look, I’m not asking you to do this,
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