not only as her ticket out of the life she now lived, but a welcome daily mental escape from reality.
Her books were peopled with women like herself who found themselves alone and facing adversity but who, unlike her, still managed to find themselves and true love and got to live happily ever after.
Each night as she worked out her characters and their stories, she lived her heroines’ triumphs and fell in love with the heroes she created for them; honorable men who not only pursued them but once committed stayed put—unlike the not-so-honorable Kyle P. Mason, who had married her and fathered Loretta and Crystal only to crumple at the first signs of real life, admitting as he fled his responsibilities that his first love was NASCAR and the fast cars he sometimes got to work on.
Tonight the words and images just wouldn’t come. And when she closed her eyes to try to picture her characters and put herself in the scene, she saw Kendall’s stricken face instead.
A hacking cough sounded at the back of the trailer and then there was the shuffle of feet as Trudy Payne came out to the living area. Shriveled and wizened well beyond her fifty-one years, Trudy had been only sixteen when she gave birth to Tanya. If she knew who Tanya’s father was, she had steadfastly refused to name him.
Tanya had seen pictures of her mother before she’d gotten “caught” with Tanya, but there were none that came after. That would have required a camera and some sort of interest in documenting the train wreck Trudy’s life had become.
Tanya guessed she should be grateful that Trudy hadn’t aborted or abandoned her. She knew firsthand how hard it was to support and raise a child by yourself. But while Tanya relied on hard work and her dreams to sustain her, Trudy had turned to alcohol and cigarettes and the stream of men who provided them; a stream that had shrunk to a trickle now that Trudy had gotten old.
“You seen my smokes?” Trudy’s voice had always had the sound of a stick being dragged across gravel, but now it was punctuated by a perpetual whine.
Tanya studied her mother in the half light. Her blue eyes were wilted and her skin had turned leathery. Her blond hair came out of a bottle now and didn’t resemble anything created by nature. Even in the more forgiving light, it was impossible to believe that this woman was only a year older than Mallory; she might have been a hundred.
“Did you hear me? I asked if you’d seen my smokes.” Trudy’s whine had turned ornery.
“No,” Tanya replied. “And by the sound of that cough you’d be better off if you never did find them.”
“Always think you know best,” Trudy muttered, “but you ended up no better off ’n me.”
Her mother settled for a shot of whiskey, which she poured with a shaking hand and a defiant glare. “I went three whole days without a single drink while you was gone, so don’t give me that look of yours.”
“Oh, Mama,” Tanya said. “When did alcohol ever solve one little thing in your life?”
Trudy took a swallow of the amber liquid. “Just tryin’ to take the edge off.” Trudy’s whine laced through her lament. “I’ve kept my part; I don’t drink a drop when I’m takin’ care of the girls. But I don’t see no big advantage in facin’ the world so stark sober as you.”
Tanya didn’t argue further; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t covered this ground a thousand times before. Trudy’s promise not to drink around the girls had been the only thing that had made moving in with her possible. Trudy had never shown that kind of restraint when Tanya was a child; the idea had never occurred to her.
“You never did say much about that conference you went to,” her mother said now. “What do you think those fancy friends of yours want with you?”
“We’re all writers, Mama,” Tanya said, as calmly as she could. “And we started at the same time. We all help each other.”
“Lotta good that’s done you.” Trudy downed
Her books were peopled with women like herself who found themselves alone and facing adversity but who, unlike her, still managed to find themselves and true love and got to live happily ever after.
Each night as she worked out her characters and their stories, she lived her heroines’ triumphs and fell in love with the heroes she created for them; honorable men who not only pursued them but once committed stayed put—unlike the not-so-honorable Kyle P. Mason, who had married her and fathered Loretta and Crystal only to crumple at the first signs of real life, admitting as he fled his responsibilities that his first love was NASCAR and the fast cars he sometimes got to work on.
Tonight the words and images just wouldn’t come. And when she closed her eyes to try to picture her characters and put herself in the scene, she saw Kendall’s stricken face instead.
A hacking cough sounded at the back of the trailer and then there was the shuffle of feet as Trudy Payne came out to the living area. Shriveled and wizened well beyond her fifty-one years, Trudy had been only sixteen when she gave birth to Tanya. If she knew who Tanya’s father was, she had steadfastly refused to name him.
Tanya had seen pictures of her mother before she’d gotten “caught” with Tanya, but there were none that came after. That would have required a camera and some sort of interest in documenting the train wreck Trudy’s life had become.
Tanya guessed she should be grateful that Trudy hadn’t aborted or abandoned her. She knew firsthand how hard it was to support and raise a child by yourself. But while Tanya relied on hard work and her dreams to sustain her, Trudy had turned to alcohol and cigarettes and the stream of men who provided them; a stream that had shrunk to a trickle now that Trudy had gotten old.
“You seen my smokes?” Trudy’s voice had always had the sound of a stick being dragged across gravel, but now it was punctuated by a perpetual whine.
Tanya studied her mother in the half light. Her blue eyes were wilted and her skin had turned leathery. Her blond hair came out of a bottle now and didn’t resemble anything created by nature. Even in the more forgiving light, it was impossible to believe that this woman was only a year older than Mallory; she might have been a hundred.
“Did you hear me? I asked if you’d seen my smokes.” Trudy’s whine had turned ornery.
“No,” Tanya replied. “And by the sound of that cough you’d be better off if you never did find them.”
“Always think you know best,” Trudy muttered, “but you ended up no better off ’n me.”
Her mother settled for a shot of whiskey, which she poured with a shaking hand and a defiant glare. “I went three whole days without a single drink while you was gone, so don’t give me that look of yours.”
“Oh, Mama,” Tanya said. “When did alcohol ever solve one little thing in your life?”
Trudy took a swallow of the amber liquid. “Just tryin’ to take the edge off.” Trudy’s whine laced through her lament. “I’ve kept my part; I don’t drink a drop when I’m takin’ care of the girls. But I don’t see no big advantage in facin’ the world so stark sober as you.”
Tanya didn’t argue further; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t covered this ground a thousand times before. Trudy’s promise not to drink around the girls had been the only thing that had made moving in with her possible. Trudy had never shown that kind of restraint when Tanya was a child; the idea had never occurred to her.
“You never did say much about that conference you went to,” her mother said now. “What do you think those fancy friends of yours want with you?”
“We’re all writers, Mama,” Tanya said, as calmly as she could. “And we started at the same time. We all help each other.”
“Lotta good that’s done you.” Trudy downed
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