Sharing Space (The Complete Series) (28 page)

“What the hell do you know about junk in the trunk?”

He laughed loudly while placing dishes in the sink. I heard the intercom buzz, and a few moments later Chloe came into the kitchen.

“Patrick, Charlotte’s here.”

Even though I’d invited her I was still surprised that Charlotte had shown up. I hurried to the door in case she’d suddenly change her mind and leave. Chloe and Paul stayed behind to finish up in the kitchen. Everyone else was in the living room; Uncle Troy was opening up a deck of cards, challenging everyone within earshot to a game of Spades. I opened the apartment door and saw Charlotte just approaching the top landing. I barely recognized her.

“Hey, bro.” She reached for a hug and, as we did, I could feel each of her ribs through the flimsy, over-sized sweater she wore. She smelled of stale cigarettes and another odor I couldn’t place. Her hair looked unwashed and flat, she wore jeans that were two sizes too big, and her feet were clad in flip-flops despite the cold November weather. 

“Where are your shoes?” I asked. I wanted to ask more, but was at a loss for anything more substantial. My sister was hooked on something, and whatever it was it had her bad.

My heart broke as she responded. “These are my shoes. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” We were still standing in the hallway; the front door was only slightly ajar. Despite the sounds of laughter and family pouring through the small opening, I felt sad.

“Charlotte, what’s happened to you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Jesus. I didn’t come here for a lecture.”

“Why did you come?”

“Uh, because I was invited. You’re my brother, it’s the holidays, I was hungry? Pick one.”

“Are you two coming inside?”

Chloe’s mom had poked her head out into the hall. I was embarrassed to introduce her to my sister and then immediately felt guilty for being ashamed of her. I resisted the urge to offer up some kind of disclaimer.

She never used to look like this. This wasn’t always my sister, this shell of her former self you’re meeting now.

“Yes, we are.” Charlotte smiled and I noticed her teeth were stained. “I’m Charlotte, Patrick’s little sister.”

Mrs. Brooks took one long look at Charlotte from head to toe before returning the smile and introducing herself. I thought I could detect a bit of sadness in that smile. She stepped back to open the door wider, an indication that we should come inside.

Paul’s reaction to Charlotte’s appearance was not unlike my own. It didn’t escape anyone in the apartment that my sister was a drug addict. She claimed to be hungry, yet barely touched the food on the plate Chloe served her. Charlotte would disappear into the bathroom for long periods of time. Once, Brianna came into the living and reported, “I think she’s throwing up. I had to go, but I think I’ll hold it.”

The changes in Charlotte were not just physical. Along with the tangled hair, vacant eyes that looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, bony frame, and disheveled clothes, she was also loud, abrasive, and defensive.

We were seated around the table, having pie and coffee, when Mrs. Brooks asked Charlotte about school. “What are you studying, Charlotte?”

“Are you going to start on me, too?” Charlotte snapped. The other conversations around the table came to an abrupt stop. I’d had enough.

“Will you excuse us, please?” I guided Charlotte to the back of the apartment by her elbow. I pushed her into my bedroom and closed the door.

“What the hell are you on?”

“First of all, don’t grab me like that, and second of all I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not on anything.”

The audacity was too much to handle. I no longer felt ashamed or scared. The shock of the situation had long since worn off—somewhere between the constant twitching and loud comments. I was pissed.

“Don’t lie to me. Do I look stupid? What are you taking? How long? Did Orbit do this to you?”

“Gee, what question should I answer first?”

“You think this is funny?”

“I think you need to relax. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a junkie or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

She couldn’t even meet my eyes. Instead she looked all around my bedroom as she crossed her arms over her chest. I reached out and grabbed them, extending her arms towards me. I pulled up the arms of the sweater and inspected each arm, starting at the wrists and worked my way up.

“Give me some credit.” She snorted as she snatched her arms away. “I don’t shoot up.”

“Then what do you do?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Still not able to look me in mine she replied, “I smoke a little something to help me stay awake. It helps me focus.”

“Charlotte—”

“Don’t even start!” She stomped her foot on the floor, hard. “I’m an adult! I can do what I want, when I want, and with anybody I want! It’s not that big of a deal! See, this is why I didn’t want to come ‘cause I knew you’d act like this, like the Little Sister Police and shit.”

“Not that big of a deal? You look like shit! Have you seen yourself lately?”

I grabbed her arm, afraid I’d break it, and steered her towards the dresser mirror. We stood facing it together, but Charlotte refused to look in it.

“Look at yourself! Look! Your skin is horrible, your hair is a mess, your eyes are red, and you smell like garbage. That’s no big deal?”

“Screw you.” She pushed into my chest using both hands and with considerably more strength than I expected. I took two steps back and watched her leave the room. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she called over her shoulder.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and rested my head in my hands. I wondered how I’d ever be able to tell my parents. Our mother would be devastated. I tried to think back to the last time we were all together—when things were good, when they were normal—and I couldn’t. The Charlotte before me that day was nothing like the girl I’d grown up with.

There was a knock at the door and I looked up, expecting to find Chloe or Paul, but instead it was Mrs. Brooks. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying until I saw her there with a concerned look on her face. Embarrassed, I tried wiping the tears away with the back of my sleeve.

“Oh, please, child. I’ve seen bigger and badder men than you cry.”

She walked into the room without waiting to be asked and closed the door behind her. She took a seat next to me on the edge of the bed.

“Did you know your sister was a drug addict?”

“I’d suspected, but tonight confirmed it.”

“I didn’t think so. Did Chloe tell you I work with welfare mothers, most of them ex-drug users, trying to help them get their lives back on track?”

I nodded.

“Well, I can tell you from experience doing that, and on the job for twenty years, that people cannot fight addiction until they are truly ready and, even then, they’re going to need a lot of support.”

“I have to tell my parents.”

“And it has to be soon,” she agreed, nodding her head.

“I’m scared.”

Admitting that took me by surprise. I’d just met this woman, was trying to impress her and show that I was good for her daughter, yet here I was, crying like a child.

“I know you are, but you’ll do the right thing. Chloe was right.” She placed an arm around my shoulders. “You are a good guy.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Brooks.”

Telling my parents was going to be a nightmare, and what we could do, if anything, to save Charlotte was beyond me. I had no answers, but for just that moment I felt better. 

“Call me Adrian.”

Chapter Seven

The Two Thanksgivings, Part 2

Chloe

Patrick had been right: sleeping on the sofa was not a good idea. Between Charlotte’s appearance and meeting Patrick’s parents the next day, I was a ball of nerves. Sleep didn’t come easy and neither did peace of mind. After Charlotte left it was hard to get back into the holiday spirit. Patrick decided to put off telling his family about Charlotte until he could see them in person. I didn’t think it was such a good idea to divulge such information on Thanksgiving, but Patrick felt that the problem with Charlotte had been ignored long enough. My mother agreed
, stating that the sooner they knew the faster they could all see about getting Charlotte some help and ease the burden on Patrick.

I wasn’t sure what happened between my mother and Patrick after Charlotte left, but I wasn’t complaining. She seemed to have warmed towards him considerably and, in turn, Patrick seemed content to take her advice about a very personal situation. It was nice to see, but just increased my fears of meeting his parents.

We’d spent the rest of the evening trying to make the best of things; Brianna and I watched
The Sound of Music
—a holiday tradition—and Crystal and Uncle Troy taught Patrick and Paul how to play Spades. Tired of losing, Patrick and Paul suggested poker after a while, and fed up with winning so easily Uncle Troy agreed. My mother insisted on cleaning the kitchen and putting the food away while all of this was going on. That was just one of many benefits to having my mother visit. Another was her ability to put everything into perspective and deliver sound advice, whether you wanted to hear it or not.

Once everyone had gone home, my mother, Patrick, and I shared a bottle of wine while Patrick and I filled her in on the latest developments in our careers.

“I have to say, I’m impressed that you’re going to be on
Shining Moments
,” my mother said, taking a sip of her wine then setting the glass on the coffee table. “I was afraid my daughter was getting involved with a freeloader.”

“Ma!”

“I’m just saying.”

“It’s okay, Chloe. Your mother is right. I’d given myself another year or two tops before—“

“Before what? Giving up on your dream?” I asked.

Patrick shook his head. “I never looked at it that way. It’s just that I had to be realistic about my future, what I wanted for myself ten years from now. Still trying to make it happen wasn’t it.”

“Very smart.” My mother nodded. “One of the girls I’ve been working with is pregnant for the second time by her thirty-five year old boyfriend. When I asked what he does for a living and if he could help support this family he’d created, she said he was an aspiring rapper. At thirty-five. At some point you have to stop trying to be something and just be something.”

Her story made me think of Crystal and Jermaine. His name hadn’t come up once during dinner and I didn’t think Crystal had told Uncle Troy about him being back in her life. I could just imagine what my mother would say when she found out.

“Okay. I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ll see you two in the morning.”

We watched as my mother made her way down the hallway. A moment later we heard the bathroom door close.

I scooted closer to Patrick on the sofa and placed my head on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you tonight,” I said, placing my hand on his flat stomach. His body was perfection.

“You can always change your mind, you know.”

I lifted my head and kissed him before saying, “Slow your roll. Things with my mother didn’t go
that
well. She’s still old fashioned and I’m still her baby girl. Some lines you do not cross with your mama in the house.”

He sighed and then kissed me back. “Fine. But when she’s gone, we’ll have a lot of lost time to make up.”