Out of Aces (13 page)

I managed to stop laughing and collapsed into the passenger seat. Micah closed the door on me and stood talking with Irina in the parking lot. I had the twisted thought of looking for something—anything—that would mess up his Prince Charming cover. I tugged open the glove box. A stack of papers. A pack of gum. Of co
urse.

Irina got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door. She peeled out, raced up Mercer, flew up the ramp, and merged into freeway traffic like a psychopath. I had the sick wish that she’d crash Micah’s
car.

She let a puff of air from her lips. “Thank you for marking your territory. You made a great point toni
ght.”

I didn’t an
swer.

“By the way, when did you stop shower
ing?”

“
Huh?”

“Yes, you
stink
.” Irina sounded like she was about to cry. She weaved around a car that was going the speed limit. “And you’re dr
unk.”

“Not drunk,” I said, leaning my cheek on the cold wi
ndow.

She glanced at me, her eyes shining with anger. “Then what? H
igh?”

“Sort of. But not my fault.” I could barely get the words out. I was slipping
away.

“I’m taking you to your mother’s house,” she sna
pped.

Another laugh bubbled up. I’d see Phil. A perfect end to a perfect day. I closed my
eyes.

“Gabe, are you okay?” Worry had crept into Irina’s v
oice.

“
Mmm.”

“You didn’t take anything dangerous, did you? Should we go to the hospi
tal?”

“I ate a root,” I mumbled. “Don’t buy roots from the gas stat
ion.”

“You’re not making sense! I’m taking you to Urgent C
are!”

“No!” I managed to open my eyes. “Take me to my mo
m’s.”

Irina glanced at me, slowed down . . . and then went ahead and passed the last downtown exit. She was taking me home to my mother. My eyelids felt like clay. I let them slide down again. The root was still keeping my brain awake, but my body was giving
up.

“Gabe, don’t go to sleep. I’m worried.” Irina shook my leg, and I looked over. Her cheek was glittering with silvery lines. Tears? I reached for her hand, but she pushed it back. “Why didn’t you trust me? I was coming to see you in a week. Why did you have to ruin everyth
ing?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisp
ered.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

C
an you walk?” Irina cut the motor and clicked open the locks. “Gabe!” She shook my shoulder hard, and my eyes snapped open. “We’re here. Can you w
alk?”

I opened the car door and swung out my legs. I took a few deep breaths and tried to gauge the distance to the fence. I needed to hold on to something if I was going to make it up the side
walk.

Irina came around to my side. “I’ll help you.” She slid an arm around my back. It was too much, having her so close. I pulled her tight and buried my face in her hair. She took one quick breath and hugged me back. But she let go almost immediately. “Come on,” she whisp
ered.

We stumbled up the walk together, and I leaned on the fence while Irina rang the bell. The cold air was helping. The town house looked smaller than I remembered, an ugly gray rectangle attached to two more just like it. The little bushes in the garden were thin and
bare.

After a minute, the door opened and Mom peered out.
“Gabe?”
She was out the door in a second. “Honey!” She didn’t care that I stank of puke. She squeezed me breathless. “Oh, G
abe!”

“He’s sick,” Irina said quietly. “He should probably go to
bed.”

“Gabe, this is such a surprise!” Mom held me by the shoulders, staring joyf
ully.

“Well, I have to get back,” Irina said to nobody in particular, and headed for the
car.

I twisted to look over my shoulder. Irina was opening the car door. “I’ll call you!” I
said.

She didn’t an
swer.

“Are you okay, honey? What’s the matter? Are you drunk?” Mom was squeezing my shoulders so hard, she was throwing my balance. I reached for the door f
rame.

“No,” I said. “S
ick.”

“Oh, you poor thing. You threw up. Look at you. Okay, let’s get you upstairs.” Mom did just what Irina had done, slid an arm around my back and tried to support me. She was strong for being five foot four and about a hundred pounds. We made it up the stairs with the help of the railing, the sequins on Mom’s dress scraping my arm with every bumping
step.

“Where’s Phil?” I asked as we eased onto the lan
ding.

“He got held up at a work event. He’ll be home s
oon.”

We crossed the main floor and went up another set of stairs to the bedrooms. I was out of breath by the time we got to my old room. It had only been mine for a few months before I took off for Vegas—things had gone downhill when we left White Center and moved closer to
Phil.

Mom pushed open the door, and I stopped dead. Another stone-sober moment. She had left it the same. My bed, my posters, my window decals . . . My old schoolbooks were still on my
desk.

It was like I went back in time two months to my old
life.

Mom moved past me and started rummaging in my closet, where I’d left behind anything that didn’t fit in my duffel. “Let me find you something clean to wear. Then I’ll get you some aspirin.” She handed me a T-shirt and disappeared down the hall. I dropped onto the bed and managed to peel off my hoodie and sweat-drenched shirt and tug the fresh shirt over my
head.

Mom was back soon with a wet washcloth, water, and pills. She sat next to me and dabbed my face and neck, then folded the cloth and laid it on my forehead. “Thanks, Mom,” I
said.

She smiled at me, patting my shoulder softly. “It’s so good to see you, honey. How is everything in Ve
gas?”

“Okay.” My heart was finally slowing
down.

“Do you like your new
job?”

“It’s good,” I murmured. I’d told her I was waiting ta
bles.

“What’s the restaurant like? What’s it called ag
ain?”

“’S’called Hush. It’s nice.” I was having a hard time forming w
ords.

“A fancy pl
ace?”

“
Mmm.”

“Oh, honey.” Mom smoothed back my hair and adjusted the washcloth. “I’m so glad you have a good job. Now all you have to do is finish your GED. I paid for the next two tests. But I’ll tell you about that tomorrow.” She paused and said, with a break in her voice, “It’s so good to see
you.”

When I woke up, I had the weirdest feeling that I was back in my real life. Vegas was a dream; my job and apartment didn’t exist. I was home where I belonged. There was a familiar smell to my bed, and my mattress was comfortable, not like the wiry joke I slept on in Vegas. A light headache thrummed in my forehead, but my thoughts felt clean and conne
cted.

I buried myself deeper in my blanket and let my eyes wander around the room. My closet was open a crack, and I could see the arm of my favorite blue sweatshirt. Why hadn’t I brought it with me to Vegas? I’d been so angry when I left, I hadn’t been thinking stra
ight.

I looked at the textbooks on my dresser, left the way I’d stacked them on the day I’d dropped out. Science on top. It made me think of Mr. Newport, the best teacher I’d ever had. He’d wanted so badly for me to pass. I normally didn’t care what teachers thought, but it had killed me to disappoint him. What if Irina was right, and I could have gotten a letter from a doctor and gotten extra time and an audio version of tests? Could I have gradu
ated?

I looked at the calendar on my wall, still open to November.
What if I just stay here? And go back to school and try a
gain?

But then I thought of the Las Vegas Professional Institute of Technology. The worn-out carpet and traffic cone–orange chairs. The message on the screen:
Please retake this portion of the GED.
If I couldn’t pass the GED, there was no way I’d be able to pass Claremont fi
nals.

There was no point. No chance. And in case that wasn’t enough, there was Phil. Who lived here now. This room wasn’t real. It was a museum of a life that could never exist again, because I would rather die than live in the same house with that ass
hole.

I blinked hard to stop the burning in my eyes. I didn’t want to think about this mess. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and planted my feet on the cool floor. I reached for the cup of water Mom had left and took a small sip. It was so good, so clean and cold, I drank the whole g
lass.

I was starving, probably because that natural speed had burned up every calorie in my system—and I’d puked my guts out. I dreaded seeing Phil when I went to the kitchen. But there was no help for
it.

I left the room and crept downstairs, holding the handrail because I was still a little dizzy. It was quiet, and there were no breakfast smells.
Mom and Phil must be asleep,
I thought with relief. I rounded the corner to the living room, and stopped, taking in all the changes I hadn’t noticed the night before. New paintings—ugly, bright, pointless splashes of paint, the kind Mom always used to make fun of. New drapes, beige and white. A new entertainment sy
stem.

“Oh!” I gasped—because next to the new flat screen, Mom was tucked in the corner of the love seat, wrapped in a blanket. She’d been so quiet, so motionless, I hadn’t seen her. She was still wearing her black New Year’s dress, and there was makeup smeared under her
eyes.

I stood there looking at
her.

She gave me a weak smile. “Hi, honey,” she said softly. “I thought you’d sleep la
ter.”

“He didn’t come h
ome?”

She shook her
head.

“Have you been waiting up for him all ni
ght?”

She bowed her head. She made no sound, but her shoulders shook a li
ttle.

“Oh, Mom.” I went to her and hugged her. Her body was tight, and her breath came in small gasps, like she was trying to clamp it down. It scared me. She usually went for big dramatic shows. I patted her back helplessly, feeling the hard lines of her shoulder blades through the bla
nket.

“He said he’d be home by eleven so we could toast at midnight together,” she whispered. “What if something happe
ned?”

I pulled back and looked her in the eyes. “Mom, you know nothing happened to
him.”

“Maybe he got in an accident!” Her green eyes were bloodshot and swimming with t
ears.

When she got like that, it made me feel brutal. Like I wanted to grind her face in the truth because she was too dumb to see it herself. “Mom, he’s a cheater. This is what he
does
. He’ll be back soon with some bullshit st
ory.”

Her face crumpled and she pulled away from me, but I couldn’t take it back. I wasn’t going into Mom’s make-believe land with her. I felt so tired all of a sudden. Years’ worth of tired. “Let me make you some coffee,” I
said.

Not lifting her head, she said, “O
kay.”

I went in the kitchen and found everything in the usual places. There was more food in the refrigerator than Mom and I used to keep, expensive things in little deli tubs and folded white paper. A new set of wineglasses. And she had a fancy new espresso maker. I talked to her while I made the coffee, keeping my voice calm. “You haven’t been with him for that long. You’re not married to him. You don’t have to put up with t
his.”

“I love him,” said
Mom.

I froze with a spoonful of coffee and looked across the room at her. “That doesn’t mean you have to let him treat you like c
rap.”

“I don’t know how to make him treat me better,” Mom said with a sad s
mile.

I dumped the coffee in the pot and walked across the room to her. I kneeled down and looked into her watery eyes. I
needed
her to understand. “I don’t think Phil
can
treat you better. Some people are just born cheaters. You can’t make them change. All you can do is le
ave.”

Takes one to know one,
a voice whispered in my head. I pushed it out. I hadn’t cheated on Irina, and I didn’t plan
to.

“I don’t know if I can make it on my own,” Mom
said.

“What are you talking about? We made it just fine for seventeen ye
ars!”

Her eyes opened wider. “We did not! There was never enough food! Remember? I couldn’t even buy insurance or vitamins or anything. It was
not
fine. You didn’t even graduate high school! I do need him. And, and . . . some woman has been calling here. What if he leaves me?” Mom buried her face in her hands a
gain.

I let out my breath. “You
have
to leave him. I’ll move back here, I’ll get a job and help you pay r
ent.”

“It’s not your job to take care of me,” Mom mum
bled.

“I know that. I’m just saying—leave
him!”

Mom looked up. Her face was blotchy. “I would love to have you back home. Did you really mean that? You would come b
ack?”

I nodded, feeling sick.
Did
I?

“I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been so
worried
about
you.”

Really? Then how come you didn’t fly out to see how I was doing?
But I knew in Mom’s universe, feelings didn’t equal actions. “Well, if you leave him, I’ll come home.” I stood up and went back to the coffeepot, feeling crazy. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. But I meant
it.

“Oh,” said Mom. “Oh, Gabe.” Then she went quiet. I handed her a cup of coffee and she stared out the window, blowing and sipping. I poured myself some coffee and sat in the chair across from
her.

If Mom left Phil and I moved back, I could live near Irina again. At least for a while, until she went to college. She’d forgive me. She had to, when I explained myself better. I could hang with Kyle and Matt and Forrest again, and I could go back to school and get that piece of paper I needed so badly. Mr. Newport would help
me.

Suddenly, Mom set her coffee on the media console and jumped up. She was already halfway to the kitchen by the time I realized what was going on. Phil’s Benz had nosed into the drive. Mom grabbed her purse off the counter, flipped open a compact, and started frantically dabbing on powder. I stared at her. She was totally foc
used.

There was a tiny click down below. Then the soft sounds of someone sneaking up the st
airs.

Mom shoved her makeup back in her purse and waved a hand at me. “Go!” she mou
thed.

Go where?
I went to the second set of stairs, the ones leading up to the bedrooms, and sank down on the bottom step, liste
ning.

A moment later, Mom said in a shaky voice, “Where were
you?”