Phil ignored the compliment as she jerked open the fridge. She took out a pitcher of micheladas, which was an ungodly mixture of salt, powdered chicken bouillon, a dash of Worcestershire, a shot of lemon juice, a bottle of Clamato, and two ice-cold bottles of Dos Equis beer.
Callie watched her pour the concoction into a Thermos. “Is it collection day?”
“One of us has to work.” Phil took a generous sip straight from the pitcher. “What about you?”
Callie had $140 of Leigh’s money in her backpack. She could save it or she could use it to fund her methadone habit instead of stealing from Dr. Jerry or she could just stick it in his cash box and let him think that everybody in the neighborhood had stocked up on heartworm medication this week because the other option—sticking it into her veins—was on the back burner for now.
She told Phil, “I thought I’d do a little of this, then, if I still have time, a little of that.”
Phil scowled, screwing the top onto the Thermos. “You hear from your sister lately?”
“Nope.”
“She’s got all that money. Do you think I ever see any of it?” Phil took another swig from the pitcher before putting it back in the fridge. “What’re you doing for cash?”
“The police would call it trafficking.”
“You get caught with that shit in my house, I’ll flip on you so fast your head will spin.”
“I know.”
“It’s for your own good, asshole. Harleigh needs to stop bailing you out. Make you pay the consequences of your actions.”
“I think you mean ‘suffer,’” Callie said. “You suffer the consequences of your own actions.”
“Whatever.” Phil grabbed a bag of dog kibble out of the pantry. “She has a daughter, you know. Kid has to be twenty by now and I’ve never even met her. Have you?”
Callie said, “I heard they’re handing out disability for Covid survivors. Maybe I’ll try to sign up.”
“Bunch of bullshit.” Phil ripped open the bag with her teeth. “I ain’t never met nobody who died from that.”
“I’ve never met anyone who died of lung cancer.” Callie shrugged. “Maybe it doesn’t exist, either.”
“Maybe.” Phil started mumbling to herself as she measured out food into two bowls. The dogs were getting antsy for breakfast. New Dog’s collar jingled as he pranced alongside Roger. “Dammit, Brock, what did I tell you about manners?”
Callie had to admit Brock was a good name for the half terrier. He looked like a banker.
“Poor little thing gets constipated.” Phil mixed a teaspoon of olive oil into the dry food. “Do you remember how backed up Harleigh used to get? Had to take her to the hospital. Two Benjamins for some genius doctor to tell me she had a retarded colon.”
“That’s really funny, Mom.” Who didn’t find it hilarious that an eight-year-old messed up her colon because she was too terrified to go to the bathroom in her own house? “Tell me another story.”
“I’ll tell you a fucking story.”
Callie listened to the needle scratch along the same old record. I did the best I could with you two. You don’t know how hard it is to be a single mother. It wasn’t all miserable you ungrateful bitch. Remember that time when I—and then we—and then I—
That was how it was with abusive parents. They only remembered the good times and you only remembered the bad.
Phil skipped on to another track. Callie stared at the back of the iMac. She should’ve looked up the private detective instead of strolling down memory lane, but seeing Reggie Paltz online would somehow make him real in her life, and the boarded-up house and the flash of light would be real, too.
“How about that?” Phil stabbed her finger into the counter. “Who took two different buses to pick up your sister from juvie?”
“You did,” Callie answered, but only to break Phil’s momentum. “Hey, is someone living in that abandoned house across the street?”
Phil’s head cocked to the side. “Did you see someone in there?”
“I don’t know,” Callie said, because the best way to scratch Phil’s crazy was to show indecision. “It’s probably my imagination. I saw one of the boards was pulled back. But there was a flash of light or something?”
“Fucking crackheads.” Phil banged the bowls onto the floor before she shot out of the kitchen. Callie followed her to the front of the house. The bat by the door swung up onto Phil’s shoulder as she kicked open the metal screen.