Linda pulled out her cell phone and pretended to read from it. “Michelle’s husband, definition. Trash can.”
“Fuck you, Ma,” said Michelle. “You always do this.”
Vern watched their back-and-forth, unable to bring herself to leave and tear away from their drama.
“Pardon me for callin a spade a spade. He slaps you around, I don’t have to like him.”
“Yeah, but you got to be nice to me, because I’m your fucking kin,” said Michelle.
“Fuck kin. You play me again and again. Like that five hun dred dollars you took for that bullshit class you lied about when all you were doing was giving it to him to pay down a gambling debt. He aint good. I can’t believe you let Violet-Grace around that scum. I raised you better. I raised you to be strong.”
Violet-Grace took some coins out of her mam’s purse and foisted them into the vending machine, purchasing herself another chocolate bar, then a bag of potato chips, which she handed to her mam before returning to her gymnastics floor routine.
Michelle blitzed through the bag of chips as her mam lectured her. “Half the shit you talk about doesn’t make sense,” said Michelle, popping the top on her drink and slurping up the bits of fizz liquid that seeped onto the can’s surface. “If you don’t want me to go back to him, then why won’t you let us sleep here?”
Vern, engrossed, spoke up without meaning to. “Maybe she lied because she had to lie,” said Vern.
Linda and Michelle both turned toward her. “Maybe her husband said if she didn’t find a way to get the money, he’d hurt her, or maybe Violet-Grace. So she told you whatever you needed to hear to give her the money. Or maybe he didn’t threaten her, but she knew that if he didn’t pay his bookie what was owed, he’d kill him. And if he’s dead, he can’t work, and she needs that money. Maybe she intended to use it for school, but he stole it, but she told you she gave it to him to protect his image, because having you hate him doesn’t help her,” said Vern, the words spewing faster than she could think them up.
Michelle slow-clapped before turning back toward her mother. “Take that, Linda. Next time you want to fuck with me, you’ll have to go through my knight in shining armor, Ms. Alien Girl,” she said, looking at Vern fondly.
“Knights are soldiers of the state,” said Vern.
Linda snorted at her daughter. “Maybe she’d have a point if any of that was true, but the real reason you did it is because you love him. And that’s that.”
“Maybe she loves him because most of the time he’s sweeter to her than you ever were,” countered Vern, not sure why it meant so much to her to defend Michelle. Maybe she saw some of herself in her. A mam of questionable quality wed to an aint-shit husband. The world had conspired against Michelle so many times, and now here she was, but the only person anybody wanted to blame was her. Maybe it was hard to give the world your best when the world always gave you its worst.
“I’ll stay here at your motel if you let her stay,” Vern said to Linda.
Linda looked betrayed and Michelle, hand on hip, looked vindicated.
“I’ll even let you take a picture,” said Vern.
That changed Linda’s mind. She smiled and jutted out her hand for a shake. “Now, that’s a deal.” Vern didn’t take the offered hand, and Michelle snickered at the snub.
“I like you, girl,” she said. “I’m gonna go get my suitcase.” She grabbed her daughter by the hand and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Vern said.
“Yeah?” asked Michelle.
“You got some clothes I can borrow?”
Vern’s leggings were holed up from the earlier stabs. Blood had dried the knit fabric into stiff clumps. Her shirt was no better, torn where branches had ripped at the threads, and where the exoskeleton had unsheathed.
“Might not be your style, but absolutely. Just give me a second,” said Michelle.
Vern looked warily at Linda, who was waiting excitedly to take the picture, phone already in hand. “I’ll go with you,” said Vern.
Vern shoved past hauntings to follow Michelle to her car. Eyes focused in front of her, she could tune out the dramas of the dead.
Michelle opened up the hatchback of her baby-blue two-door. The back seat and trunk of the car were filled with trash bags of clothes and assorted bric-a-brac. There was an open toiletry bag stuffed with soap, deodorant, and makeup. Two hairbrushes, one for Michelle, one for Violet-Grace. Towels. Blankets. A disassembled fishing rod. A cooler. Michelle and her daughter had been living in this car.