Graveminder

Chapter 22

DAISHA LIFTED HER HAND TO KNOCK ON THE TRAILER DOOR. SHE FELT odd knocking, but the alternative was walking in unannounced and that didn’t feel comfortable either. Nothing felt quite right: being here wasn’t right, but not-being-here was wrong. So she knocked.

The door opened, and her mother stood in front of her. She wore a clingy T-shirt and too-tight jeans. Makeup hid some of the splotchiness of her skin, but it couldn’t do anything for her bloodshot eyes. She had both a cigarette and a beer bottle in her hand. For a moment, she simply stared at her daughter.

“You’re gone. You left.” Behind her, the light from the television flickered and cast blue-tinged shadows on the wall.

“Well, I’m back.” Daisha thought about shoving her mother aside and going into the trailer, but the idea of touching Gail made her hesitate.

“How come?” Gail leaned again the doorjamb and studied Daisha. “I don’t have the time to be bailing you out if you’re in some sort of trouble, you hear?”

“Where’s Paul?”

Gail narrowed her gaze. “He’s at work.”

“Good.” Daisha stepped past her mother.

“I didn’t say you could come in.” Gail let the door slam closed even as she said the words. Absently she flicked the ash from her barely smoked cigarette in the general direction of one of the overfull ashtrays on the scarred coffee table.

“Why?”

“I’m not running a motel. You left and—”

“No. I didn’t leave. You sent me away.” Daisha didn’t feel the confusion she’d been feeling since she’d woken up. The walls had the dirty tinge of too much smoke trapped in a small space; the carpet had the burn marks and stains of too many drunken nights; and the furniture had the cracks and tears that told of fights and poverty. As she stood in the tiny structure that had once been her home, she understood more than she had so far: this was where she belonged. It was hers, her home, her space.

“He said he’d be good to you, and it’s not like I was sending you off to some stranger.” Gail lit another cigarette and then flopped back onto the sagging sofa with the same bottle of beer and the cigarette in hand. “Paul said he was good people.”

Daisha stayed standing. “You knew better, though, didn’t you, Mom ?”

Gail lifted the beer bottle to her lips and drank. Then, with a vague up-and-down gesture, she motioned at Daisha. “You look fine, so what are you bitching about?”

“For starters? I’m dead.”

“You’re what?”

Daisha stepped across the small room to stand at the edge of the sofa. She looked down at her mother and hoped to see some sort of emotion, some hint that Gail was relieved to see her. There was nothing. Daisha repeated, “I’m dead.”

“Right.” Gail snorted. “And I’m the fucking queen of Rome.”

“Rome doesn’t have a queen. It’s a city, but”—Daisha sat down beside her mother—“I am dead.”

The words felt unnatural, admitting them felt impossible, but they were right. Her body didn’t live. Her heart didn’t beat in her chest; her breath didn’t fill her lungs. The things that made a person alive had stopped—because her mother had let someone make her dead.

“Dead,” Daisha whispered. “I am dead, not alive, not right, and you’re the reason why.”

“You think that’s funny?” Gail started to stand, but Daisha shoved her back before she was all the way upright.

“No,” Daisha said. “It’s not funny at all.”

Gail raised a hand, the one holding the cigarette, as if to slap her daughter. The cherry of the cigarette was almost pretty.

For a tense moment, Gail’s hand stayed upraised and open, but she didn’t touch Daisha. Instead, she took a drag off the cigarette and exhaled noisily. “I’m not laughing.”

“Good. It’s not funny.” Daisha took her mother’s wrist and forced her arm back down. The bones under her mother’s skin felt like brittle twigs wrapped in sweet flesh and warm blood. It was hard to believe she’d ever thought her mother was strong.

Daisha kept hold of Gail’s stick-thin wrist and scooted closer. She pressed her knee hard into Gail’s leg, pinning her. “Tell me. Did you honestly think—even for a moment—that I would be safe?”

Gail’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say any of the words that would help. Instead, she shoved ineffectually at Daisha with the hand that held the bottle and muttered, “You look fine to me.” She shoved again, harder this time. “Let me up.”

“No.” Daisha took the beer bottle and tossed it at the opposite wall, hard enough that it shattered. The glass shards fell to the carpet like glitter. “Did you know what he was going to do?”

“Paul said—”

“No,” Daisha repeated. She pinched the cherry off the tip of the cigarette and dropped it on her mother’s lap.

Gail shrieked and tried to swat it out. “You little bitch. How dare you?”

“You sent me away with someone you didn’t know, and you didn’t expect me to come back.” Daisha squashed the smoldering ember before it did any real damage. “You knew.”

“Paul said that a lot of countries still do arranged marriages and bride prices, and it’s not like you were making a contribution. Food and electricity and ... kids are expensive. We can’t afford another baby if you’re here.” Gail’s chin jutted out. “If you were gone, we’d jump to the front of the wait to have a baby. Paul wants a baby, and I’m getting old.”

“So you were just recouping your losses, right?” Daisha stared into her mother’s eyes. This woman had given her life. All she saw was irritation. “He hurt me, and then he left me in the woods like trash ... He left me there bleeding, and when I thought I’d found help, when I thought the people from here who found me were going to help, they killed me. All because you wanted rid of me. All because Paul wants a baby.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” Daisha whispered, “but the longer I’m awake, the more I do understand. Seeing you here, it helps. Being here helps. You’re helping me now, Gail, but you know how you can help me more?”

“I can’t let you stay here, but I can ... I can not tell Paul you were here. Maybe I could get you some money or something.”

“No.” Daisha leaned her forehead against Gail’s and whispered, “I need more than that from you.”

“I don’t have anything else to give you.” Gail squirmed and batted at Daisha. “I can’t let Paul know you’re back.”

When her mother’s hand made contact with her cheek, Daisha caught both wrists and held them with one hand; she pressed harder on her mother’s leg. “Paul will figure it out when he gets here.”

Daisha covered her mother’s mouth with her hand, squeezing to make sure that the sound was muffled. She leaned forward and bit a hole in the side of her mother’s throat. It was messy, the way the blood came pouring out too fast. By the time Daisha had swallowed the first bite, Gail’s shirt was soaked.

But Daisha’s mind felt increasingly clear, and her mood was improved now that her hunger was silenced. The more she ate and drank, the clearer her mind became. Hunger made her get confused, just like fear made her drift away.

I am safe here. Now.

Eating helped; drinking helped; words helped. Gail had given her all three.