Page 4 of The Fake Out

“Hello to you, too,” I said.

His reply was to cover his face with a paw and go back to sleep. Typical.

“Holy crap,” Sue yelled from the other room, and I grinned.

Sue had been Mama’s best friend since before I was born. They’d both grown up here. Sue had done a stint in the Navy after high school and then come back to Two Harts to work as a tow truck driver at the family business. By then, Mama had met my father and he’d taken her on a roller coaster before she moved my sister and me back here. These days, chances were if you saw my mama, Sue wasn’t far behind.

In the early days after Mama’s stroke when we weren’t sure she’d survive, it had been Sue who had taken care of all the practical things—feeding the cat, checking the mail, making sure Iris and I ate regularly. The last seven months had been the hardest of my life and we wouldn’t have made it without Sue.

But Mama had pulled through, although the left side of her body was slower to recover. Her health insurance had only covered two months in a rehabilitation center. Then she was released with printed-out instructions of exercises, a wheelchair, and a “good luck.”

That’s when I discovered how expensive hospital stays and therapy are.

On the way to the kitchen, I knocked on Iris’s door. No answer. Frowning, I opened it and peered inside. She had a real funeral-director-meets-death-metal-band-meets-vampire-seethe aesthetic going on in here. But there were hints of the young girl she pretended not to be. Like the corkboard filled with every postcard she’d ever received, or the bookshelf crammed with Babysitters Club books. Or the stuffed animal tucked in the middle of her unmade bed. Kitty used to be yellow and have two eyes. Years of tears and cuddles had left it faded and tattered but very loved.

What I did not find in the room was Iris.

My sister had added this disappearing trick to her repertoire in the last year. Despite being a senior in high school, she’d seemed to make it her life’s work to avoid school, home and family as much as humanly possible. I’d already intercepted a phone call from her math teacher who made it sound like it would take a miracle, and possibly a cash bribe, for Iris to pass the class.

I glanced at the photo resting on a table beside Iris’s bed, a rare family picture with Dad included. Iris was about ten, all rosy-cheeked, blonde hair caught up in a ponytail. A wide smile was plastered on her face as she stared up at our father. When she was little, she’d been a literal ray of walking sunshine and always a Daddy’s girl.

But the last couple of years, Iris had turned to the dark side. Literally. Dyed her hair black then cut into chopping layers, a chunk always covering one eye. Black wardrobe heavy on the vintage band t-shirts. Black lipstick. Black nail polish. Fake lip ring—although I had my doubts it was really fake.

But she did help with Mama, so I tried to give her some leeway. Plus, she was only seventeen, still a kid. I, on the other hand, had been an adult since I was nine—the first (but not the last) time Dad went to prison.

Our agreement was that Iris came home straight from school. Yet, more and more, she’d been conning Sue into staying while she “slipped out” for hours at a time. She’d come home well after curfew, tight-lipped about where she’d been or who she’d been with. But I was dealing with it. Mama didn’t need to know about her grades or curfew breaking.

Mama had one job right now: to get better. My job was to take care of everything else.

“Where’s Iris?” I said once Sue and Mama joined me in the kitchen.

Mama waved a hand. “Out with friends.”

“That girl is slipperier than an eel dipped in jello,” Sue said.

“Why would you dip an eel in jello?” I asked.

“Eel jello wrestling, of course. Very popular, I hear.”

I laughed. “How long have you been here?”

“Two episodes. You gotta watch it, Mae. It’s so good.”

“I’ll pass.” It should be noted I’d love nothing more than to sit and binge hours of TV until my eyes forgot how to blink, but there wasn’t time. There was always something to take care of.

“How was therapy today?” I asked as I began to pull together ingredients to make dinner.

Mama smiled, her left side struggling to keep up with the right side. The sight of her smile was bittersweet now. I was glad she was around to do it, but it was a constant reminder of what she’d survived and how close we came to losing her.

“It was hell,” she said happily. “But I do feel like I’m getting stronger. Just wait and I’ll be through with the chair before you know it.”

It was true she was using her walker more and more. By evening time, she often had to switch back to the wheelchair from pure exhaustion. But the therapy was working.

It was also real expensive.

Which is why I had to get the second job, the one no one knew about, and I wanted to keep it like that.

Iris slunk into the house just after midnight, the typical sullen glint in her eyes. I looked up from the book I was pretending to read while I pretended not to wait up for her. It should be noted I was definitely waiting up for her.