Redeemed

ONE

Katty Randolph blinked her eyes. She blinked again. Eyes barely focused, crusty dry. She wiped them. Fingertips black. Make-up still on.

Well.

She sat near the kitchen, right where she figured she deserved to sit—on the floor with all the rest of the trash—the crumbs, candy wrappers, crushed Fruit Loops. The only thing worth picking up was a colored pencil.

Her head throbbed like a thousand frogs had jumped up and down in it all night long. They were still there. Bouncing. Leaping. Pounding.

She hated frogs.

She lifted her head, but only so far. Twisting it back and forth helped, but pain stopped her. She flexed her shoulders up, then down. Same thing. They hurt. Leaning forward released a groan. Back hurt, too. Her whole body felt like she’d been beaten—just like old times.

Katty cleared her throat and stretched her legs out in front of her.

Nightmares had definitely been wild … or had they been … real? Blinks of glowing yellow eyes, low growls, throbbing music shook her, even now.

She shivered. She knew she was in her trailer house—her crappy trailer house—right now. But those visuals seemed just as real as the dirty floor.

She leaned against the paneled wall. The brittle vinyl floor under her creaked as she moved and stretched.

Million dollar question—-why was she sitting on the floor, against the wall? Had she slept here all night? That might make a body sore.

She faced the kitchen. A chair lay on its side and … Bea was nowhere to be seen.

B-Bea? She struggled to get up. Woah. The room started to spin, so she slid back down to the floor. If there was anything still in her stomach, it threatened a reappearance. She blew out a breath. Blew out another. Slowly her stomach settled and she could get to her knees.

She crawled to the overturned chair, crunched on a piece of cereal, and pushed up to her feet, still leaning over. Not a good position. Her stomach was waking up too—only it was crabby from what Katty constantly poured into it.

Burp.

No. Stay down. Katty willed her stomach to settle. Not gonna come up. She tried to right the chair, but it fought her and she dropped it back down.

Bang!

Bea? Where are you? Hide and seek. Where are you hiding?

Sugar, sugar, sugar.

Belched again.

Each step was a struggle, like climbing up a mountain side, against a strong wind, in a snowstorm. Each one was measured and tested. Slowly. Then the next step. And the one after. At the wall, she turned and leaned her back against it.

She had quit drinking once. Why did she ever think it was okay to start again? Clarence had helped her get free and clean. Why had she started again?

Where was Bea?

Stumbling down the hall to Bea’s room, she slid her hand along the old wood paneling to steady herself. Ouch! She shook her hand. Splinter. Damn wall.

Bea? You awake. Sweetie?

What time was it? Was it day? She looked out the window in Bea’s room. Day. Maybe.

No Bea.

Maybe Bea was in the car.

Purse. Where’d she put her purse? Back to the kitchen. Right where she’d left it—on the kitchen counter. Only most of its contents had fallen out. She pushed it all back in, but her keys were missing.

She grabbed the purse anyway. For some reason, Katty glanced up. The painted wall. Why had she painted on that old paneling? The tree, flowers and babies. She inched to it and traced the brush marks with her fingers. No. The babies always lined up and accused her. They all faced her and pointed. She heard their voices. You’re the one.

No.

One looked like Bea—her dark eyelashes closed against her pale cheeks—sleeping on the sofa. But then the babies all lined up next to each other and Katty couldn’t tell the difference—whether one was Bea, or not.

Belched again. Her hand flew to her mouth. Her stomach needed more. Away from the painted wall. It only caused her pain. When she got home, she’d wash it all off. Get rid of the pain and the babies. Paint over it.

She stumbled out to the car … only Bea wasn’t in the car.

Where were her keys?

Not in the console. Not in the visor. Under the seat?

Whoops. A shooter bottle slid to the floor on the passenger side. Didn’t take her a minute to stretch to pick up the bottle and twist the cap off. A couple drops left. The deep golden color of that liquid.

Ahh.

It seduced her. Hypnotized her. Sunlight caught the drops just right. They glistened. Beautiful.

A car drove past and out of the trailer park. Katty waved, without caring to see who it was.

She licked the mouth of the bottle and let the booze linger on her tongue. The anticipated burn never satisfied anymore. One more drop in the bottom. Tipping it into her mouth, her tongue caressed the opening. A deep moan vibrated in her chest. Mmm.. She twisted her tongue to try and reach that last drop, but the mouth of the bottle was too small.

The little bit she got tasted delicious. She licked her lips. More. She needed more.

She threw the tiny bottle onto the floor of the passenger side and watched it bounce off the floor mat.

Where were those keys to the car? Nowhere. She threw her purse onto the passenger seat. Something rattled, jiggled inside. But … she dug in it again.

Damn! There they were. Odd. Someone must have put them there. She had looked before, in the trailer.

The car started right up.

The bottle rolled on the floor, taunting her, calling to her. More! You need more of me. Yeah. That was the next thing on her … to-do list.

Get more shooters.

Katty checked her purse again. Just enough money to buy twenty bottles. Wait. Weren’t there some in the house still?

Yeah, but the weekend was coming and she’d need more. Maybe friends would stop.

Party on.

At the convenience store, Katty slammed the car door and stomped into the building.

She shouldn’t be here. She ran back to the women’s bathroom, passing people sitting at tables, eating. The store was busy. Eyes watched her. Busy mouths whispered words, heads together, fingers pointed. Old men didn’t whisper as much. They were louder—probably because they couldn’t hear each other and were too stubborn to get their hearing tested. Either that, or they wanted her to hear them.

Did you hear ...?

Did you see what she was doin?

She needs to get—

The bathroom. Why hadn’t God made a bigger place in her body for the pee so she didn’t have to stop so often. She snickered. If she didn’t pour in so much, she wouldn’t have to pee so much.

Two women waited in line for a free stall, but that didn’t stop Katty from laughing out loud at her own joke. The ladies didn’t seem to catch the joke.

Of course.

Katty hadn’t told them the joke. If you didn’t drink, you didn’t pee so much. She almost choked at the extra meaning … if you didn’t drink … which was exactly what she was doing.

She leaned against the wall and sighed, but accidentally slid too close to one woman. The woman jumped and stepped away like Katty had some sort of disease.

Stupid idiot.

Katty snickered again.

The lady probably didn’t have a sense of humor like Katty did. Everything was funny right now.

The stall door opened. Hi Katty!

Oh-oh.

Who was this? Looked familiar. Katty rubbed her eyes. Nursing home nurse? Katty chuckled. That was funny. Nursing home nurse!

Uh, hi. Glad she’d put some lipstick on. Not. Lisha. Hi.

What are you up to today? And where is that beautiful daughter of yours? Lisha punched the soap dispenser for a dollop of soap and rubbed her hands together forever, then finally rinsed under the faucet.

She’s … she’s … out in the car. There was no answer that would please this little gathering of bitches—Lisha included. If Katty said Bea was home, they’d think she left her home by herself … which is maybe what she’d done. If Katty said Bea was looking at candy out in the store, they’d tell her that someone could kidnap Bea—like it wasn’t happening already with Bea’s dad, Phil Daynton. If Katty said Bea was in the car—same thing—someone could kidnap her.

The real answer?

Katty didn’t have a clue where Bea was.

Well, I hope you have a great day together. Lisha grabbed Katty in a crushing hug before she could refuse.

Where were her breath mints?

Katty watched Lisha open the door and drift into the store.

Another woman finished, washed her hands, and pushed the door open. Only she didn’t hug Katty, nor did she smile. As she turned to shut the door, she glared at Katty. Her eyes spoke of a knowing.

Experienced.

Dumb broad. Whatever that bitch was thinking was wrong. Katty might have had a few shooters, but she was a long way from drunk. Take a picture. It lasts longer. Katty hiccuped and laughed.

Another funny joke. She was hilarious today. Might have to go on the road. I might have to go on the road, if you don’t hurry up. She pushed against the other stall door and it opened to reveal a brown mess on the toilet seat and a toilet bowl full of paper and brown.

Katty belched. Oh-oh. Gasp. She rushed to the sink, pushed the lady away and puked.

Oh God. You are disgusting! The woman rushed out of the bathroom, yelling. Mess in the women’s bathroom. Some drunk is throwing up in the sink and it’s gonna need a—

The door slammed on her words, but the judgement and shame stayed in the bathroom with Katty.

One look at the sink and she hurled again, but a hand reached in and supported her forehead with a damp paper towel.

At the same time, morphed over that hand, was another one. But this hand was raised, ready to slap, rather than comfort.

Katty peeked at the mirror in front of her. The nursing home nurse. Er, Lisha. Only she wasn’t smiling this time. Tears dripped into the sink, disappeared into the mess.

Breathe.

Kind voice. It’s gonna be okay, Katty.

Katty wanted to believe.

Why had she gone back to this?

Why was she drinking?

Again.

Something in her flipped and she shoved the hand away and stomped out, only the door caught on her cast. She shoved the door back open, slamming it against the inner wall, and pulled at the cast. Tried to rip it off, until she caught a man standing by the pop dispenser staring at her.

A line formed at the cashier. She slowed down, pulled out her money and her ID. The bitch who had reported the mess was paying—still harping on the mess in the bathroom. Get over it, lady. She wasn’t the one who was … sick.

Right in front of Katty stood an elderly couple, who were both barely taller than Bea. The man wore a typical plaid shirt and jeans, and sported a terrible comb-over, mostly revealing what it was meant to conceal. The woman had long white hair, tied back with a bow and wore a long, patchwork skirt, blue blouse, and matching sweater. Her colors blended with the colors in the man’s shirt.

They held hands.

Aww.

When had Katty held hands with a man without him wanting favors? Without him expecting a return on his investment?

When the couple stepped to the cashier to pay, they still held hands. I’m buying my sweetheart here, brownies.

His sweetheart giggled.

Well, is she going to share any with you, sir? The cashier smiled and slid the tray of brownies into a plastic shopping bag and shoved it to the woman. He pulled the brownies back out of the bag and counted. There’s five for you … and one for him, right?

The woman giggled again. He gets some, too. He deserves them. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Katty blinked. Never in her life had she—

How long have you two lovebirds been married, now? Two years? The cashier knew Katty was in a hurry. He always did this, played on her needing a drink. Drag it out.

The couple turned to leave, still holding hands, only now Katty could see their faces. The gentleman had a kind look in his eyes, a sweet smile. He nodded at Katty as they stepped out of line. He held his arm out for his sweetheart to grab. She fumbled with the plastic bag, then found his arm. She turned directly toward Katty—face-to-face.

Katty blinked again.

Totally blind. The woman’s eyes were white. Cataracts?

Katty couldn’t breathe. She stepped back. The woman even smiled as she passed Katty.

Sorry to make you wait for us old people, dear. The woman spoke like she could see Katty. There was no way she could see. The lady couldn’t see the freckles on her own face.

The man gently grasped his sweetheart’s hand on his arm and patted it, his eyes never leaving Katty’s face.

It-it’s okay. Ma’am. Katty swallowed and blinked tears away. I-I’m not in a hurry. Liar. You want your booze. Bea is at home alone. Holy cow. That man could leave his sweetheart forever and she’d never know it. Well, she’d know he was gone, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She’d be all alone and helpless. But he stayed. Why? Why did a sweet man like he seemed to be, stay with a woman like that? Why did he stay?

The man seemed to read Katty’s mind. We’ve been together for sixty-seven years. Through the good times, he looked at Sweetheart, and there have been some good ones, right Nelly?

She nodded vigorously.

And there have been really rough times, too. His eyes welled up. He checked Nelly’s face—her eyes. Seemed to want to make sure she was okay with what he shared openly.

Nelly slowly nodded, blinking herself. The old woman didn’t need eyes with sight, for tears to well up. Nodded again, turned her head toward him. Fires. She breathed. Babies dying.

Katty gasped. She wiped a tear running down her own cheek.

Nelly’s face remained still, sweet—even though her own cheeks were wet, now. The man’s were wet, too. They breathed almost in unison. She seemed to know he was looking at her and raised her hand to find his cheek. She held it there. Such a good man. She tilted her head toward Katty. He never left. He’s a faithful man. She searched the air with her other hand, until she found Katty’s and grabbed it. Find yourself a faithful man—faithful and true. The woman’s touch zinged Katty’s skin. Nelly wouldn’t let go, in fact her grip became almost painful. You’ll know, dear—you’ll know when you’ve found him. He sees you like a queen, when you know you’re still a scullery maid. She shook her head, her face toward his. A queen.

He nodded. A queen. He smiled at Katty as they walked to the door.

No one in the store said a word. Only four or five people had heard or even seen what Katty had—close up—but each visual became a snapshot in Katty’s brain. Like her photo app on her phone held progressive shots—blink, blink, blink of a scene when Bea licked her first ice cream cone. Lick—click. Expression on Bea’s face when she tasted—actually tasted the treat—click. Another lick—click.

Katty’s brain had a whole movie sequence of screen shots with the old man and blind old woman in her head.

Breathe.

The casier tapped the counter.

Katty stretched to watch them leave the building. Slowly the man helped Nelly into their car. His eyes never left his wife as he made his way slowly around the car to the driver’s side and got in.

Ahem. You gonna take pictures?

Uh, what?

She’d never have that kind of love. Like Clarence and Mrs. T. Their kind of love. They probably didn’t even have sex anymore—it’s all kindness and love. A deeper kind of love that Katty has never experienced—or never will. If that bastard, Phil, had not been at the convenience store that night. But then she wouldn’t have Bea.

Bea! She had to get home!

Katty turned away from the couple and back into the store. She was living inside a dream or a movie. She twisted to watch them drive away. A big truck blocked her view, but when the truck pulled away, their car was nowhere to be seen. Katty stood on tiptoes and searched the parking lot. They just disappeared. Gone. Vanished.

Slowly she regained her bearings of standing inside the store, people making noises, a cash register ringing up items. Back to reality. Back to … shit!

Katty stumbled up to the cashier. He was ringing up a young woman, lugging a little girl. The woman glanced at her. Hey, don’t butt in line. She tilted her head behind her. A whole line of people waited their turn.

Uh, sorry. Katty glanced at the cashier. Dork was smiling to himself. Damn him. He won. She glanced back outside as she took her place last in line. They were gone. The line moved forward and she followed. Gone. She studied the freckles on the guy’s shoulders standing in front of her. He carried a twelve-pack of beer. She studied the colors on the cardboard box. Blues. Back outside. She shook her head. Her stomach rumbled. Belch. She covered her mouth with her hand.

Where had the couple gone?

Her foot tapped the floor—almost on its own. Bea. Shooters. Breathe.

Can I help you? Same cashier that had sold her the shooters before—he had ripped her off. She held up ten fingers. Twice.

He reached into the case and pulled out shooters of whiskey, tapped on the cash register, and dropped the tiny bottles into a bag, just out of her reach.

Bastard.

She threw the money at him, along with her ID, climbed up the shelves of candy in front of her and grabbed the sack out of his hand. Bea would never have gotten away with kicking all those rows of gum and candy bars around. She gave them another kick, scattering some onto the floor.

She made her way to the door, but as she pushed it open, she glanced behind her.

The cashier waved her ID. Need this?

She took one swipe at his hand and nailed it. Dork. Slid it into her back pocket and rotated again.

The store spun.

No.

Help. Help. It had been so sweet and pure just a minute ago and now, the world, her world, crashed down around her again. A sob threatened to surface, but she choked it down. She left the building and once more, searched the parking lot. She hadn’t even seen what kind of car they drove off in. White something. Nowhere. Gone.

Just like Bea always said, Bad Mommy was back. You are so stupid. She opened her car door and slid into the car, glaring at herself in the rear view mirror. "Never happened. They weren’t real. You are the crazy person. Love like that doesn’t exist! They don’t exist!"

Slammed the door shut. Hard.

Bea would have been spanked by now for kicking all that candy off the shelf inside.

She unscrewed the cap on one bottle and slugged it down. Someone sitting at a lunch table inside pointed at her. Yeah. She just openly took a drink.

She started her car.

They still pointed.

She flipped them off. Tears stung her eyes.

One person’s hand flew to their mouth. Another grabbed a cell phone.

Bitch.

Katty backed out, muttering. Damn them. What’s it to them? None of their business. She shifted into drive. What should they care if I drink and drive?

A car passed beside Katty’s on the way to park at the gas pumps.

Noell.

Katty swallowed and tried to calm down. Slow down.

Noell waved. She was so beautiful—all that blond hair. She couldn’t be Katty’s cousin. Oh no. She was rolling her window down. Breathe. Hi, Katty! She was so excited. How are you? she stretched to see the back seat. How’s Bea?

Katty chuckled. Play along. Pretend. We’re fine. She nodded toward the back seat. Bea’s at my neighbor’s right now. Mrs. Nosy? She babysits sometimes.

Noell smiled. That’s great.

Yeah. It’s pretty convenient , too, so … and Bea likes her. Bea didn’t have a clue. Lies.

Well, anytime you need someone else, or if Mrs. Nosy can’t babysit, I’d love to play with Bea. Noell shut off her car and opened the car door.

Oh no. Not gonna happen. No long cousin visit today. Well, I should get back and relieve Mrs. Nosy. She started to leave. But thanks for the offer. Maybe that’ll work out. It’d work out great.

Noell nodded and waved.

Katty pulled away.

Not on your life, Noell.

Not going to have Noell babysit. Not today. Not ever. She already suspects something. She’d seen Katty drunk probably. Not ever going to have her babysit.

Bea would tell it all anyway.

She stomped on the gas and barely missed a truck. What do they care? I’m gonna drink until I’m so sick, I’ll never drink again. Or I die. She yanked on the steering wheel and swerved out of the parking lot onto the highway. A car took to the shoulder to avoid hitting her and an oncoming truck screeched their tires.

She gunned it, as she swerved around a slow moving camper. Out of my way! Swerved back in her lane just in time to avoid an oncoming semi.

The driver laid on the horn, as the truck passed.

Damn you! She flipped him off and kept on driving.

Katty patted her pocket. Where were those bottles? She’d bought extra. Just in case. She’d heard somewhere that it made a person stronger if they could quit drinking with booze still in the house. She was gonna try that. Make sure she had some, but not drink it. She patted the seat next to her—there. In the plastic shopping bags.

Her insides jiggled. She could do this.

A mile passed.

Who was she kidding? She pulled over on a side road and ripped open the cap. She loved that sound. It even said, Rip. Rip rip rip. She was gonna drink them all. Or at least one right here along the side of the road.

Bea might be watching TV at home, so she was okay. She even knew how to get her own supper. Cereal bowl, spoon, cereal box, and milk. They might be out of milk, but Bea had munched on dry cereal before. Many times. She was okay. Pretty strong for a four-year-old.

Katty downed the shooter bottle and started the car again. Checked her mirrors. Nothing coming. At least she could see behind her, toward the convenience store. There had been a time, not too long ago, when she’d checked her mirrors on the way home and cop car lights flashed right behind her. Not this time.

The sun was bright this time of day. Sunglasses. Where was her purse? She dug for her purse, but only found bottles. She twisted open another one and downed it. Nothing coming. Easy to make sure nothing was coming up behind her from the direction of the convenience store.

But from the west, toward home, it was impossible to see. She shielded her eyes. Dang. She carefully edged onto the road.

Back on the highway, she sped up. Gotta get home to Bea. She reached for another bottle and braced the steering wheel with her knees. There. Perfect driving. Rip. She lifted the bottle to her lips, looked ahead on the highway and the sun completely blinded her. She blinked and dropped the bottle without taking a drink.

Blam!

Katty gulped and threw up.

And blacked out.

TWO

Mommy? Bea Randolph wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. What was that noise?

A chair lying on its side on the floor completely distracted her. She didn’t usually take an afternoon nap, but had fallen asleep reading Daryl & Dumpty books on the sofa. Seeing the chair on the floor stopped her and she tipped it upright. She climbed onto a different chair—her chair—and folded her hands. This is the church. She looked around. Mommy? Two fingers up. This is the steeple.

She rubbed her eyes again, yawned, and tapped the paper she’d been coloring earlier. The grocery store had given out pictures of a lady and three kids pushing a cart—the lady almost looked like Mommy. They handed the pictures out for a coloring contest. Bea’s was gonna be the best. Forgetting all about Mommy, she colored a section of the drawing, first red, then she changed her mind and picked up blue. Oooo. Purple. She picked up the red crayon again and colored the rest of the shape, then picked up the blue one and the yellow crayon. Dozens more crayons scattered across the table.