Trailer Park Heart
Page 7
So that was that.
2
Playdate Problems
My shift ended at two-thirty, so I had just enough time to hang my apron on the office wall, grab my purse, and head over to pick up Max from school.
When I’d first decided to forsake college and raise my baby, Rosie had let me work two four hour shifts a day, so I could be with Max as much as possible. I would come in early in the morning and cover the breakfast rush while my mom was home with Max. And then my mom’s neighbor, Mrs. Gomez, would watch him in the evening over the dinner rush. It hadn’t always been perfect, and I stressed Rosie out more than I helped her in those early years, but she was a kind enough woman to let me keep my job waitressing despite the baggage that came with me.
Lord knows why I did it. For as gracious as my boss was, my Rosie’s Diner and Donuts To Go paycheck wasn’t anything to get excited about. And farmers happened to be the cheapest people on the planet, so the tips were practically laughable unless the men were ogling. Then they tipped to help with their guilt.
The problem with living in a small town like Clark City was there weren’t a whole lot of job opportunities. Unless I wanted to be a farmhand or become a stripper, my options were limited to waitressing, bartending, or the Piggly Wiggly.
I pulled my little beater of a Toyota Corolla up to the curb outside the school to wait for Max. A few other moms dotted the sidewalk in clusters while they waited for their kids to come out. Heads turned at my arrival, the sputtering engine of my beater drawing their attention. Noses instantly raised in disgust, as if they smelled something bad.
Granted after working eight hours at Rosie’s, I didn’t smell great. But I wasn’t exactly steaming with shit either.
Letting out a long sigh, I reached for the radio and turned it up. Sir Sly did his musical thing and I relaxed into my seat, dropping my head back and closing my eyes.
This was the kind of reaction I was used to—had been used to since grade school. Ruby Dawson, the poor kid. Ruby Dawson, trailer trash.
Ruby Dawson, slut.
The slut moniker wasn’t new. A throwback from when I got pregnant with Max. In high school I was considered a prude, a desperate girl trying to run from the life she was born into. It was amazing what one night could do for a girl’s reputation. “It was only a matter of time…” became synonymous with me.
“You know who her mother is, don’t you?” and “What did you expect from a girl like that?” were also fan favorites.
Not that the town knew my sexual escapades—at least the escapades that had produced Max—were limited to one reckless night.
A knock at my window made me jump, scattering memories that were better left in the past. I opened my eyes to find Jamie Mannor-Shultz standing there, bent over primly at the waist, like she was about to begin a cheer routine.
I reluctantly pushed the power window button and the glass made a loud sound of protest as it slowly moved down. Jamie watched it in alarm.
“I think your window’s broken,” she said in that perky way I remembered from high school. She had been a senior when I was a freshman and captain of the cheerleading squad. She’d married her high school sweetheart, the one-time great Jason Shultz, and was now cheer captain of the room mom squad.
Only the Lord knew why she’d hyphenated her name. Apparently, she’d wanted to hold onto her roots. Her dad was the mayor of Clark City. Also, he owned a car dealership forty-five minutes away in Grand Island, so they had lots of money. The Mannor name had some weight in this town. But so did the Shultz ranch.
Jamie and Jason had been a power couple once upon a time. Now they were power-napping parents. And since Jamie had lost the opportunity to control a squad of perky cheerleaders, she turned her Type A personality on manic moms.
Unfortunately, her daughter Harper and my son Max were in the same class. So, I had to deal with her on a semi-regular basis.
“Not yet,” I returned. “But it’s on its way there.”
Her pert smile turned into a concerned frown. “I know a guy if you want a mechanic recommendation. My dad has taken our cars to Don for years. He’s old, but he knows cars.”
I looked down at my chipped nails and tried to decide if her recommendation was sarcastic or serious. “Thanks, but, I uh, got a guy.” And by that I meant three trailers down, my mom’s friend Duane could help fix the window if I paid him in weed and didn’t mind parts from the junkyard.
He would also be willing to steal a car for me if I slept with him. He had been offering ever since I turned eighteen. My car situation was to the point where I was now considering the option.
Not really.
But kind of now that Jamie was weighing in on my current ride.
She gave me a forced smile. “If you change your mind…”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, I came over here to talk to you about the Halloween party. I saw you hadn’t signed up for anything yet, and I wanted to let you know there are still a couple of ways to volunteer.”
Coldness swept through my body, like a ghost had just passed through me. Only it wasn’t a real ghost. It was the specter of my childhood and all the parties my mom had forgotten about. Six terrible grade school Halloweens and I was the only child that didn’t have a costume or candy to add to the class party or a mom that volunteered.
I had promised myself that I would never let Max go through that. It didn’t matter that I was still the girl from the trailer park or that I still had no extra money for costumes and candy. What mattered was giving my kid the life I didn’t get.
Not in the weird dance mom way though.
This was totally healthy.
“Oh, I keep forgetting about it,” I told her lamely. “I’ve been meaning to sign up though.”
Her entire face lit up and her thousand-watt smile hit me full force. “Great! That’s wonderful.” She fidgeted a little and I realized she was probably uncomfortable leaning over the way she was.
Before she could continue, I opened my door, renting another loud creaking sound through the air and walked over to the sidewalk. “I guess you don’t need to keep talking to me through the window.”
Somehow her smile stretched, defying the laws of biology. And physics. And whatever else. “You’re so funny, Ruby.”
I managed a shadowed version of her smile. “Ha-ha.”
“If you’d like, I need help running the class party,” she suggested. “You’d have to be here for the last two hours of the day. We’ll set up while the kids go to recess, and then we run the games and snacks and whatnot.” I must have made a face because she quickly added, “I know what you’re thinking, but the kids aren’t that wild. And it’s so fun to watch them parade around in their costumes. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat. It wasn’t the costume parade I was worried about, it was the parade of nosy moms that I preferred to avoid.
The doors to the school opened and a flood of kids poured out. Harper and Max appeared, walking our way, side by side. I knew they were friends at school, but Max was friends with everyone. He had a nice streak that was new to my side of the family. I suspected he got it from his dad. Not that I would ever know for sure.
“I’ll check my work schedule,” I told Jamie noncommittally.
She smiled. Again. “That would be great.” Her maternal gaze drifted back to her daughter. “Look at them. Harper’s always talking about Max. How nice he is.” She faced me, her permanent smile wobbling a bit and I saw it, the dreaded motherhood obligation. “We could do a playdate!” I literally watched the wheels spinning in her head as she mentally plotted the day. “The kids could play, and we could put the treat bags together.”
2
Playdate Problems
My shift ended at two-thirty, so I had just enough time to hang my apron on the office wall, grab my purse, and head over to pick up Max from school.
When I’d first decided to forsake college and raise my baby, Rosie had let me work two four hour shifts a day, so I could be with Max as much as possible. I would come in early in the morning and cover the breakfast rush while my mom was home with Max. And then my mom’s neighbor, Mrs. Gomez, would watch him in the evening over the dinner rush. It hadn’t always been perfect, and I stressed Rosie out more than I helped her in those early years, but she was a kind enough woman to let me keep my job waitressing despite the baggage that came with me.
Lord knows why I did it. For as gracious as my boss was, my Rosie’s Diner and Donuts To Go paycheck wasn’t anything to get excited about. And farmers happened to be the cheapest people on the planet, so the tips were practically laughable unless the men were ogling. Then they tipped to help with their guilt.
The problem with living in a small town like Clark City was there weren’t a whole lot of job opportunities. Unless I wanted to be a farmhand or become a stripper, my options were limited to waitressing, bartending, or the Piggly Wiggly.
I pulled my little beater of a Toyota Corolla up to the curb outside the school to wait for Max. A few other moms dotted the sidewalk in clusters while they waited for their kids to come out. Heads turned at my arrival, the sputtering engine of my beater drawing their attention. Noses instantly raised in disgust, as if they smelled something bad.
Granted after working eight hours at Rosie’s, I didn’t smell great. But I wasn’t exactly steaming with shit either.
Letting out a long sigh, I reached for the radio and turned it up. Sir Sly did his musical thing and I relaxed into my seat, dropping my head back and closing my eyes.
This was the kind of reaction I was used to—had been used to since grade school. Ruby Dawson, the poor kid. Ruby Dawson, trailer trash.
Ruby Dawson, slut.
The slut moniker wasn’t new. A throwback from when I got pregnant with Max. In high school I was considered a prude, a desperate girl trying to run from the life she was born into. It was amazing what one night could do for a girl’s reputation. “It was only a matter of time…” became synonymous with me.
“You know who her mother is, don’t you?” and “What did you expect from a girl like that?” were also fan favorites.
Not that the town knew my sexual escapades—at least the escapades that had produced Max—were limited to one reckless night.
A knock at my window made me jump, scattering memories that were better left in the past. I opened my eyes to find Jamie Mannor-Shultz standing there, bent over primly at the waist, like she was about to begin a cheer routine.
I reluctantly pushed the power window button and the glass made a loud sound of protest as it slowly moved down. Jamie watched it in alarm.
“I think your window’s broken,” she said in that perky way I remembered from high school. She had been a senior when I was a freshman and captain of the cheerleading squad. She’d married her high school sweetheart, the one-time great Jason Shultz, and was now cheer captain of the room mom squad.
Only the Lord knew why she’d hyphenated her name. Apparently, she’d wanted to hold onto her roots. Her dad was the mayor of Clark City. Also, he owned a car dealership forty-five minutes away in Grand Island, so they had lots of money. The Mannor name had some weight in this town. But so did the Shultz ranch.
Jamie and Jason had been a power couple once upon a time. Now they were power-napping parents. And since Jamie had lost the opportunity to control a squad of perky cheerleaders, she turned her Type A personality on manic moms.
Unfortunately, her daughter Harper and my son Max were in the same class. So, I had to deal with her on a semi-regular basis.
“Not yet,” I returned. “But it’s on its way there.”
Her pert smile turned into a concerned frown. “I know a guy if you want a mechanic recommendation. My dad has taken our cars to Don for years. He’s old, but he knows cars.”
I looked down at my chipped nails and tried to decide if her recommendation was sarcastic or serious. “Thanks, but, I uh, got a guy.” And by that I meant three trailers down, my mom’s friend Duane could help fix the window if I paid him in weed and didn’t mind parts from the junkyard.
He would also be willing to steal a car for me if I slept with him. He had been offering ever since I turned eighteen. My car situation was to the point where I was now considering the option.
Not really.
But kind of now that Jamie was weighing in on my current ride.
She gave me a forced smile. “If you change your mind…”
“Thanks.”
“Anyway, I came over here to talk to you about the Halloween party. I saw you hadn’t signed up for anything yet, and I wanted to let you know there are still a couple of ways to volunteer.”
Coldness swept through my body, like a ghost had just passed through me. Only it wasn’t a real ghost. It was the specter of my childhood and all the parties my mom had forgotten about. Six terrible grade school Halloweens and I was the only child that didn’t have a costume or candy to add to the class party or a mom that volunteered.
I had promised myself that I would never let Max go through that. It didn’t matter that I was still the girl from the trailer park or that I still had no extra money for costumes and candy. What mattered was giving my kid the life I didn’t get.
Not in the weird dance mom way though.
This was totally healthy.
“Oh, I keep forgetting about it,” I told her lamely. “I’ve been meaning to sign up though.”
Her entire face lit up and her thousand-watt smile hit me full force. “Great! That’s wonderful.” She fidgeted a little and I realized she was probably uncomfortable leaning over the way she was.
Before she could continue, I opened my door, renting another loud creaking sound through the air and walked over to the sidewalk. “I guess you don’t need to keep talking to me through the window.”
Somehow her smile stretched, defying the laws of biology. And physics. And whatever else. “You’re so funny, Ruby.”
I managed a shadowed version of her smile. “Ha-ha.”
“If you’d like, I need help running the class party,” she suggested. “You’d have to be here for the last two hours of the day. We’ll set up while the kids go to recess, and then we run the games and snacks and whatnot.” I must have made a face because she quickly added, “I know what you’re thinking, but the kids aren’t that wild. And it’s so fun to watch them parade around in their costumes. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
I made a sound in the back of my throat. It wasn’t the costume parade I was worried about, it was the parade of nosy moms that I preferred to avoid.
The doors to the school opened and a flood of kids poured out. Harper and Max appeared, walking our way, side by side. I knew they were friends at school, but Max was friends with everyone. He had a nice streak that was new to my side of the family. I suspected he got it from his dad. Not that I would ever know for sure.
“I’ll check my work schedule,” I told Jamie noncommittally.
She smiled. Again. “That would be great.” Her maternal gaze drifted back to her daughter. “Look at them. Harper’s always talking about Max. How nice he is.” She faced me, her permanent smile wobbling a bit and I saw it, the dreaded motherhood obligation. “We could do a playdate!” I literally watched the wheels spinning in her head as she mentally plotted the day. “The kids could play, and we could put the treat bags together.”
