XVIII: Mama Couldn't Be Persuaded

As he neared the laundromat, dodging between parked cars and narrowly avoiding kids on skateboards, Sawyer could feel a rush of warm air settle on his bare arms and catch the scent of soap and lint. He had hoped to go from summertime humidity into cool air conditioning, but it seemed like Debbie's business was the last place in Roxboro to acquire such niceties.

Instead, he felt sick and his arms prickled as he pushed the door open to the Quick-E-Wash, and all he could think was, If that's a sign, I should be three states out of North Carolina instead. The place was all but deserted, only occupied by a trio of girls pulling damp, clean clothes out of large canvas baskets and folding them mechanically, their attention on a television positioned in the far corner of the room. He glanced towards it and glimpsed a soap opera, giving it two seconds' notice – two seconds' notice too much – as he made his way towards the kiosk in where he expected his aunt to be located.

Nobody was at the counter, and he reached through the partition to ring a small metal service bell, slamming his hand down on it harder than he needed to. He was Debbie's most important customer; he couldn't imagine otherwise. He leaned back on his heels, looking through the gap in the particle board to a door that rested within the kiosk, leading to either a storage room or offices. He tried to smile while she took her time to get out, made sure that he could pull a believable grin on her. She doesn't need to be reminded every minute that she left me to rot for twenty years now. Just every other minute.

Behind him, there were footsteps, and their lightness announced to him that they were a woman's footsteps, and a young woman's footsteps at that. He turned to face one of the girls doing the laundry, who was tall enough to look him square in the eye, lanky and graceful. His practice smile grew into one already quite practiced, and he gave her a little nod of acknowledgement. "Yes'm?" He knew he was laying it on pretty thick.

"If you're looking for Debbie, she's not here," the girl said. "She took Bobby Lee to his soccer game."

The heat of the laundromat increased, or maybe it was the fervency of his own anger. His skin felt clammy, his smile unbearably tight. She had known he'd be showing up. He had called her when he'd crossed the line into Alamance County and turned northeast. That had been half an hour ago, and she had agreed to be here. And yet she didn't care enough to wait for him, despite the fact that she had left him alone when he'd been younger than Bobby Lee, refused to take him in.

"Don't suppose you'd know when she'd be back?" he asked, making an effort to make his voice seem as normal as possible.

The girl gave him a disbelieving look. "You're angry," she commented lightly, as if the fact entertained her. "And no, I don't know. I'd guess that she's stayin' for Bobby Lee's game, though. She usually does."

He nodded quickly, blinked away some of the surprise at her observation, and murmured, "Right, all right, then," as he made his way for the door. He could feel her staring at him, and he pulled out the car keys and made for the rental parked near the laundromat. The heat beat down on the pavement, harsh and unnatural. Summer had always felt strange to him, like the land shouldn't have been as hot and sticky as it was, and today was no exception. He slid the key into the car door, turning the lock, and started to get in, gunning the motor.

The girl had run outside before he could take off, though, and he pulled up to the curb of the laundromat, brows raised, casting around in search of his sunglasses. The girl seemed desperate to tell him something, but she waited until he looked up to say her piece, wincing as she did so.

"Debbie's all right, hear? She's just busy." The girl stood there like she wanted to say more, her eyes on him, large and pleading. She cared for Debbie. He wondered what the two had to do with one another.

They always are busy. "All right. What else?"

She shrugged, pointing out with a slow grin crossing her face, "You'll want to know where the soccer field is, right?" He stared, nodding, and she grinned broadly, offering, "I'll take you there," as her hand reached for the door handle. He saw no reason to show any resistance. She was good-looking, and she was eager to spend some time with him. They always were.

–––

"Tequila, huh? That's a hell of a name." Sawyer made the turn into the soccer field parking lot, hand-over-hand on the wheel and sending the car spinning around the sharp turn. "I guess it's indicative, huh?" There was silence, and it was for a lack of understanding. "I mean, I guess it means something. About your parents." He grinned, adding, "Pretty cool, if you ask me," to blunt the sharpness.

The girl smiled at him, nodding. "Yeah. Pretty cool. I mean, people make fun of me, but there are just as many people who get a kick out of the name, you know? And nobody else ever has the same." She started to unfasten her seatbelt before he threw the car into park, a cheap-ringed hand waving to indicate him towards a field full of cheap team jerseys and big-haired soccer moms. "It's more interesting than James, anyway."

"Yeah, well, James is a family name. And it never grows old. I can't imagine you being ninety with the name 'Tequila' – can you?" He grinned at that, jingling the car keys as he got out of the car, making his way for the soccer field with her trailing along after him. She wanted him. She wouldn't have trailed along to find Debbie if she didn't want to be with him. He would spend the night with her, and from how pretty she was, it would probably be enjoyable while it lasted. It certainly would make a pleasant contrast to talking about family matters with his aunt. However, her focus seemed not to be on him but on Debbie, and he watched her face as she neared the older woman, suddenly feeling like an idiot for expecting too much from her.

She embraced Debbie, the familiarity more than just that of an acquaintance, the impulsive hug one born from devotion, maybe even love. He did not know the feeling as well as he'd have liked, but he could recognize it in others. It felt strange not to be on the receiving end and unable to reciprocate, though. Now he wanted to reciprocate it, but the girl, Tequila, did not want to receive it. It felt oddly fitting, and he tried to clear the shock from his face as the two women turned.

Debbie looked older than he had seen in photographs, and he felt surprised at that too, although he didn't precisely know why he should have been surprised. Her son was about seven years old and towheaded, and he felt a shock of recognition as he looked down at the boy. There was enough of his mom's side in him and Bobby Lee both to make the resemblance pretty strong between the two of them. He wanted to explain this to the boy, to reach some point of understanding with him, but he had to clear things with Debbie first.

Her voice was brittle and careful, like she was afraid of him. "James. James, it's a pleasure to see you. I know you were waiting for me, but Bobby Lee's ride fell through, so that was more important. You understand, I'm sure. And besides," she motioned to the younger woman, "you've met Tequila."

"I've met a lot of tequilas in my time," Sawyer quipped, "but never one as good-looking." They both stared at him like he'd made a hell of a mistake. He cleared his throat and agreed more seriously, "Yeah. We met. It's great to see you, Debbie." He wanted to hug her, or at the very least give her a handshake, but she offered nothing of the sort. Instead, she stared at him like she knew him for what he was, and he thought, Am I really that transparent?

"You're running a cigarette store in Knoxville, you said?" Debbie gave him a long, evaluating glance, and he recognized the disbelief that was displayed quite openly on her face. "That's good work, James. Honest work. I'm proud of you, if you're really doing it. That's more than your father ever did for anything."

"Wait – what has my father got to do with it?" He shot Debbie a confused look, shaking his head. Beneath them, Bobby Lee tore about, intermittently demanding a Slush Puppy. "My dad ain't got nothin' to do with it. He hasn't been around for two decades." And neither were you, Debbie. He did not dare to say that either.

"He killed her," Debbie shot back, her voice sharp. He sensed an argument about to come.

"What?"

"He killed my sister."

He couldn't believe it. "My dad – "

"Your father killed my sister," Debbie declared, her voice tight. "He was hiding something from her. I knew it. I warned her not to trust him. I warned her not to marry him, and look where it got her." She took a step towards him, her voice low. "And I didn't want to take you in because you reminded me of him. You look like him, James. Exactly like him. And you're probably no better."

He stumbled back, even as Tequila tried to calm down Debbie, murmuring some sort of consolation towards her, trying to ease her. He'd known that their meeting would go badly, but he had never expected that it would go this badly. He had expected to eventually ask her for a job at the laundromat, to drop the con act. He could never do that now.

Tequila's efforts were only marginally successful. With her face looking as tight as his own felt, Debbie stepped towards Sawyer, bearing down on him despite his lanky build and her short rotundity. "I don't want you around here messin' things up, James. I've got a good thing here, with Tequila, and I won't take you on as a charity case. You're too old. I'm too old."

He felt his face burn. "You always were, Debbie. And her death, my mother's death – it's not my father's fault. It was my fault. My fault for not seeing him for what he was. My fault for not being able to tell my dad about him. Your sister's one-night-stand killed my father, not the other way around."

It was time to move on. He owed Debbie nothing now. She had made that quite clear. He had meant to go straight, to finally clean up his act, but how could he do that when he was stopped at every turn, when everyone kept on forcing him onto the crooked path? He hadn't wanted a handout, but he had wanted understanding, and he could get nothing from Debbie. She had nothing to give him, and he felt a certain release there. He had no ties to anyone now. He had solved that problem, even with the very solution he hadn't wanted. It had barely taken a minute of conversation, too. He supposed he should be grateful. In a strange way, he actually was.

"Take your girlfriend and your son and go home," he continued. "I don't want a damn thing from you." Sawyer quickened his pace, heading for the rental car, resisting the urge to look back towards Debbie with all the strength he had within him. "I'd wanted to see if you would help me, but I don't want your help. Not if it means I have to lie about my family. That's not what happened, and you know it! And I don't run a cigarette store either, you dumb bitch."

"Bobby Lee!" she shrieked, moving to protect her son from the curse. Out of the corner of his eye, Sawyer actually saw her cover the boy's ears. He almost laughed at that, but not quite. She cares more about what that boy experiences in a second than what I've experienced in two decades, Sawyer realized as he shoved the key into the ignition. To hell with her, then. He would move on, and she would still be stuck in Roxboro, having missed her chance to make amends with him and not knowing all that she had relinquished.

There were new jobs to be had, and he would find them, even if he had lost the last of his family. Folks like Hibbs were his family now, and everyone else could be discarded like the trash they were. It almost felt good and, as he gunned the car to leave Roxboro, it started to feel better. Maybe it felt worse, actually. He wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.