Page 4 of Cash

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Carissa

The day startedas it always did.

Knock, knock, knock. “Aunt Cari! Aunt Cari!”

I turned my face to the pillow and muttered a curse. Sometimes, I just couldn’t hold it in. “Yeah, bud?”

“I’m up!” Every morning. He had to announce it every morning. Just in case I forgot he was there.

I rolled onto my back, rubbing my eyes. How was it possibly morning already? Never my favorite time of day. Especially with a living, breathing alarm clock waking me at the crack of dawn on the daily.

I took a deep breath and made sure to inject a little light into my voice before calling out. “Okay, buddy. Good morning. I’ll be out soon.”

“You want me to make your coffee?”

Just when I was sure my stint as his guardian would send me to the loony bin, he said something like that.

I giggled softly. “No, thank you, sweets. I’ll do it in a little bit when I come out to fix breakfast.”

I wasn’t sleepy or desperate enough to agree to letting a five-year-old work the coffee maker. His footsteps echoed down the hall as he ran to the living room and flipped on the TV. He ran everywhere. I was sure the downstairs neighbors were in love with that tendency. They were already on my Christmas shopping list, even two months out.

I sat up with a groan. My head was in a fog, with the last fading impressions of a dream clinging hard. I wanted to go back to it, even though it didn’t make any sense. I wouldn’t have told my best friends about it, it was that embarrassing. I had been on the back of a dragon, flying through the sky in the middle of the night. I could still envision the moonlight glinting off the dragon’s scales. It was so stupid.

Stupid or not, it was better than waking up in a chilly apartment with the sun barely peeking over the treetops. At least the chill in the air helped wake me up a little. I rubbed my arms briskly before reaching for my bathrobe, lying across the foot of the bed. I should’ve paid closer attention to the weather forecast and adjusted the heat before I went to bed. Poor kid must’ve been freezing all night. Another way for me to feel like I was coming up short. There was always something.

Some ridiculous kids’ show was on, the theme song reaching my room as I belted my robe and slid into slippers, then made up my bed.

I remembered the days when the morning news was the soundtrack to my routine. In a way, cartoons were better. At least, I didn’t start the day off in a bad mood after hearing all the negativity, reports of murder and robbery and other depressing facts about living just outside D.C. When Tommy asked if he could watch his favorite shows over breakfast I hadn’t hesitated before agreeing. He didn’t need to know the truth of the world at his age.

He already knew too much.

I twisted my long, dark-blonde hair into a bun on top of my head as I walked out to the bathroom. He’d already been in there, as evidenced by the raised toilet seat and the toothpaste he’d left all over the sink.

At least he brushed his teeth, I thought with a grimace as I lowered the seat.

Had it really been eight months already? The longest of my life. The most rewarding, too. Even more rewarding than my work, which used to be all that mattered. I hadn’t known the first thing about raising kids before the state dropped him off at my front door, and I still didn’t know half of what I felt I should. Then again, who did when they had their first child? I reminded myself of that every time I felt like I was failing Tommy.

I couldn’t fail him any more than his mother had.

The thought of Christine made my chest ache, the way it always did. I hadn’t been to see her since just after sentencing, when she’d moved to a women’s prison in Maryland.

It hurt too much for her to see me—or, rather, for me to see her. I could still hear her words ringing in my ears, the last thing she’d said just before I walked out of the common room where inmates and visitors could spend time together. Please, don’t visit anymore. Take care of my boy, send me pictures. But I can’t stand you seeing me this way.

She hadn’t even looked like herself. Not the Christine I knew. Her beautiful hair had looked lank and dirty, pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her blue eyes used to sparkle, but they had looked dull over the dark circles which ringed them. She’d always been thin, but she must have lost another ten pounds. On her tiny frame, that made a big difference.

I looked at myself in the mirror hanging over the sink and saw all the similarities we’d always shared. Same hair, same eyes, same peaches-and-cream complexion. Granted, long hours spent slaving under fluorescent lighting hadn’t done my color any favors, either, but I was a runway model compared to Chrissie that day. Would she ever go back to the funny, sweet girl she used to be?

“Aunt Cari!” Tommy’s insistent cries cut through my dark thoughts. I couldn’t afford to spend time asking pointless questions. They didn’t put breakfast on the table.

“Sorry, sorry,” I called out as I hurried down the hall, lined on both sides with photos of the family in better days. “I didn’t forget about you.” I got to the kitchen in time to find him standing on a chair in front of the counter, reaching up for the cereal.

“I wanted to help,” he insisted as I hauled him off the chair.

“You’d think you never ate before, kiddo. You ate two helpings of chili last night.”

“I musta had lots of dreams that I was running and fighting when I was sleeping!” He showed off a few would-be karate kicks and punches. “It made me so hungry!”

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