Page 89 of Fragile Hearts

The list is literally endless, and there was a time when I used to believe her, wondering why the world was so harsh. But once I was out on my own, it was simple, really. Get a job and work hard.

I’ve never once had enough money for frivolous things, spending my paychecks on essentials only, including my rent. It’s just what life is, and she can’t understand that. And sometimes, I’ll admit, it isn’t fun.

I look over at Owen, and he shrugs, almost like he isn’t getting that I’m not giving her money, that I’m delaying things so the police can get here and arrest her. I’d bet everything I own on there being an outstanding warrant for her already.

“How much are you thinking, babe?” Owen asks hesitantly, swallowing hard, and I give him a wink, watching his body language change when he realizes I’m not about to hand my mother a few grand.

“I don’t know. Any thoughts?” I ask him, and when I look back at my mother, she’s smiling manically, an almost giddy excitement radiating from her at the idea.

“Oh, Sloanie, this will help so much,” she says, again with the sugary-sweet tone that only makes me want to throw up. “I’m gonna get sober.” She adds this last part, and it takes everything in me not to burst out laughing.

Never once in my life have I heard her utter those words, and she has zero intention of doing that. I understand that drug addiction is an illness, but I can’t be a part of it any longer. I’m a casualty of her addiction, and I won’t let it continue.

“That would be wonderful,” I tell her, meaning it, wanting her to get her life in order, but after nearly thirty years of addiction, I can’t see it happening.

“So, the money,” she now says, changing the subject with an eagerness to her words. “Can you get me cash?”

It’s with those words that the police pull up, my mother blissfully unaware of what’s about to happen. As always, she’s more concerned with getting her next fix, and the money we’ve promised will help with that. She’d rather sleep on the beach with a pocket full of meth than in an apartment she paid for with her own money.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

The police walk up, finding us standing together, and Owen motions to my mom, who is now ringing her hands, her eyes looking anywhere but at the officers. It’s the same two guys who showed up at our house. The ones who have the picture from the pawn shop, and if I’m lucky, they’ll be the ones to arrest her too.

She’s going to run, and if they don’t act fast, she’ll be out of here before they realize what’s happening.

“Jenna Anderson?” one of the officers says, and she holds a hand up, shielding her eyes from the setting sun.

“Yeah,” she replies slowly, like she knows things are about to go south.

“We have a warrant out for your arrest,” he says. “We need to take you in.”

“For what?” she shouts, aghast. “You don’t know it was me that broke into their house. These are my headphones, and that guy at the pawn shop, he wouldn’t even give me anything for the laptops.”

She’s so high she doesn’t even know what she’s saying, just giving herself away with the comment about the laptop and the pawn shop.

“No one said anything about a laptop or a pawn shop,” the officer responds, his partner letting out a low chuckle.

The partner walks over, beginning to recite the Miranda warning as he pulls her hands behind her back, holding her in place. She begins to wail, crying so hard that she can’t catch her breath, and holy shit, it brings back memories.

I look away, my heart slamming hard in my chest, the tears beginning to pool in my own eyes. Watching her get arrested is way too triggering. And I think of turkey sandwiches on wheat bread in a brown paper bag. Crisp white sheets that smell of bleach. The kindness of the police officers who would load me into the back of their cruisers and take me to the station until social services would show up. Falling asleep on a cot in a back room at the station. Sleeping like a rock and begging them to let me stay.

“Sloanie,” my mom wails as they load her into the back of the car. “Can you bail me out?”

I can’t even look at her, everything in me aches for it to just be over. For her to leave my life and never return. Continuing to live like this is too much, and it ends here.

“No, Mom,” I say, never looking at her. “I need you to stay away from me. Forever.”

With that, the officer closes the door, her muffled cries now nearly silenced, and I swallow back my own tears. I don’t need to cry anymore, not wasting another moment of energy on her.

“There are a few things going on here,” Officer Pearson says, talking now to Owen and me. “We’ll book her on a petty theft charge from a few months back, and once we get her booked, we’ll be able to have Drew Townsend from the pawn shop identify her in a lineup.”

“And will she go to jail?” I now ask, really needing her to be somewhat permanently removed from my life.

“Probably not here,” the officer says, shaking his head. “But she will be extradited to California, where she will be on trial for involuntary manslaughter.”

“What?” I gasp out.

“About two years ago, she killed the driver of another vehicle and her passenger when she had an accident while under the influence. She bonded out, and as soon as she did, she left California. Illegally.”

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