Page 13 of For a Goode Time Call…
“Cassandra—”
“If you warn me about my language one more time, I swear I’ll hang up on you.”
A tight, tense silence. “Fine.”
“So, yes, it started out as a severe hangover. And then, apparently, I developed the flu.”
“Well, overindulgence in alcohol can compromise your immune system,” Mom said.
“You don’t say?” I sniped.
“Sarcasm is unwarranted, Cassandra. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“I don’t mean worried about not knowing where you were. If the men and women of the Badd clan say you’re being taken care of, I know I can trust them to be telling me the absolute truth.” A pause, and this one extended for nearly many seconds. “My worry for you goes much, much deeper than that, sweetheart.”
“Mom, come on,” I moaned. “Not now. Please.”
“Cassie, honey. I’m your mother. You’ve been through a lot and you’re not really dealing with it. And then you go and get drunk, disappear, and I don’t hear from you for three days. I get that you were sick, but it’s all just wrapped up in the whole big messy ball that is—”
“That is my fucking life,” I finished for her.
“Cassandra, really. I don’t like your language.”
“Mom! I can curse if I want to! I’ll never dance again! Rick dumped me! I’m stuck in fucking Alaska with no future! And you’re obsessing over me cursing?”
“I’m not obsessing, I just raised you to find more sophisticated and emotionally mature ways of expressing yourself than crude vulgarity.” Her voice softened. “Rick may have seemed fine, in that he didn’t have any lasting memory loss, but he still suffered severe cranial trauma. And I know it sounds like baloney, but such injuries can have bizarre and unpredictable effects.”
“Whose side are you—?”
She spoke over my protests. “Your side, Cass.Always. I know he hurt you. I know it hurts. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be scared. But you have todealwith it. Actually deal with it.” A soft pause. “Going out on a bender is understandable, Cassie. Really, I get it.”
“But?”
“But nothing. I get it. I’m just worried, and I tend to overreact when I’m worried.”
“No kidding.”
Another silence. “Where are you, anyway?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where you are?”
Ink shifted toward me, and the phone. “Mrs. Goode? My name is Ink Isaac. Juneau Isaac is my cousin. Cassie is at my home. She was real sick for the last few days, but she’s on the mend now. I’d suggest she rest awhile longer, but I’ll do my best to get her home to you soon as possible.”
“Your name is…Ink?”
“Yes ma’am. Ink. Like pen and ink. It’s my real, given name.”
“I see. And where is your home, Ink?” Mom had her mom voice on, the authoritative, interrogative one.
Ink gave her directions to his house, which, since I didn’t know Ketchikan at all, was useless to me, but Mom seemed to understand.
“I know where that is. I don’t mean to invite myself over, but I would very much like to check on my daughter.” It was, essentially, a politely phrased statement of intent rather than a request.
“Sure thing, ma’am. I’d’ve brought her home to you in the first place, but she was really, really sick and my place was closer, and then she was in no shape to be moved.”
