Page 27 of Road Queens
“—and you jumped at it—”
“Not fucking likely.”
“—and loved it but were too proud to admit it.”
“Nothing you’ve said makes any sense, and it all sounds wildly out of character.”
For that, she was treated to Cass’s helium giggles in stereo, since she’d inherited them from her mom. “Oh, yeah, Sidney? Did you do the Meals on Wheels things once?”
“Yes. Once. And maybe once or twice more; what are you, my biographer?”
“She could be,” Iris said. “She’s a wonderful writer.”
“Both of you can go straight to hell,” Sidney announced.
“Admit it! Admit you had fun being charitable all day, Christmas Day!”
“Nope. Taking it to my grave.”
All right, all right. It had been fun. Not getting up at 6:30 a.m.—that could never, under any circumstance, be considered fun. But the assembly line had been kind of cool. Runners—usually kids not old enough to drive—would take the bamboo plates down the line, pausing in front of Turkey Guy, Mashed Potatoes Lady, Gravy Person, and Cranberry Gal, who sealed up the meal packages and gave them back to the runners, who would dash out to their parents’ cars and fill the backseats. They had to watch their feet; in their zeal to deliver hot meals, if the runners were a little too slow after loading the meals, they risked run-over toes.
It wasn’t just the “on Wheels” part either. About 150 people came for a sit-down Christmas dinner in the meeting house. Most of them were elderly, though the church invited anyone who was alone on Christmas.
And yeah. Maybe it got to her a little. All those elderly faces lighting up to see so much good food. But the best part was how they each got a wrapped present to take home. Cheap stuff—soaps, boxes of candy, mugs, games, slippers—but still.
And Amanda’s family thought nothing of it. Their attitude was that it was weird if youdidn’tspend Christmas Day slinging cranberries. Andthe old folks, they appreciated it so much. They were always hugging and patting and even stroking Amanda’s face. Sidney had comethis closeto a face stroking but managed to duck away in time. Luckily, her reflexes were better than those of any of the grateful geezers.
All that to say, yeah. It was fun. And yeah, she went back the next year. And the next. And maybe the next seven or eight years. She might even have donated a bunch of stuff for presents. But that was nobody’s business, goddammit!
There was another half hour of chitchat, and to hear Cass tell it, her life was one mellow, stress-free day after the next. The pressure to profanely and repeatedly correct her was mounting, and Sidney was on her feet before she realized she had stood. “Welp, this has been a gas. And speaking of gas, I’m gonna fart pretty soon, so we should get going.”
“You think I want to be in a van with your farts?”
“I think you have no choice, Cass,” she replied. “Unless you want to hitchhike home.” Wherever that was. Cass hadn’t said, and Sidney was too proud to look it up or ask.
Cass got to her feet with a show of reluctance that didn’t fool Sidney, or even Iris probably. The cold truth: Cass loved/hated her mother and enjoyed/dreaded these visits. She hugged Iris and said, “I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“No need if you don’t want to make the trip again so soon.”
“It’s half an hour, Mom. No biggie.”
Iris held her younger doppelgänger at arm’s length, scrutinizing Cassandra’s face. “There now, see? No dropped gaze. My eyes remain on your face. And you’ll always be beautiful.” Then she leaned in and whispered something Sid couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it made Cass go bright red and stare at the floor, smiling.
“That’s not her just being a mom obligated to compliment their offspring’s face,” Sidney said to break the silence. “Iris is seventy something and still looks great, so you will too.”
“Fifty-three, dear. But thank you.”
Sidney submitted to a last embrace, then coaxed another Snickers from the sad vending machine, and they headed out. The door was still hissing closed behind them when Cass turned to her and cleared her throat. “Thank you for visiting my mom. I, um, didn’t know you did that.” Pause. “So thank you.”
“Don’t be such a dumbass. I love your mother. She got a raw deal.”
Cass smiled thinly. “Didn’t we all?”
Well. Yeah.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Operation Starfish, six years ago ...
