“Yes, I do. Just give me a minute,” I whispered.
Rosie covered my hand with hers. “Take all the time you need.”
“Heismy father,” I blurted out. “He and my mother were young when they had me. Long story short is that Mama called him Frank, so I did, too. He was fine with that because he never wanted to be a daddy anyway.”
Rosie crossed herself and shook her head slowly. “Bless your heart. No wonder you shy away from letting folks get to know you. A father who would turn his daughter out in the cruel world doesn’t deserve to be a daddy, anyway. It’s a wonder that you survived out there on your own.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through my pictures. “Look at this. How old is that person?”
Rosie took the phone from my hand and studied the picture. “It’s your mother, isn’t it? You look so much like her. She was very beautiful.”
“That is the photograph on my first fake ID when I was fourteen,” I answered. “Scroll up to the next one, which is the one that I use when I play poker these days. That’s how I survived. I studied women who did not need fake papers and mimicked their mannerisms. I attended the card games with Frank at first and had to show my ID, but not always. When I started going by myself, the players that knew him would ask where he was. I always told them that he’d left the game for a woman. We would all laugh, and then forget all about him when we got serious about playing.”
“What made that so funny?” Scarlett asked.
“Frank liked his booze and young women, and he had declared many times that he would never marry again,” I answered.
Scarlett’s eyes got as big and round as saucers. “Did he ...?”
I shook my head so that she didn’t have to finish. “If we won money, he would blow part of it at a bar until closing time. If he picked up a woman, they took care of their business somewhere other than our hotel or motel room. He would stagger in in the early-morning hours, reeking of whiskey and/or perfume, fall into the extra bed, and sleep. I would be very quiet and work on my studies, wake him up an hour before we had to check out, and make him drink coffee to get semi-awake. He would drive out of the town or city, and then I would take over while he slept off the hangover in the back of the van. That was my life back then.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Rosie muttered.
“That’s why you have trust issues,” Scarlett said.
I could feel myself bristling. “Who said I have issues of any kind?”
Rosie reached over and patted me on the shoulder. “Everyone around this table has or has had problems. Matilda rescued us, and the Tumbleweed saved you. There’s no way you would trust men the way that Frank floated from one poker game and woman to another.”
“I’m still mad at him for not standing up for me when Paula laid down the ultimatum, and didn’t even ask me not to leave.” I took a sip of tea before I went on. “But he promised my mother that he would take care of me. I guess in his mind, he was doing that. At least he taught me to play cards, and that gave me the ability to support myself.”
Scarlett shook her head in disbelief. “You were sixteen, and he let you drive away?”
“Yep. I was sixteen. He was thirty-eight, and Paula was thirteen years younger than that. That meant she was only eight years older than me, and she came from a strict religious background. Looking back, I guess she was trying to be like her folks. But you are right,” I said. “Trust is something I don’t have much of.”
Rosie handed the plate of ham over to me. “You are preaching to the choir.”
It seemed like a dam had broken; words poured out of me. “I often envied little girls my age who had a family around them, but I would convince myself that they were probably jealous of me. After all, I didn’t have to go to public school. I didn’t have to go to bed at any certain time. I could order room service to my hotel room. When Frank finally came home in the wee hours of the morning and collapsed on the other queen-sized bed, I was free to go to the swimming pool. Those girls couldn’t do any of that.”
“Matilda would tell you that you were growing a shell around your heart to protect you from the pain of losing your mother so suddenly,” Rosie said.
“Shall we have a game of Scrabble after supper?” I asked to take my mind off the past.
“Not me,” Scarlett answered. “I’m going to FaceTime with Grady again this evening. When the snow finally melts, you”—she pointed at me—“are going to church with me and to Sunday supper with his family.”
“O . . . kay,” I said.
“Or you can go to evening Mass with me, and then over to their house for Sunday supper,” Rosie offered.
“What if I just drove up there in time to meet Grady after y’all go to church?”
“Oh, no!” Scarlett said. “You have to get some Jesus in your soul before supper. Jesus delivered a message to the multitude before he broke up the fishes and loaves to feed them. That means you listen to the preacher before we go to Grady’s mama’s house.”
“I guess I’ll pay my dues, then,” I agreed.
Chapter Fifteen
The sound of drizzling rain lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep that night. I awoke the next morning fully aware of where I was. Evidently, two weeks and two days was the magic number for me to be in one place before I got used to it. As usual, the aroma of coffee wafted down the hallway, but that morning it was mixed with bacon and cinnamon. I didn’t waste any time getting out of bed.
