“It’s company policy not to share personal information.” Dale gives me a reassuring wink. “Your road trip is your business, ma’am.”
Relief fills me, and I flash him a smile. “Thank you.”
I turn away from his car window and head for my own vehicle. Knowing Dale is behind me the entire time, I’m much more conscious not to go over the speed limit.
But I avoid rush hour both when I leave L.A. and when I enter Tucson, and I pull onto my mother’s street feeling fairly calm.
I thought about trying to find Marianne Gordon once before. When I was thirteen and Julie Morse threw me into the mud in front of the entire class for not having “real parents,” I thought about finding my mother and kicking her ass like Julie kicked mine.
I park across the road from her house again and spend a moment in my car looking in the mirror. I apply more lipstick, more blush, and way too much eyeliner. Shit.
I desperately try to rub some of the makeup off, but it doesn’t look much different. Finally, I give up. I grab my purse, checking to make sure the money’s inside, and I get out of the car, locking the door behind me.
Dale is parked a half block away, and I know by now, he won’t get out of his car unless he senses trouble.
I reach the front door of the house and stare at the doorbell. I ignore the trembling of my finger and hold it with my other hand to make myself push the bell.
When somebody actually answers, I don’t know what to do. I hadn’t thought past this moment.
Except one thing’s for sure…I recognize the woman in the open doorway.
She’s tall, not quite as tall as I am, but she has the same blond hair. Her smile, pleasant but guarded, is what makes me sure. It looks like mine.
“Can I help you?” she says politely.
Part of me hoped she’d squeal with delight and throw her arms around me, recognizing me immediately as the daughter she hadn’t seen since she was four.
Of course, none of the above happens. She has a cold. She sneezes all over me and then grabs a tissue from under her shirt sleeve and blows into it.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “Bad cold.”
I wipe my cheek where she hit me with her sneeze and straighten my shoulders.
“Marianne Gordon?” I say to be sure.
“Yes. Who’s asking?” She gasps. “Are you with the casino? Come back to collect your debt? I told you already—I don’t have the money. If I did, I’d sure give it to you.”
“I’m not with the casino.” I take a deep breath. “Mom. It’s me. Jasalie.” My mother reels backward and has to grab onto the doorframe to stop from falling over.
“Jasalie.” Her eyes go wide and her face turns white as a sheet. “Wow. You’re all grown up.”
I want to remind her that’s what happens when you don’t see someone for over twenty years, but I stop myself.
“May I come in?” I ask her.
“Oh.” She starts. “Yes. Come in. Don’t mind the mess.”
But I can’t help from ogling the place as she leads me into the living room. Crap is everywhere. Clothes are strewn around, and takeout food containers are lying out half-open. I don’t remember this part of living with my mother. Maybe she wasn’t as messy back then.
I glance out the back window of the living room. The wide deck leads onto a small yard, but the view is what gets my attention.
Mountains fill up the expanse. All I see are mountains.
“What a beautiful view,” I say softly.
She glances where I’m looking.
“Isn’t it gorgeous? That’s what sold me on this place. I wanted to pass it down to you you know. You’re in my will. Despite…” She trails off. “Well, you know.”
