On the last day of eighth grade, Britt spent the night at Becky’s place. They stayed up late smoking on the back patio and talking about their summer plans. Britt wanted to get a summer job, intent on starting to save up money for her eventual escape from her mother. The moment she turned eighteen, she wanted to rent her own place.
The next morning, a Saturday, they slept in until ten. Rainbow had already left for the day. She was still working as a Reiki masseuse, had accumulated enough clients to open her own small clinic in a business park by the school.
“We should go to the pool today,” Becky said as they sat at the table, eating their usual bowls of Rainbow’s homemade granola, drinking the sweet milk when all the cereal was gone.
The pool she was referring to was the public pool next to the library. It was a prime hangout location for all the teenagers, likely to be packed on the first day of summer break. The sun was bright, the forecast promising a high of seventy-two.
“Okay, I just gotta stop at my house for my bathing suit,” Britt said.
The girls had gotten matching used bikes at a secondhand shop the month before—twenty-five dollars for both. “My treat,” Rainbow had said. The bikes were teal with pink handlebar tassels. There weren’t many exciting places to go in the neighborhood, but just the ability to go somewhere, anywhere, gave them a sense of newfound freedom.
Britt rode in front as they made their way to the mobile home park. On the way, they passed the pool, where two boys from their class stood outside in their swim trunks, eating Snickers bars. Britt was beginning to understand what it meant to like boys. She didn’t want to like them, but felt herself being pulled toward this seeming inevitability.
“Hey, you girls coming to the pool?” one of the boys, Travis, asked.
“In a bit,” Becky said.
“Glad to hear it,” the other boy, Reed, said.
Britt felt herself blush and was grateful to be on her bike, riding past them before they could notice.
Britt’s mother’s car was in the driveway, which meant she hadn’t gone to work, again. She had just started a job as a gas station clerk. Britt guessed she wouldn’t have it for long if she was already missing shifts.
They parked their bikes on the sidewalk, and Britt said, “Be right back.”
Usually, during these brief stops at the house, Becky would wait outside. There was no need to go in, especially if Britt’s mother was there. It was like walking into a storm, the intensity of which was never known.
“I kind of have to pee. Can I come in really quick?” Becky said.
Britt nodded, and the girls walked in together. The door opened directly into the living space, where Britt’s mother was sitting on the couch, looking completely disheveled, her hair a tangled mess, remnants of mascara smeared under her eyes. There was a near-empty bottle oftequila on the table in front of her. It was a scene that appeared staged for a play titledThe Alcoholic in Despair.
Britt didn’t see the gun right away. Her eyes were locked on her mother’s face. She was trying to get her mom to look at her, but her mom’s eyes were shifting all over the place, refusing to focus. Britt knew this meant there was no reasoning with her, that it was best to just leave.
“Is that a gun?” Becky said in a whisper, taking an instinctive step back toward the door.
That was when Britt saw it. It was the 1911 handgun Steve had given her, on the couch, next to her mother’s thigh.
Her mother picked it up and held it in her right hand.
“This?” she said. “Yes, this is a gun.”
She was slurring. Britt watched the gun waver in her grip.
“Mom, put it down,” she said.
Britt put one hand behind her and gently nudged Becky, telling her to go. Becky didn’t move, though. She took Britt’s hand in hers, squeezed it. The phone was in the kitchen, which might as well have been another county.
“Is this Steve’s?” her mother said, incredulous.
Britt chastised herself for not hiding the duffel bag better the day before. She’d gone shooting and had come home in a rush to get to Becky’s for their end-of-school dinner and sleepover. Had she even shoved the duffel bag back into her closet, or had she left it just sitting there in the middle of her room? She couldn’t even remember.
“Mom, just put it down and we’ll talk, okay?”
“I can’t believe he gave you this,” she said. “And the other one.”
It was unlikely her mother had been able to figure out how to assemble the AUG, which was a blessing. Had she loaded the handgun? Would she have figured out how to do that? Britt started to panic as she considered that maybe she hadn’t emptied the chamber after yesterday’s shooting session. Steve had always told her to be especially meticulous about that. He would be so disappointed in her.
“You didn’t even tell me. Just some little secret you had with him?” she said.
