“Oh, beautiful Missy,” she says, placing a gentle hand on my arm. “You take care of my Colton, okay? I know you two haven’t always seen eye to eye over the years, but there is a big caring heart in there. You’ll see.”
I try to imagine myself being the recipient of Colton’s “caring heart” and end up biting my lip to stop a bark of laughter from rudely bursting out. “I’ll keep an eye out for him.” And by that, I mean that I will happily watch as a hundred island mosquitoes make him their dinner. I smile at the mental image.
Three familiar and distinct buzzes draw my attention to my pocket. I immediately pull out my phone and am surprisedto find that the Deputy Sheriff from my old hometown in Tennessee is calling me.
“Excuse me,” I say to Mrs. Downing. She gives my upper arm a soft squeeze before I turn and find a secluded space in the airport lobby. I end up shoving myself into a small alcove about twenty feet from the rest of the group.
I press down on one ear with my finger, trying to block out the noise of excited vacation goers, conveyor belts, and the six-passenger airport shuttles that glide across the tiled floor, beeping at people as they roll along.
I hold my phone up to my opposite ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Missy, Deputy Rollins here. Word is you’re about to go on a big TV adventure. Congratulations.”
Deputy Rollins’s Tennessee accent instantly brings me back to my childhood. With just the sound of his voice, I can almost smell his famous grits cooking on the stove as his daughter, my good friend from grade school, and I laugh under a patchwork of blankets we’d held up with chairs and broomsticks.
But despite the warmth of nostalgia, my body chills. Deputy Rollins is a sweet man, and while I wouldn’t put it past him to give me a call to see how I’m doing, he wouldn’t be calling so late on a Thursday night just for that.
Mama.I swallow. “What’s happened? Deputy, is Mama …” My voice shakes.
“Oh, Missy, your mama’s all right. I think she just had one too many drinks tonight. We found her passed out on a park bench across from the station.”
I blow out a deep breath, relief and dread coursing through me all at once. “Can I talk with her?”
“Sure thing, darlin’. She’s just using the restroom.”
Not more than three seconds later, I hear a door creak open, and Mama’s familiar voice sounds. “Thanks, Deputy Rollins. I’ll just be getting my things … Who’s that?”
“Missy,” Deputy Rollins says in a hushed voice, the speaker sounding more muffled than before.
“Did she call you? You called her? Why would you do that?” Despite the obvious attempt to stop me from hearing the conversation on their end of the phone, Mama’s disappointment is clear as day.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve found you passed out from too many drinks this month. I think you need a loved one to talk to.”
“I don’t need to talk to Missy. You shouldn’t have called her.”
“Well, at least say hi.”
I can picture the disapproving stare on Mama’s face. She clears her throat, and the muffled sound from earlier disappears.
“Hi, Missy,” Mama says in a clipped tone.
“Hi, Mama. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Don’t you leave tonight for your show thing?”
For a moment, I’m surprised that Mama remembers. Stupidly, a spark of hope lights inside me. But I quickly snuff it out. I’d let that tiny hope take me all the way back to Tennessee before.
Despite my best friends going off to California for college, I’d chosen to attend the University of Tennessee to see if I could rekindle the relationship I’d had with Mama as a young girl, hoping we could go back to the days of dying our hair with pink Kool-Aid in the summertime and singing Dolly Parton at the top of our lungs until our grumpy neighbor hollered at us to keep it down. But boy, had I been wrong. Mama seemed more disenchanted with me every time I tried to visit or call.
“I should get going,” Mama says coldly.
“Mama … Deputy Rollins said he found you passed out tonight. I just … I want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
I wouldn’t call being passed out drunk multiple times in one month fine, but I have a sneaking suspicion of why, or rather, who might be the center of the issue.
“Did you and Shawn have an argument?” I ask, referring to her on-again-off-again boyfriend who is more worthy of the dumpsters behind Billy Bob’s Big Burger Joint than my mama.
