Page 3 of Hidden Obsession

He wasn’t wrong. The area wasn’t nice to just hang out in after sunset. I went to push the door open when I bumped into a wall of heat. I looked up, and the guy with a black hoodie looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Sorry,” I said, sidestepping him and walking out into the lingering summer sunshine.

I hurried to my mom’s place.

“You’re late,” she clipped the moment I reached her front door, the screen open.

“Sorry. Girls ready?”

“Yeah. Jen and Gem! Your sister’s here!” she shouted, not bothering to just walk to the small bedroom they shared. I waited outside hoping my mom’s bad mood wasn’t about to get worse.

“I have to work in the morning tomorrow.”

“What?” I blinked.

“So, that fancy job of yours is going to have to find someone to cover for you.”

“Mom––“

“The hospice is paying overtime with a hundred-dollar incentive. Two girls quit.”

“Right, well umm…” I took a breath and exhaled slowly. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Thought you would,” she sneered. I heard my sisters’ footsteps.

They both said their goodbyes to her and opened the door, carefully moving down the rickety stairs with their backpacks behind them. It wasn’t until then that I saw my mom standing behind them.

I always thought my mom was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. But time and addiction had done a number on her. Her dark hair was combed back in a tight bun, showing more and more gray at the roots of her hairline.

“Come on, butterflies.” I smiled at my sisters.

They were eight-year-old twins my mom had when I turned eighteen and had just been about to leave for college. My mom had been sober, and I thought staying back to help her with the girls would help keep her clean. It had, but I could tell she had slowly fallen off the wagon. Not that you could ask her about anything.

Ginger Alder was not a woman who liked to be questioned.

But I knew the signs. Little things. Like her attitude, the anger simmering just below the surface. For some reason, after the twins were born, the revolving door of men who came through had stopped. And I was glad. I loved my mom because she was my mom, but she had the worst taste in men. I’d worried after the girls’ dad had hit the road, some long-haul trucker who never came back, that she would return to her old habits, but something had definitely changed when it came to my mom and men. But my mom and alcohol? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I’ll take them to school in the morning,” I said. She nodded, staring at me. My mom’s face pinched like she wanted to say something to me but didn’t.

“Okay, babes, hold my hand and let’s get walking.”

“You know we’re, like, eight, right?” Gem asked like she did every day I picked them up since the school year had started last August, in a sassy tone that even if it was grating was kinda cute.

“I know, but it makes me feel safer.” I smiled with patience I didn’t know I had until they were born.

“Maryanne!” Mom called. I turned around.

“Yeah?” She swallowed and shook her head.

“Nothing. Just… thanks, honey.” I couldn’t hide the surprise I felt at the kind tone in her voice. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she didn’t love me, but Ginger wasn’t a soft woman in the least. I could count on one hand how many hugs I’d received from her that I remembered, and I wasn’t exaggerating.

“That’s what I’m here for,” I called and, with one last wave, we walked towards my trailer. The girls were chatty and the sun was starting to set as we reached my door.

“Okay, guys, you know the rules.”

“Reading time!” Jen clapped, and Gem made a face. She might argue here and there, but I knew she secretly enjoyed the new series she’d checked out from the library.

I put the ice cream into the freezer and started to cook dinner. Just as I was about to take out the ground turkey I had defrosted from the fridge, I stilled. My skin broke out into gooseflesh as the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It had happened a couple of times in the last week.