Old Boyfriends. Rexanne Becnel

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      When Bitsey spied Cat, she turned back toward me and started walking, too. Meanwhile the lady from the window, who must have seen them both, just kept on talking and flapping her hands.

      Bitsey reached me just as the creep broke away from his neighbor and headed for his place. The woman planted her fists on her hips and watched him go. Then she turned back toward us and waved. As realization dawned on me, I waved back.

      “She helped us,” Bitsey said, waving, too. “She distracted him so Cat could get away.”

      We took the bags from Cat, and she gave us each a hurried hug. “She told me to go through her backyard and into the next yard, too. That she’d keep him busy.” Cat turned for one last wave to our unexpected savior. “She said he was a fucking dickhead with a bad attitude. And that he couldn’t play the guitar for crap.”

      I grinned. “Come on, let’s go.” And we ran for the car.

      We couldn’t get out of Arizona fast enough. This was the day I deserved a ticket. Flying ninety miles per hour down I-10, I was ready to skip New Mexico altogether and go straight to west Texas. But there’s that little girls’ room thing, so late in the afternoon we pulled over at a speck on the map called Shuttlesworth. Margaret had hardly moved all afternoon, but we made her get up anyway.

      “Come on, sweetheart,” Bitsey coaxed, wiping Margaret’s face with a napkin dipped in the chilly water in the ice chest.

      Margaret flinched away. “Stop it,” she mumbled.

      “Do it again,” Cat said. “I’m too old to be hauling people around. If she needs to pee she’ll have to get to the bathroom on her own.”

      “Margaret, please, sweetie. Wake up.” Bitsey begged. This time she wiped Margaret’s wrists and arms with the cool cloth before moving to her neck and cheeks.

      Margaret shifted, trying to get comfortable on the seat. “Leave me alone,” she muttered.

      “Too bad y’all can’t put her in a cold shower like you did to me,” I said.

      Cat slammed her car door.

      Margaret jerked and opened her eyes. “What the fuck?” she mumbled, trying awkwardly to sit up.

      “Margaret Anne!” Bitsey exclaimed. “Don’t you dare talk like that around your mother!”

      “Mom?” The poor girl blinked and stared around her in confusion. “Mom? Where are we?”

      “New Mexico,” Cat said, leaning in at the window. “But just for a bathroom break. Let’s go.”

      “Go ahead,” I told Bitsey. “I’ll help Margaret.”

      The girl was still woozy but she was able to get out of the car, and once pointed in the right direction, she managed to walk. “So,” I said. “What’re you on? Besides the Vicodin.”

      “What do you mean?” She tried to look affronted and self-righteous, but she failed. With a shrug she conceded the truth. “What difference does it make?”

      “You’re right,” I said. “It doesn’t matter. Alcohol, pills, weed. I’ve heard heroin’s a real trip. Ever tried it?”

      “No.” She gave me a shocked look, this time sincere. “Geez, M.J., what do you think I am? Have you ever tried it?”

      “No.”

      Thank goodness that was the end of the drug talk. I mean, I know there are times when I drink too much. But after all, I’m a recent widow. That has to count for something. Besides, I’ve never used any illegal drugs. At least not in almost twenty years.

      So we took care of business in the little girls’ room and headed back to the car. Bitsey was already sitting in the back seat. Cat had finished filling the tank. The question remained, would Margaret get back in?

      She stared at the open door, then peered in at her mother. “Where are we?” she asked again.

      “New Mexico,” Bitsey said.

      “New Mexico!” Margaret straightened, then turned to stare back at the lowering sun. “But… But I’ve got to work tonight.”

      “Not tonight, hon,” I said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

      She shook her head. “No. No, no, no. What’s going on? No way did I agree to this. What did you do, Mom? Kidnap me or something?”

      When none of us said a thing her face got this stunned kind of scared look on it. She slammed the door shut. “Son of a bitch! You did kidnap me. Jesus!” She raked her hands through her hair and turned in an uneven circle.

      Bitsey slid across the back seat and got out. “Now Margaret, listen to me.”

      “No! What do you think I am, ten? Twelve? You can’t run my life anymore, Mom. I won’t let you.”

      “And I won’t let some worthless excuse for a man beat you up!” Bitsey might have started off trying to be calm, but she had just lost it big-time.

      “I explained about that. And anyway, he didn’t beat me up.”

      “You’re lying, Margaret. If not to me, then to yourself. He’s not going to stop, so I’m going to stop him.”

      The two guys who worked at the service station watched Margaret and Bitsey squaring off as if they didn’t know whether to enjoy the spectacle or break it up. Cat wasn’t nearly so hesitant. She hopped out of the car like a firecracker about to explode and thrust her cell phone at Margaret.

      “Here. Call the creep. Tell him to come and get you.”

      When Margaret just glared at her, she went on. “What’s the matter? Don’t you think he’ll come? Isn’t he your white knight, willing to come to your rescue no matter the odds? Surely he’ll battle three middle-aged busybodies to get you back.”

      The girl’s face was as pale as ever, but two spots of color burned in her cheeks, nearly as red as the red streak of hair over her left eye. I held my breath waiting for Margaret to snap back with something too ugly for Cat to back down from.

      Instead Margaret turned away, bent over and puked into the dirt.

      All in all, it was the best thing that could have happened. While Bitsey helped Margaret, I dragged Cat away from them to cool down.

      “That ungrateful little bitch,” Cat fumed.

      “Come on, give her a break. She discovered she’s in New Mexico. How did you expect her to act?”

      “Better than that.”

      I tucked my arm in hers. “I wonder how you would’ve behaved at that age if your mother had done that to you.”

      She shrugged me off. “Just shut up, M.J.” But there was no venom in her words. I had scored my point and, as usual, once she’d spouted off, Cat was cooling down.

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