“Girls,” she’d say to them. “A man will tell you he loves you. He might believe it too. But one day, he’s gonna wake up and decide you’re too old, too fat, too loud, or just too you. You gotta be prepared. Like they told you in Girl Scouts.
“Start by putting a little money away, every payday, no matter what. I mean cash money, where you can put your hands on it, day or night. Hide it good. And make a plan, so you can grab that bag and get out fast when the time comes.”
That day in the closet, Tanya gave Letty a peek into the bag. She got a glimpse of a velvet-covered jeweler’s box that she knew contained Tanya’s diamond ring push present, and fat wads of bills, fastened with rubber bands, before her sister snatched the bag away and returned it to its hiding place.
“Promise me,” dream Tanya said now, tugging at her arm. “Promise you’ll take Maya and get the hell away from him.”
“I will,” Letty murmured. “I promise I will.”
“Letty, Letty.” The tugging continued. She opened her eyes slowly and Maya, her very real niece, was pulling at her hand. “Letty, I need to potty.”
“Oh, honey.” Letty stood up and went to door of the bathroom, which had a pink tile floor and pink fixtures. The pink sink was stacked with more piles of discarded linens, and the pink-tiled shower stall was full of dust-covered collapsed cardboard cartons. The room smelled sour, but it held the only thing Letty really needed at the moment.
She pulled Maya’s shorts down and dangled the child inches above the pink plastic toilet seat. “Go ahead and go, baby,” she urged. Maya giggled and did as she was told.
“Gotta get that cleaning cart, stat,” Letty said. She pushed the linens aside, found a shriveled-up sliver of soap, and washed her own hands as well as her niece’s.
* * *
By six o’clock, she was standing in the mostly cleared-out motel room, her hands on her hips, staring at the stuff that had proven too heavy to move by herself. “How the hell am I gonna get this junk out of here?”
Seconds later there was a rap at the door, followed by an impatient male voice. “Hey! You in there?”
Spooked, Letty ran to the window and peered out through the fly-specked glass. She shrugged, then opened the door. Joe’s badge and gun were gone; he was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. So maybe he didn’t intend to arrest or shoot her just yet.
“Yes?” her voice was deliberately cool and she stared directly at him. Another trick from her short-lived acting class.
Without asking, he stepped inside the room and looked around. The only remaining discards were the commodes and the washing machine and one of the mattresses. After her uneasy nap session, she’d unearthed a bed frame and set it up with the least objectionable mattress, and from beneath a pile of faded floral draperies she’d uncovered a sturdy but ugly double dresser that could hold what little of their belongings she’d brought along. She’d found a worn-down broom in the bathroom and managed to sweep away the top layers of cobwebs and unspeakable crud.
“Not bad,” he said. “You did all this by yourself?”
“Me and the wheelbarrow,” Letty said.
He pointed at the washing machine. “Were you planning on leaving that here?”
Letty rolled her eyes. “Sure. I’m gonna plant a palm tree in it.”
“Okay, well, then you don’t need me.”
“Actually, I was just trying to figure out what to do with it,” she admitted.
“That asshole Chuck,” Joe said. He went outside and came back with a heavy-duty furniture dolly. “I told her he was a bum, but she’s always had a soft heart for a stray.”
“Your mom?”
“Who else?” He wheeled the dolly over to the washing machine. “Okay. I’m gonna stick the lip of this under the washer, and you’re gonna push it forward—carefully, until it tilts backward. Like a lever. Got that?”
“I think I can manage.”
Maya was watching the grown-ups with interest, her thumb in her mouth. Letty reached over and gently pushed the thumb aside. “You sit on the bed now and try to stay out of the way. Can you do that, ladybug?”
Maya nodded and returned the thumb to her mouth.
Joe wrapped a webbed belt around the washer and fastened it to the dolly’s handles.
“Go,” he said.
Letty placed both hands on the machine, closed her eyes, and leaned hard into it. Seconds later, she heard a loud thud.
“Owwww,” Joe howled.
She opened her eyes. The belt had snapped in two and the washing machine seemed to have landed on his foot.
He somehow managed to shove it aside, and dropped onto the floor, cradling his bare right foot in both hands, rocking back and forth, his face contorted—either with pain or anger, she wasn’t sure which.
“Goddamn,” he cried, glaring at Letty. “I think my toe is broken.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Let me see it.”
He scooted backward, away from her. “No way.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” she protested. “Just let me look. Which toe is it?”
“None of your business,” he snapped. He picked up a gnarly-looking rubber flip-flop, slid it gingerly onto his injured foot, stood up, and leaned against the offending washer. “Christ, it hurts.”
“Well, I said I’m sorry. But shouldn’t you have been wearing real shoes? I mean, who tries to do heavy lifting wearing flip-flops?”
“A guy who just got off work after an eight-hour shift,” he said. “A guy who was minding his own business and drinking a cold beer until his mom guilt-tripped him into helping out her newest guest.”
Letty felt her cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and her own guilt. “I said I was sorry. If you’ll let me look at it, I’ll go get some ice and try to help you wrap it up.”
“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’ll live.” He turned back to the washing machine, examining the mover’s dolly. “That asshole Chuck. Shoulda known he’d let this thing get dry rot. Even the tires are shot.”
“What now?” Letty asked.
“Now I take this piece of crap to the dumpster, go back to my place and get a decent furniture dolly. And a pair of boots.” He grabbed the dolly and walked out of the room, slamming the door as he went.
Letty sighed and sat down on the bed beside Maya, who’d witnessed the debacle. “He got a bad boo-boo,” the child whispered.
“Not that bad,” Letty said. “He’s just being a big crybaby, that’s all.”
* * *
When he returned twenty minutes later Joe was wearing dusty work boots. He wheeled the dolly into the room. “Let’s try this again. Go slow, okay?”
The second time went much smoother than the first. He wrapped the strap securely around the washer. She pushed the washing machine onto the dolly, its weight shifted, and he was able to roll it out of the room with comparative ease. He followed suit with the toilets and the remaining mattress, and when he came back from the dumpster he carried a crumpled brown paper sack, which he thrust at her.
“What’s this?”