This Raging Light by Estelle Laure

guess.”
    I run downstairs and flip on the dishwasher, then take the shortest shower ever, just long enough to get soapy all over and rinse it off. As the hot water trickles over me and I am wishing for the motel water pressure I remember from going to gigs with Dad, I push my face into the tile. I wish I could go right through it, disappear into it, disintegrate and never come back. My shoulders shake, my face tightens, but I do not cry. I only press harder until my nose hurts and I think I might accidentally break it.
    When I check on Wren, she’s sleeping in steam, her eyes closed again, head against the sink, mouth open.
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    We are lying in bed together. I curl myself around her. She lays her head on my arm, and I hold her so tight.
    I’m not sure anymore which one of us is more afraid to be alone.
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    It takes me about two weeks to get a groove on. Get up at five. Do homework. Get Wren and me ready for school. She takes baths while I do my work next to her and try not to get the paper wet. I walk her to school a little early, drop her off, then go myself. Charge through the day the best I can, pick Wren up from school, run home, cram as much housework as possible into the half hour I have, then run to work four days out of five. I have to make all the money I can.
    I took a hundred dollars and bought myself three pairs of shorts, all black, and some matching tanks. Shane gave me a pair of her shoes so I didn’t have to buy those, and my feet don’t hurt so much anymore. I work from four until around eleven, then take my stacks of money home. I line up our bills in order of importance, get money orders from different places around town, and pay as I can. I have covered electric, gas, and phone so far. Better late than never, right? Still, as soon as I’m done paying one batch, more will come. Oh yes. They will come.
    It’s a thing now. Four nights a week, Eden drops me off at work in my car, and then when my shift is over Digby picks me up, then takes Eden home. Eden does homework with Wren so I don’t have to worry about that, and when I get home Wren sits on the toilet while I rinse off, and I talk to her through the shower curtain, then we climb into bed together and cuddle up close until we both fall asleep.
    I don’t think about Mom except sometimes as I’m waking up, when the phone next to me starts bleeping and buzzing at me to wake up. I see her bright blue eyes then, no light in them, the way they looked just before she left. Whatever barricades I have raised against them are at their weakest. So I take a second. I breathe. I stare into those eyes and then I fold them up. Once because she left us, twice because she hasn’t come back, three times I fold her eyes, until they are so small, they are just meaningless blue dots, and then I blow them away.

Day 49
    Eden is waiting outside on the porch when I get home from work Thursday night. I twitch inside Digby’s truck, hug my jacket tight around me. I told her not to do that. The neighbors might see. She’s smoking, but doesn’t get up when she sees us pull into the driveway, only takes another drag.
    Digby mutters, “You know I’m going to be the one filling her oxygen tank when she gets emphysema.”
    â€œYeah, or me.”
    â€œWe can take turns,” he says.
    â€œYou care about stuff.” I nudge him.
    â€œWhatever.” He studies the steering wheel. “I’ll take care of my business, always. Eden’s my business.”
    â€œLet me go see why your business isn’t moving.” I get out, as always, with that feeling like something is missing, like my usual wave isn’t quite good enough. It’s because I want to put my lips against his, inhale him into me, take him with me. I don’t want to say goodbye. Ever. No wave will satisfy. “Thank you,” I say.
    â€œStop saying that.”
    â€œThank you?”
    â€œOr, actually, say it ten times