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I would send the money I made to my mom and dad, but I would keep the tip for myself, I decided. I would go out for dinner to celebrate, and the rest would go toward my new glasses fund. I’d learned months ago that I needed glasses for reading and screen work, but insurance only covered a small portion of the cost. I’d tried hard to set money aside, but with paying for Mom’s chemo treatment and just the general cost of living, there was rarely more than a few dollars left over each month. But the headaches I always had after long or busy days at the office were getting harder to ignore.
I would go to my favourite Italian place for dinner. I hadn’t been there in over a year, and my mouth started watering at the thought of their lasagna. Grinning like a fool, I tucked the bill into my purse. I would have the lasagna, upgrade the garlic toast to cheese toast, and get the apple crisp for dessert.
My phone rang, and I tensed when I saw the number on the screen. I jabbed the answer button. “Mom? Hi, you okay?”
“I’m okay.” My mother sounded tired and defeated. “It’s just a bad pain day.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Have you spoken to the doctor about different pain relief options?”
“Yes,” she said. “There’s a different medication that he says would make a huge difference in my pain, but it’s just so expensive.”
“How much is it?” I asked and could barely hold in my gasp when she rattled off the number.
“I don’t suppose you could send a little extra this month, could you?” Mom asked. “I know you’ve already sent your usual amount, but I’m in so much pain, and with your dad still only working part-time because he’s taking care of me, we’re struggling.”
“Actually, I got a second part-time job, so I could send you more each month,” I said.
“You did?” Mom said. “What are you doing?”
“Just a retail job in the evenings and on weekends,” I lied. “But it pays well, and every little bit extra helps, right?”
“How much are you sending me?” she asked.
“Three hundred,” I said. “I can Venmo it to you right now.”
“Oh, okay,” she said.
Disappointment laced her voice, and my chest tightened. That familiar need to please, that eagerness to make her proud, hit me hard and fast. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Mom said. “Nothing’s wrong, Riley.”
“I know something’s wrong,” I said.
She sighed. “Are you sure you couldn’t send a little more? The three hundred will cover the medication, but your Dad and I are short on groceries this month, and he doesn’t get paid until Monday.”
I stared at the hundred-dollar bill in my hand. “Okay. I have another hundred I could send you tomorrow after I go to the bank during my lunch hour. Would that be enough to get you a few grocery staples until Dad gets paid?”
“Could you go to the bank tonight?” she asked. “We really need that hundred dollars.”
“Sure,” I said. “I can go tonight.”
“Great.” Mom’s voice perked up, and hearing that made my disappointment over losing the hundred dollars disappear. “Just text me when you’ve sent the money, okay?”
“I will,” I said. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, gotta run.” She ended the call, and I stared at the hundred dollar bill in my hand. Self-pity tried to take a stronghold, and I shoved it away ruthlessly. So what if I would now have to eat ramen noodles for dinner for the sixth time in a row? My mother being pain free and having groceries was more important than my love of lasagna.
I started the car, and Marvin groaned and whined into life. I turned the heat to high before shoving the money into my purse and driving toward the bank.
CHAPTER 7
Deacon
“Christ, that sounds like a nightmare weekend,” Leo said.
I could barely hear Leo over the background noise. “Where the hell are you?”
“The club,” Leo said.
