“Estranged! Right. That’s good. Fuckin’ hilarious. Marabelle Jolene ‘My Shit Don’t Stink’ Hanover is estranged from her Momma. I’m laughin’ my ass off,” Mom stated.
Why this would be, I couldn’t fathom since we very much were. Not seeing or speaking to someone in over a decade had to be the definition of estranged. Except, of course, my Mom probably didn’t know what that word meant.
“Like I said, I think it’s best that you go,” Mitch repeated.
“You give me my grandbabies, I’ll go,” Aunt Lulamae entered the conversation.
There it was. The reason they were here. Just what I feared. Shit!
“Mara has temporary guardianship of your grandchildren so I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Mitch replied.
“Temporary guardianship, my ass. They need to be with their grandma, not some uppity bitch. You let me in and let me get my grandbabies,” Aunt Lulamae returned.
“I advise you not to force entry or I’ll need to call units to the scene,” Mitch warned, shifting to cop speak and I knew they were trying to push in.
Damn.
“You can’t keep me from my grandbabies!” Aunt Lulamae shrieked.
“I know your grandchildren pretty well, ma’am, they’ve not once mentioned you,” Mitch replied in a calm voice on a semi-lie then went on to flat out lie. “Their teachers and principal have not mentioned you.” Then he started to tell the truth. “The emergency contact on their school records is Mara. Bill Winchell is currently incarcerated. He was not offered bail because he’s a flight risk. He can’t afford representation and the evidence they have is substantial. Regardless, he’s not fit to raise those children and the evidence to support that is even more substantial. Mara’s temporary guardianship will likely be full guardianship soon and you don’t factor into that equation. I suggest if you’d like to see your grandchildren, you phone Mara at a decent time and arrange to have a meeting where you talk civilly about your wishes and she can decide when and how you’ll see your grandchildren. Now, if you wish to see them and not give Mara ammunition to keep you from them I suggest you quiet down, go to your car, leave the premises and phone Mara to set a time to talk about this amicably.”
“Well, officer, considerin’ I didn’t understand half of them fancy-ass words that came outta your cop mouth, you can go spit for me quietin’ down and leavin’ the premises before I see my grandbabies,” Aunt Lulamae shot back and I closed my eyes.
“Why do cops talk like that?” Mom asked Aunt Lulamae.
“Search me,” Aunt Lulamae responded.
God. It was like Idiot Skank and her sidekick, Skanky Moron do Denver.
“Dispatch?” Mitch said, my eyes shot to him to see he had a phone at his ear and then Mitch continued. “Yeah, this is Detective Lawson. I need a couple units at the Evergreen. Unit C. Upper floor. There’s a disturbance.”
“You did not just call the cops!” Aunt Lulamae screeched.
“Fuckin’ shit!” Mom shouted. “Just let her see her grandbabies! How hard is that?”
“Yeah? Thanks. Later,” Mitch said then he flipped his phone closed and stated, “You shout one more time, pound on the door, wake those kids or Mara’s neighbors, I’ll cuff you both, haul you down to the sidewalk myself and get creative with what to charge you with. And what I pick won’t be somethin’ easy like disturbin’ the peace. Don’t try me, I’m not joking. I’m being very serious.”
This was met with silence and I suspected this was because Mitch was looking as serious as he sounded and he sounded very serious. Mom and Aunt Lulamae weren’t the brightest bulbs in the box but they also weren’t strangers to a jail cell and as often as they’d tried it, they’d never liked it.
Then Mitch said, “I think we’re done here.” A pause then another lie, “Ladies.” And Mitch closed the door.
Then, somewhat muted, “You did not just shut the door in my face!”
That was Aunt Lulamae.
“Pig!”
That was Mom.
I watched Mitch move toward me. When there was silence outside, I turned to the kids’ door and cautiously opened it, peeking in.
Billie was sprawled, covers half on, half off, Mitch’s pink teddy bear firm in hand, dead to the world. Billy was on his side curled into a tight ball, hands shoved under the pillow. Both were asleep.
Thank you, God.
I moved back, closed the door carefully and turned to see Mitch close.
“All good?” he whispered and I nodded.
Then I moved quickly down the hall to the front door and checked the peephole. I couldn’t see anything so I put my ear to the door and I couldn’t hear anything.
Then I moved to the wall beside the door and banged my head on it. This I did repeatedly. This was what I was doing when Mitch made it to me.
His hand wrapped around my upper arm and his mouth muttered, “Sweetheart,” as he pulled me away from the wall.
My eyes went to him.
“Case in point,” I declared.
He pressed his lips together, looking amused and knowing exactly what I was referring to. My eyes narrowed on his mouth then shot to his.
“Do you want to have that discussion again about there not being different kinds of people out there in the real world?” I asked.
“Mara,” he whispered.
“You want to call your Mom here?” I asked. “Stand her beside my Mom? Do a comparison?”
He used my arm to guide my body toward his and when he got my body close enough both his arms closed around me.
“Yeah,” he replied. “We can have that discussion because you’re still wrong. But I’d rather take this opportunity to point out that you’re also wrong about bein’ able to take all this on your own. Now I know I’m right more than I was before and before I was already right,” Mitch stated. His hands had started traveling up and down my back in a soothing way which, even though I was strung out emotionally, I had to admit felt really good.
“I am right. You live in a totally different zone than me,” I asserted.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, lips twitching, for some reason finding this funny which it was not.
“Your mother probably wears twinsets,” I told him.
“I don’t even know what that means,” Mitch told me.
“Pretty matching sweaters and cardigans,” I explained.