Chapter 3

After putting Ritz crackers, Oreo cookies, celery, carrots, and three apples in a plastic ShopRite sack, CJ made a bowl of Captain Crunch. Ploy or not, he had to wait Mimi out.

When the shower stopped, CJ asked through the bedroom door, “Where’s the cooler?”

The door opened. Wet, springy curls were soaking the shoulders of Mimi’s Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt. There was a duffel bag on the bed with clothes hanging out of it. CJ gulped. Mimi was going through all the motions to convince him she would be in the car when he left. “In that closet,” Mimi said and shook out her hair.

“Hey!” He turned away from the spritz, wondering how far she was willing to take this. The last thing he needed was to reach the Jersey Turnpike and have Mimi want to turn around. He considered leaving but decided a one-in-a-million chance was better than wondering all the way to Florida.

An hour later, CJ merged on the southbound Palisades Interstate Parkway. If there was a better feeling than a full tank of gas and Mimi beside him, CJ had never experienced it. REM was losing their religion on the radio, but Tracy Chapman was singing in his head, “ ... just crossed the border.” In twenty minutes, they would be in New Jersey, then south until the road ended.

Mimi turned toward CJ until her left leg was folded in front of her on the seat. He waited, assuming Mimi was organizing her thoughts before explaining all the reasons this was a bad idea. She gave him a nervous smile, sighed, and leaned back on the door.

At some point, Mimi would start talking, but turning around wasn’t an option. CJ had made that clear before they left the house, swore she couldn’t change his mind and promised to drop Mimi off at a bus station if she made trouble.

That would be horrible, worse than leaving without saying goodbye, but he knew where the bus stations were. Flying and sailing weren’t options, but over land in a Greyhound had been considered.

Fort Lee arrived, and for the first time in CJ’s life, he grabbed a toll ticket for I-95 and tucked it above the sun visor. The large, solid steering wheel in his hands and the forceful pull of the Pontiac when he stomped down made CJ feel alive and in charge.

He used his knee to steer and opened a Coke. The sound it made was a sad reminder. How many thousands of beer cans had he heard opening in his house? How many parties and passed-out strangers had he suffered through? How many different men had come to play daddy? CJ had every reason to be angry, to protect himself and escape, but that house and that woman were supposed to be his home and his mother.

They were the only ones he would ever have. It was a catch-22, between a rock and a hard place, just like the girl on the other side of the bench seat. It was wonderful to have Mimi in the car; she loved him, but for more than one reason, it was a huge mistake.

“Give me a sip.”