The Great Escapee Series

Chapter 13

Thirteen

Bea kicked the back of Mommy's seat. The old man had looked at her, like grandpas did on TV. Bea squirmed to keep him in sight as Mommy steered the car into the street.

"Bea! Quit kicking!" Mommy tore open a pack of cigarettes and tossed the wrapper toward the floor on the passenger side, only to have the clear wrapper stick to her fingers like tape. Bea had loved playing with tape until she got in trouble. She hadn't meant to use the whole roll on her favorite book, but it was in pieces and needed fixing. Mean Mommy had come out then.

Mommy shook her hand hard, again and again, but the wrapper wouldn't let go.

Bea giggled, but stopped when Mommy glared at her in the rearview mirror. Mommy flicked harder and the wrapper floated away. She tapped the end of the pack, popped a cigarette out and reached for the lighter but hit the radio instead. Music blared louder than the siren did when the dogs howled at lunchtime:

"Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

It is well, with my soul,

It is well, it is well with my —"

"F-n radio! Damn it! Shut-up!" Mommy pounded every button until the music stopped. Quiet. Now the wipers were on—back and forth, back and forth.

Bea's head followed—back and forth, back and forth.

Mommy was funny today, but Bea knew she couldn't laugh. Something was happening. Mean Mommy again.

She lit the cigarette and sucked in on it, her cheeks pulled in, eyes closed. Head dropped back against the headrest as she slowed for the red light. She held her breath then blew the smoke out.

Cars screeched to a halt on both sides of their station wagon. Horns honked. But their car floated through the intersection.

Mommy opened her eyes but drifted away into her own world—her world of smoky cigarettes.

Traffic swerved.

Someone honked in the car behind.

"Mommy?" Bea whispered.

Mommy squinted one eye open and shivered. She sat up and held the cigarette between her pointer finger and middle finger, letting it stick up like a beam from a little flashlight.

Bea mimicked Mommy, holding an imaginary cigarette in her fingers.

More horns honked.

The cigarette smoke curled up to the ceiling of the car, swirling along every crevice and opening. When it drifted into the back seat, she coughed and coughed. "Mommy?"

"Oh, sorry. I'll open my window." She pushed the window button, but it didn't work. "Damn." She pounded on it, but it didn't open. She cracked her door. The smoke floated toward the opening. "That better, Bea?"

The car zigzagged.

Bea grabbed the arms of her car seat. "Mommy, why do you smoke? It stinks. It makes my eyes burn. Don't your eyes burn, too?"

Mommy slammed on the brakes, flipped around in her seat, face to face with Bea. Something moved in Mommy's eyes.

Another horn blared.

Bea pressed back into her car seat, hugging Dolly.

"I smoke ... because I like it." Her voice became louder with each word. "Okay? That's all you need to know." She turned to the front and pounded the steering wheel. The car lurched forward.

"Mommy?"

The car swerved into a parking lot, just missing a delivery van.

"Mommy?" Bea coughed. "Could you buckle me in?"

"Not now!" Mommy snickered. "I've never strapped you in and I don't need to start now! I never had a car seat when I was your age." Mommy kicked the car door open wider, pushed out, and slammed the door behind her.

Bea blinked. Her chin quivered as she wound her finger in Dolly's hair.

Mommy paced back and forth, puffing on the cigarette. She glanced at Bea, shook her head, then quickly looked away. Glanced again and stomped her foot. She sucked on the cigarette. Her eyes squinted through the smoke. Then she stood still, looking away, and flicked cigarette ashes to the pavement. One more suck on the cigarette and she dropped it to the concrete and ground it with her boot. She put her hand on the car door handle but didn't open the door.

Bea hugged Dolly tighter. "Mommy?" she said. A tear slid down her cheek.

Finally the car door clicked and Mommy climbed in. Fresh air rushed in until she shut the door.

She looked down at the steering wheel. "I need them. Cigarettes. I need them, okay?" She stopped. "I have to do it." She stuck her jaw out, nostrils flaring. "I'm not proud of it. Not any more. I used to think it was cool." The clear wrapper crackled as she squeezed the cigarette pack. "But now, I don't. I hate it." She threw the pack against the passenger door window. "I hate it."

Mommy stared at Bea in the rearview mirror, then looked away.

"I can't stop, Baby Bea. I'm ... addicted to it. Do you know what that means?"

Bea shook her head, hiding behind Dolly.

"It means I have to have it. I can't go a minute without thinking about it."

Silence.

Mommy stared at Bea in the rearview mirror and started to cry.

Tears ran down Bea's cheeks, too.

Mommy picked up the cigarette pack, crinkled it and popped another cigarette out. She looked back at Bea. "I get sick when I try not to smoke. I can't help it."

Bea's stared at the cigarette in Mommy's hand. "Mommy—"

"I know. That's icky, but it's true." She stopped. "I don't know why I am telling you all this, but I am. I'm sorry Mommy smokes, Baby Bea. I'm sorry I can't stop. It's like a demon inside of me, chasing me. Picking at me. Telling me to have another cigarette. Getting me all sick and ... mean." She sputtered. "Making me cough." She turned and stared at Bea. "Making you cough." She rustled on the front seat, then held a kleenex to her mouth and coughed.

Bea stared again at the cigarette, then at her mommy, then at the smoke still filling the car.

She jumped down onto the floor, right behind Mommy. "Don't get sick. I love you, Mommy. Don't get sick. Please just throw them away. Throw them out the window. Flush them down the toilet. I saw you do that once. You flushed them and some pills down the toilet. Do it, Mommy. Do it again."

Mommy whipped around in her seat and faced Bea, nose to nose, her eyes wide. "You saw me do that? Pills too?" Her face turned red and the car engine roared. "Well, you can just get sick then. Just get sick for all I care. You deserve it for spying on me."

Bea hugged Dolly tight against her chest. She scrambled onto her car seat and squeezed her eyes shut, kissing Dolly's head. She whispered, "Dolly, I won't ever smoke. I won't make you smell that smoke. I won't ever do that to you. I love you Dolly." A tear slid down her cheek and dripped onto Dolly's head.

Mommy stared into the rearview mirror and choked, breaking into a rattly cough. Giving Bea a mean look, she grabbed the cigarette and lit up, sucked on it, then swerved the car out onto the street. A lone tear streamed down her cheek. She sucked on the cigarette again then opened the window—this time it worked—and threw the cigarette out. She grabbed the pack of cigarettes and threw them, too.

She yanked open the glove box and dug around, the car weaving into the other lane.

A car headed right at them. It blared its horn, and Mommy drove the car back on her own side, the car rocking back and forth. "There!" Mommy yelled. She grabbed one more pack of cigarettes and threw it out the window.

Mommy caught Bea's eyes in the rearview mirror. "No more," she yelled. "Okay?" Then she lowered her voice. "No more cigarettes, Baby Bea." Sobs broke from her throat and her eyes filled with tears. The car swerved back and forth.

Bea held on tight to her car seat and coughed again, eyes scrunched closed.