Three Words: Cat, Diet Coke, Rose

Crystal jutted out her hip, balancing the baby low in her arms. The baby giggled. Or did she gurgle? Crystal, in spite of having three children under the age of five, never felt qualified to determine the finer details, like the difference between giggling and gurgling. She chugged her Diet Coke as she watched the fading trail of dust disappear down the drive. Another broken promise of forever gone in a hail of gravel and gas fumes.

"Good riddance."

"Mom, I'm hungry." The nasal whine of her oldest, Jaime, the dancer, rose from thigh level, pulling Crystal back to the needs of her children. Jaime squirmed from foot to foot, her chubby fingers fisted in the hem of Crystal's shirt.

"Jaime, stop fidgeting," Crystal sighed. Why, at almost five years old, did the child still need her mama to tell her when to go to the toilet? "Go in and go potty. I'll fix dinner in a minute."

Another moment spent staring down the drive, Arthur's words echoing in her head--You're no fun no more, Crystal--as she drained the last of the soda from her can. Tossing it in the barrel at the bottom of the steps, she turned her back on his memory and went inside. The cat, a rangy field mouser with a broken tail and scar obscuring one eye, slunk in between Crystal's feet, barely making it before the door swung shut with a clank.

She heard the last chimes of her phone as it switched over to the machine. "Honey, it's Rose. Pick up."

Crystal muted the volume and went to the kitchen. She didn't need to explain to Rose, her best friend since third grade, that another man had left her. She could hear Rose, clear as if she were standing with her. "Sweetie, you know I'll help you out. Pack up them kids and move to Sioux City. You can stay with me for as long as you want--forever. There ain't nothing left in Rufus. I don't know why you stay."

Maybe, thought Crystal as she wiped Chris's snotty nose for the fiftieth time that day, just maybe I'll take her up on it this time.