RE: Trailer Trash 8: 8 pt ??? (Patreon)

/// Chronologically this takes place between the 8 pt 1 teaser and the 8 pt 2 teaser that are up, but some things may be off, because since then I've rewritten 8 pt 1 extensively. So, may not make a ton of sense but I also don't want to leave all of you in the lurch forever as this is shaping up to be the longest RE:TT chapter yet. Actually, you know what? I'm gonna just go update the 8 pt 1 here while I'm at it.

   “Your Grandma Laurie says it’s fine with her if we move family Thanksgiving up a bit and have it today,” Mrs. Moore said, returning the cordless phone back to it’s dock. “She already got her shoppin’ done for it, so...”

   “Did you tell them about our... unexpected guest?” Tabitha asked in a low voice, glancing past the kitchen counter and dining room table over to where Aunt Lisa was now sprawled out on their couch, watching daytime soap operas.

   “I did,” Mrs. Moore paused. “She said she isn’t gonna tell the boys just yet. So they can maybe have a... nice surprise.”

   “Or so that they won’t have a nasty surprise if she decides not to show,” Tabitha pointed out with a sour look. “If she doesn’t want to see her children again… are we okay with her being here in our home unsupervised while we’re not?”

   “I’m sure she’ll go with us,” Mrs. Moore frowned. “Just—well, we’ll see.”

   “Where’s she going to be staying? I don’t think we should provide her a place to stay if she isn’t going to be a mother and look after her kids,” Tabitha’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She either is family, or she isn’t.”

   “Well, I don’t think we should even get into it,” Mrs. Moore sighed, resting her hands on the counter. “Bless his heart, your father was... very patient with me when I was going through things. For years. And, he’s liable to try to do the same for your Aunt Lisa now that she’s goin’ through her problems. I… Tabitha, I don’t have any place to say anything.”

   Tabitha bit her lip. She didn’t like it, but her mother’s position on this was difficult to refute. Pushing her mom to force things with Lisa towards an ultimatum wasn’t going to work, and her father was going to be even harder to convince. As the teenage daughter, she once again didn’t have enough traction on swaying complicated family matters. The only clear way to make her case was the drug angle, and for that she needed some measure of proof, and all of the evidence to substantiate that kind of claim was likely in the purse that Aunt Lisa was currently half-sitting on. The bag was protectively clutched beneath an armpit as the woman reclined on the sofa, as though it were another pillow.

   Worst thing is, she maybe DOESN’T have heroin in her purse right now, Tabitha fretted, crossing her arms. Maybe she’s not actually into heroin yet. Maybe she is, but she’s already used whatever she had. Maybe she only came to us because she was out of options and couldn’t afford to pay her dealer or whatever. There’s no way of knowing for sure, and if I cry wolf now and her purse turns out to be empty, it seriously damages my credibility for making further attempts to remove her now. And, I NEED to remove her sooner rather than later if I’m going to, or this is all going to become unbelievably messy the further she tries to entangle herself back into the family. Make a choice, Tabitha, make a choice. Help her, or get rid of her. Either way, I need to make up my mind real soon.

   “I was thinking we should bring something over with us,” Mrs. Moore sighed, tugging open the fridge door and surveying what they had to work with. “But, we don’t really have much of anything here. We do still have half of that bag of potatoes in the cupboard, but just bringin’ mashed potatoes doesn’t seem like enough.”

   “How about scalloped potatoes?” Tabitha suggested, stepping over to take a glance inside the refrigerator as well. “Hmm. Maybe not.”

   “You think we should go out and buy stuffing or something?” Mrs. Moore fretted. “Normally you’re supposed to at least bring a casserole or something to Thanksgiving.”

   “If you can give me two or three dollars, I’ll walk up to the gas station and buy a quart of milk,” Tabitha said, stooping down to pull a glass dish out from where it was stored in the bottom cabinet. “Preheat the oven at three hundred and fifty, and if you start peeling now, I should be able to help make scalloped potatoes when I get back.”

   “Okay. Okay, scalloped potatoes are perfect,” Mrs. Moore agreed, hefting the bag of potatoes down from their little pantry. “Are these still good? Will we have enough? How many should I—”

   “They’re fine,” Tabitha promised. “I’ll help you peel them all.”

   “Not with that cast on, you’re not,” Mrs. Moore protested, but it was clear her resolve was weakening. “Let me get you some cash from my purse, and you can—do you want me to go on up with you? I don’t want you goin’ out by yourself.”

   “It’s just at the top of the hill, mom,” Tabitha said. “I’ll be fine. You start peeling, I’ll help you finish once I’m back. I’m okay to take a five from your purse?”

   “Of course, sure.”

   Leaving her mother to her own devices with the peeler would be cruel—Mrs. Moore had no culinary talent and even less experience. Watching the woman attempt to whittle away potato skin in tiny thin slivers at a time was always so painful that Tabitha’s patience whittled away faster than the spud. Actually holding onto a potato herself was obnoxious with her cast encompassing as much of her thumb as it did, but even with the awkward grip Tabitha could peel a potato in a matter of moments using a knife. She’d already began resuming her previous role in preparing meals for the family over this past week.

   “Aunt Lisa?” Tabitha rounded the kitchen counter and carefully tread out into the living room. “Do you... need anything from the—”

   “Sssh!” Aunt Lisa all but snarled at her. “I can’t even keep up with what all’s goin’ on here with all yer fussin’!”

   Tabitha paused, slowly evaluating the blonde occupying their couch as the gangly heroin addict once again grew absorbed by the ongoing drama of One Life to Live. A step forward and a snatching movement could maybe wrench the purse Aunt Lisa was safeguarding out from under her—but would she even be able to get away with it or get it open before Lisa was all over her? The body odor of the woman was still noticeable, and Tabitha could just imagine what those two-inch acrylics would feel like clawing at her.

   I can… bide my time, Tabitha told herself. There’ll be an opportunity at some point. She’ll drop her guard, or… or I’ll think of something.

   The whole mess with Aunt Lisa was easier to put out of mind as Tabitha turned and hurried down the hallway to fish a five from her mother’s purse where Mrs. Moore kept it in the back bedroom. She of course knew that was the point—her mother could tell the Lisa situation was upsetting her, and so she was play-acting and subtly created tasks that Tabitha could set her mind to so that she would feel productive and useful. It did help. She didn’t begrudge her mother for it at all, and both of them were aware Mrs. Moore was doing it on purpose. In the past few months, each of them had discovered the other was a lot more intelligent than they’d ever let on before this year.

*     *     *

   “Ah, damn,” Bobby exclaimed, frowning as he saw some chick was tugging open the door of the Minit mart and the bell jangled. Where’d she come from?

   Checking through the broad glass windows of the gas station, he confirmed that no cars had pulled up. Bobby was supposed to be keeping an eye out for customers while his older brother Joe—the actual employee on shift right now—abused access to the store phone line here to chat with his girlfriend Kimmie, who’d been forced to travel to Minnesota with her parents over Thanksgiving break. Charges would show up on the store’s bill, but in theory, so long as she initiated the call, Joe could just tell his boss that some customer called with a bunch of questions and that he’d had no idea they were calling from long distance.

   The girl who’d just entered the convenience store was cute, if a little frazzled-looking, with her uncombed tangle of red hair and how her pale skin seemed to emphasize the dark circles under her eyes. More to the point, however—he recognized her. This was the infamous Tabitha Moore, the freshman dropout of Springton High, mysterious and inaccessible enough to have grown into her own urban legend throughout the school. He found himself already sheepishly throwing her a wave when she noticed him and did a double-take.

   Oh shit, she kinda recognizes me, Bobby was a little thrilled.

   “Hey—Bobby, right?” Tabitha guessed.

   Oh shit, she actually remembers me! Bobby’s flash of nervous excitement took him by surprise.

   “Uh, yeah,” Bobby chuckled. “You remember me?”

   “Yeah,” Tabitha blinked at him. “You were in a couple of my classes. You walked me up to the office the day I withdrew from school—when I was that blubbering mess.”

   “Naw, you weren’t blubberin’ or nothin’,” Bobby tried to assure her. “Maybe just a li’l sniffly? Ha hah. It’s cool.”

   The girl was quiet and a little mousy and always kept to herself, but something about her just really ruffled the feathers of all those flocks of two-faced harpies that called themselves high school girls. In fact—the more all of those buzzard bitches ragged on her, the more Bobby liked Tabitha. Whatever ran contrary to what they were saying was probably closest to the truth, right? The rumor mill seemed to spin up into full swing whenever Tabitha got brought up, and although he’d asked around with the few buddies he considered pretty reliable, nobody seemed to know what was really going on.

   Current popular theory on Tabitha Moore was that she’d dropped out because she was pregnant, and that the whole bullying thing was just some flimsy excuse to bail out on school before she started showing. Tabitha stealing a boyfriend and getting knocked up was the only reason anyone could imagine Erica Taylor would go so far as to try to murder her—but, it was also a point of contention as to whether Erica had even actually been dating anyone. The sophomore girl hadn’t been official with anyone, or ever really hinted that she might be seeing someone. Assumed availability and showing that extra inch or two of cleavage was part of the leverage Erica Taylor had over the tenth grade guys, so who would she give that up for? Matthew Williams? Some persisted in thinking that, because of his appearance in some of the other rumors, but none of the sophomores Bobby had talked to bought into it.

   Nah, no way, Bobby’s friend Liam had outright refused to believe it. Can’t tell you who... but Matthew’s definitely already seeing this girl, and it’s absolutely, one hundred percent not Erica Taylor. Matthew and Erica knew each other, yeah, but there was nothing between them, no spark or anything. No way.

   Bobby wasn’t really sure what to think—from everything he’d personally witnessed about the girl in the classes they shared, Tabitha wasn’t traditionally social. She hung out with that skinny black girl during lunches, and she was briefly seen interacting with Elena Seelbaugh, back before Elena suddenly turned wiccan or lesbo or whatever. That was weird, and the introduction of occult nonsense to the gossip surrounding Tabitha had made all the stories floating around pretty wild for a while. Fueling things even more was that whenever a rumor went a little bit too far, or whenever someone had actually tried to mess with Tabitha—they were suspended or expelled. That meant she was actually a somebody, that she had important parents or came from a bigshot family or something, which totally torpedoed all those tall tales saying she lived in the trailer park back behind this Minit mart.

   “Everyone’s really, uh, missed you at school,” Bobby couldn’t hold back any longer. “You ever wanna hang out or so somethin’ sometime? You seein’ anyone?”

   “Um, what?” Tabitha’s weary expression showed nothing but surprise and bewilderment. “You realize I’m only thirteen years old, right?”

   “What?” Bobby scoffed, eyeing her again. “Thirteen? No way, I call bullshit. You’ve gotta be at least fifteen, right? Don’tcha gotta be fourteen to even be in high school?”

   “Don’t turn fourteen until next month,” Tabitha shrugged, stepping past Bobby and walking towards the row of cooler doors that took up the far wall.

   Thirteen? No way. She’s gotta be messin’ with me… right? Bobby couldn’t help but stare.

   The redhead girl was on the smaller side and had a pretty slight figure, sure, but thirteen? That didn’t fit with his perception of her at all, the way she carried herself, how collected she seemed to be and how mature she acted with things. She had to be at least fifteen, she definitely seemed like a fifteen-year-old. Maybe even older. Bobby watched as Tabitha didn’t pause over the drink selection, instead immediately grabbing a carton of milk to bring up to the register.

   “Uhh,” Tabitha looked around. “Where’s whoever works here?”

   “‘EY, JOE!” Bobby cupped his hands and shouted back behind the counter. “YOU GOTTA CUSTOMER, HERE!”

   His brother Joseph ducked out from the back room with a look of consternation, holding a cordless phone’s handset against his chest.

   “Sorry ‘bout that, I’m on the phone with a… customer,” Joe lied, quickly bringing the phone up to his ear. “Hey babe, gotta put you on hold. Yeah, just a sec.”

   Bobby and Tabitha exchanged a glance at Joe’s half-hearted charade.

   “Ahem. Will this be everything for you today?” Joe asked in his mild-mannered customer service voice. He tilted the quart-sized milk carton up so that the scanner could read it with an electronic beep.

   Tabitha silently nodded.

   “Uhh hey, sorry if askin’ that was weird,” Bobby apologized. “Just, everyone at school’s always talkin’ about you. I’d much rather just, like, get to know you for real and hear what’s up straight from the source, you know?”

   Joe shot his brother a curious yo, who’s this chick glance over the counter as he accepted the five dollar bill from Tabitha and punched the sale into the register.

   “They can’t…” Tabitha cleared her throat and then let out an uneasy laugh. “They can’t still be talking about me, right?”

   “Oh, yeah—all the time,” Bobby nodded. “I mean, from what I heard, Erica just ‘bout knocked your head off, y’know? But, nobody really knows why, an’ that’s like, a step or two up from the usual petty bitch stuff, you know?”

/// Will fix links and whatnot later tonight.