“Hurry up, Bea!” Merilee yelled toward the bathroom door. “I have to use the toilet.” She picked up a pile of clothing and stuffed it into a closet. Bea slept on the lumpy futon in the living room. Her clothes were scattered throughout the apartment and she was constantly pulling out a wrinkled sarong or shorts or underwear from different closets.

“She is such a flippin’ mess,” Merilee said irritably. Her mood seemed to have darkened since I’d brought up the possibility of her being arrested. Maybe she was remembering her police record from her younger days. She snapped on the radio and fiddled with the tuner until she came to some kind of oldies station.

“La la la la la la la hey hey hey Bobby Mageeee yeah!” My mother sang along, her voice as raspy as Joplin’s, though nowhere close in key. She readied the bong once again, lit the bowl, and inhaled slowly, forcing the heavy smoke to rise. Microscopic pieces of resin danced in bubbling amber water.

“Turkish tobacco,” I muttered. What genius came up with that for a cover? And how long before Mirabelle figured it out?

Merilee pointed the bong in my direction.

I shook my head. “No thanks.”

I wasn’t making that mistake again. Getting high with my mother was as much fun as entering a house of horrors. I needed my wits about me. From now on, I was staying straight as an arrow. At least until I got home.

From the bathroom, Bea turned off the shower and turned on a blow dryer. She opened the door a crack and stuck out her wet head. “Two minutes, I promise!”

My mother waved backward at Bea and exhaled all the smoke from her lungs, then covered the top of the tube with her hand, trapping the swirling smoke. “Oh Jacqueline, you know what I’ve missed the most about the old days?” she asked, her voice wistful.

I stayed silent. I was not having this conversation.

“Really?” my mother said. “You can’t guess?”

It was a Catch 22; anything I answered would bite me in the ass. If the answer was that she’d missed me, then too bad so sad. I hated her way too much to miss her. I didn’t want to hear about whatever pain or thoughts she might have experienced on the day she decided to take off. I envisioned my heart turning into a steel shield protecting me from the emotional trap she had set me.

Merilee sighed. “I miss having more than one bathroom.”

We had been hiking for what seemed like miles, lugging sandwiches and ratty beach towels in our backpacks. My Doc Martens had turned the color of brick from the wet, red earth of the steep path. I was breathless and regretting my morning cigarette, which had been met with a disapproving (and unsuitably parental) glare from Merilee. I ignored my short-windedness and trudged forward.