And there definitely aren’t any Victorian-style houses surrounded by lakes, beautifully maintained apple orchards or acres and acres of family land worth millions.
The houses are small and huddled together, boundary lines protected by rusty, chain link fences—no white picket fence to be seen. Paper thin walls separate one family from another, so that if a couple argues, the people in the house next door can hear every word.
I take a right, pointing my car to the trailer park. As the sun streaks low in the sky, I roll to a stop and peer out the windshield.
Mom’s in the front yard, taking clothes off the line. She’s got a bandana wrapped around her head, as always. The holes in her oversized T-shirt are hidden by a threadbare apron. The slippers on her feet are so worn, it’s only duct tape and a prayer keeping them together.
Mom wraps her fingers around a shirt on the line, tests to see if it’s dry and then plops it into her basket.
Annoyed, I throw my car door open and lumber across the yard. “Mom!”
She looks up, startled. “Rebel?”
“Why are you still hanging out your clothes? I already paid the hardware store for your washer and dryer. It should have been delivered by now.”
“I told Robert Kinsey to keep the money you paid as store credit. You can buy other things you need with it.”
“Mom…” I groan.
“I don’t have space in the trailer for that.” Mom shakes her head at me. “I’m perfectly fine doing things the way I always do them.”
“You work so hard, and you’re getting older. You should relax when you get home.”
“I don’t mind hard work. Idle hands are…”
“… the devil’s playground. Yeah, yeah. Let me help.” I squeeze the clothes pin at the top and release the blouse held between its teeth.
Mom watches me closely.
I unpin a pair of rough work pants and a jacket next, pretending not to notice.
“Are you really going to make me ask?”
“Ask what?” I release a wash rag from the clothesline.
Mom snaps it out of my hand. Excitement hums in her voice. “You’re dating Gunner Kinsey!”
I wince. “News travels fast.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Mom wags a finger. “You’re always like this. You never discuss boys with me.”
“I don’t need to add to the conversation. Boys talk about me enough as it is,” I grumble.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I approve. Gunner Kinsey is a fine young man. So quiet and steady. He treats his mama well too. Oh dear, his mama.” Mom touches her lips, her face turning white. “What did Carol say when she heard about this?”
I open my mouth to answer.
Mom waves a hand to stop me. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been working for the Kinseys all my life. They know us well. Our family might not have much, but we’ve got our dignity and our name. That’s worth more than gold.” She smiles shakily. “Money can’t buy a good reputation, you know.”
“Do you really think the Kinseys care about things like dignity and a good reputation?” I snort.
Mom licks her lips. “E-even so, Gunner was brave enough to tell his mother about your relationship, that means he’s serious about you. He wouldn’t have done that if he would easily change his mind now, would he?”
“Mom—”
