“Same thing, not fifteen minutes later, only this time on her account. We figured out how to keep ’em calm after that. They like sleeping in your shirt. See? Show ’em, Christine.”
“Wait, WHAT?” I started braking reflexively. “You have raccoons? In this car? Right now?”
“Well yes,” Leigh said, like I was being ridiculous. “All this happened tonight.”
Emma was dying.
I looked at my mother and her wasted best friend in the rearview. “You didn’t think to mention this? That you have wild animals in your bras?”
“Only three,” Leigh said, like that was better.
“What if they have fleas?” I asked.
“We washed ’em in the sink at the Circle K,” Leigh said. “A little Dawn soap, dried ’em with the hand dryer.”
Emma looked impressed. “That does work.”
“Emma, you want to hold one?” Mom asked.
She gasped. “Yes!”
A hand emerged from the back seat with a tiny chittering raccoon in it wrapped in a bar towel. “This is George Cooney.”
Emma took it and held it to her chest and looked at me with hearts in her eyes. “Look at his little hands!” she said.
“Oh my God…” I muttered.
“Justin, how can you be mad about this? They’re heroes,” Emma said, stroking the little gray head. “These sweet babies would have died.”
“Thank you,” Mom said. “I feel like a hero.”
Leigh leaned over the seat. “Now, you just tuck that little trash panda into your cleavage. Quiets him right down.”
Emma pulled her shirt open and put the swaddled raccoon inside.
“Are we even sure this is safe?” I asked, glancing at the lump under her shirt.
“If they’re not safe, why are they cute, Justin?” Emma said.
“It’s the forbidden puppy,” Mom said.
All three women started laughing.
I tried to look serious, but I couldn’t. Emma was having too good of a time—and Mom and Leigh were actually pretty hilarious drunks.
“Good Lord, these hot flashes,” Leigh said, plucking her shirt in my rearview. “Lets me know I can’t go to hell because I can not take the heat. Justin, you taking us to Culver’s or what?”
“You two don’t think you’ve derailed my night enough?” I said, getting onto the freeway.
“I do not appreciate that tone,” Leigh said. “I feel like I need to remind you that I used to wipe your butt.”
“Uh, you do not need to remind me of that,” I said.
“He had the cutest little baby butt. Do you remember, Christine? Like a little apple.”
“It was soooo cute,” Mom said from the back seat.
Leigh tapped Emma on the shoulder. “Is his butt still cute, Emma?”
“It’s really cute,” Emma said, smiling and waving her raccoon’s little hand at me while I shook my head.
She hadn’t seen it. Not bare anyway. But I couldn’t help but hope that she’d looked.
“Yes, I will take you to Culver’s,” I said.
“Thank you,” Leigh said. “Christine, how we doing on the list?” Leigh asked.
“What’s the list?” Emma asked.
“Prison prep,” Leigh said. “Memorizing your important phone numbers, dying your hair back to your natural color so you don’t see your roots come in, fixing anything wrong with your teeth—I’m gonna put money on your books the second they let me, hon. I’m gonna come every week to visit you,” Leigh said. “Press my boob against the glass.”
Mom laughed. A deep, tipsy belly laugh. And then the laughter tipped and dwindled into crying. Leigh started crying too. She wrapped her arms around Mom, and Mom sobbed.
“Hon, I’m gonna be there with you every step of the way,” Leigh said. “I’m gonna help Justin take care of those babies and I’m gonna send you pictures and we’re gonna get through this.”
I could see Mom’s crumpled face pressed into Leigh’s shoulder in the rearview. The tail of a baby raccoon snaked out of Leigh’s cleavage and flicked under Mom’s chin. She still had leaves in her hair. The whole thing was like some fucked-up sitcom. The plot of a dark comedy.
Emma glanced at me as she pulled tissues from her purse and handed them into the back seat.
