“How was your day?” Dad drags me back to the here and now as he places the hamburgers and French fries he made for dinner on the table.
“Okay.”
Dad sits and doesn’t bat an eye when I position my cell next to my plate, but does glare at the laptop I only slightly push away. He knows I’m hoping for a call or a text from Sawyer, but he’s not okay with me doing schoolwork during dinner.
“Have you heard from Sawyer?” he asks.
“Not since this morning.” I pour ketchup onto my plate even though I’m not hungry. “Do you think I should text him or should I wait for him to reach out to me?”
Dad takes a huge bite from his burger and takes his time chewing. “As a guy, I’d say give him space.”
“But what if he’s stuck in his own head and needs encouragement?”
Dad sets his burger down. “Your mom was good at that. She’d know when I needed space and when I didn’t.”
“How do I know when to give space and when not to?”
“I’ve never been good at emotional stuff, peanut. I only knew how to love your mom.”
“And me,” I add. “You love me.”
Dad doesn’t say anything, just stares at his plate. “It’s moments like this that I wish she were here. She’d guide you better through life.”
Is she? Guiding me to a better life?
Mom haunts me.
Mom chose a slow death.
Glory says I’m choosing the same.
A slicing pain through my skull, and I convulse but force myself to stay upright in the chair. Dad cuts his gaze away from the plate to give me the eagle eye. “You okay? I thought I saw you shake.”
“I think you’re seeing things. When was the last time you had your eyes checked?” I hate that the lying has gotten easier. Dad stares at me for too long, then starts eating again.
Mom sits on the window seat, and since Glory left yesterday, she hasn’t moved from there. Hasn’t talked to me. But then again, I haven’t talked to her, either.
I’m not choosing a slow death. I’m choosing a full life. Glory’s wrong. I know she is. Mom tilts her head then, as if she’s a puppet on a string. Absolutely no emotion passes over her face and I shiver then glance quickly away. My cheeks warm, ashamed that my mother has frightened me.
I comb a hand through my curls and pull slightly at the strands as I stare at the words on the computer screen. Most of the words are spelled wrong. Red wiggly lines underneath. But I can’t seem to understand what I’ve done wrong.
What is wrong with my brain today?
“Are you cold?” Dad asks as he puts down his burger again and slips to the edge of his seat. My mouth dries out as I know that expression—he smells blood.
My cell pings, and I breathe out with the distraction. I check it, hoping it’s Sawyer, but instead it’s Sylvia. I wanted to let you know Sawyer just pulled up and it’s my mom’s girls’ night at my house. Say some prayers. I think things are about to get tense.
SAWYER
Saturday November 9: Took a half day today. Cured until 11 o’clock and then came in and went to services.
My throat is just as sore as ever. I don’t know what I’ll do if it keeps on like this.
I don’t know what I’ll do if my life keeps on like this, either.
Sylvia opens her front door before I knock or ring the doorbell. “Hey.”
I shove my hands into my khakis. They aren’t pressed like normal. Wrinkled to hell and back, but life has been complicated. “Hey.”
She steps out onto her stone patio, leaving the door slightly ajar. “What’s going on with you? Your mom is in the kitchen going off with how moody you’ve been—and the weird part? She doesn’t even seem to know you didn’t go to school today. Are you okay? And where’s Lucy?”
“Lucy’s with a friend, and I need to talk to my mom.”
“Okay. I’ll get her.”
She doesn’t understand. “No. I need to talk to my mom in front of everyone.”
Sylvia holds out her hand to me. “Do you need a friend to stand by you?”
Those are the same words I said to her when she decided to come out. Sylvia’s news that she shared with her family years ago was good news. The scary part was everyone else’s reaction. “My news isn’t good.” I’m hoping it will eventually be freeing, but there won’t be any joy found in my words. “You don’t know what I’m going to say. At the end of this, you could chose her side.”
“I like your mom,” Sylvia says. “But you’re my friend. I’ve been your friend. Just like you’ve been mine. Whatever it is you’ll say, I’m not going anywhere.”
“What if I tell you I’ve been jumping off quarry edges into water for an adrenaline rush? And that it’s a problem for me?” I’m so damn raw that a part of me might run if she rejects me.
Sylvia studies me, longer than I like. “I’d say that’s so much more of a better explanation of how you broke your arm than that weak excuse of the pool deck.”
True. “When things calm down for me, you, me and Miguel need to talk.”
“And I can’t wait to listen.” She pauses. “Miguel’s here. We were hanging out in my room. Besides the moms, there isn’t anyone else. Is the cliff thing why you’re here? Why you skipped school and why your mom is so upset?”
I shake my head. “I could use a friend, but I get it if you choose my mom at the end of this.”
She extends her hand toward me. “I told you, I’m here. And maybe, at the end of all of this, I’ll get to choose you both.”
“I’m going to tell everyone Mom’s an alcoholic. I’ve been covering for her for years, and I’m not doing it anymore.”
The shock that registers on Sylvia’s face had to be near a 10.0, but she quickly recovers. “Okay.” She nods like she’s agreeing to something in her head. “Wow. That’s big, and we’re going to get through this—together.”
Sylvia takes my hand, and my gut twists as I hear all the women laugh from the kitchen. “How much have they had to drink?” Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
“Not much.” Sylvia leads me down the hallway. “They just got here twenty minutes ago. But … your mom’s been here longer.”
Which means she’s had more than a few. When I walk into the kitchen, Mom stops laughing and her expression completely drops. Her eyes are feverish, a sign she’s a good bottle in, and her cheeks and nose are ruddy from alcohol in her blood.
She’s the life of the party, everyone’s best friend, and I’m tired of wondering if she’ll be coherent enough to get herself home at night or into bed. I’m exhausted from staying up to make sure she doesn’t puke in her sleep. She’s spent money we need. Has brought strange men into our house. She’s put a huge burden on me. My mom terrified my sister, her daughter.
My mother put us both in danger.
Raw fury enters my veins, causes the muscles in my jaw to tic, and then I notice how Mom’s hand flinches toward the bottle of wine. The way my body reacts at the edge of a cliff.
Mom’s sick.I am, too.
But I believe I’m going to get better.
Does that mean she can, too?
The room goes silent as they notice me standing there with Sylvia by my side. Footsteps from behind and then Miguel’s on my other side. Friends. I have friends who have my back.
“Do you want to tell them,” I say to Mom, “or do you want me to? Either way. One of us is talking.”
Mom starts to rise. “I’m sorry, everyone. This is what I’ve been talking about with Sawyer being moody. He and I need to go home and talk this out privately.”
“Where’s Lucy, Mom?” I ask, and she goes completely still.
“You were supposed to pick her up from ballet today and you didn’t. And don’t tell me it was my day, because it wasn’t.”
Mom blinks. “Did you get her?”
“Where did she spend the night last night?”
“In her bed.”
“Try again. Actually don’t. She an
d I slept in a hotel last night, but you didn’t notice that, did you? Because you’re used to scheduling your work appointments late because you’re sleeping off the bottles of wine you had the night before and letting me take care of Lucy in the morning.”
“Sawyer.” Mom trips over the back of Hannah’s chair, but catches herself against the wall. “Not here. We’re not doing this here.”
“I’m not staying silent anymore. If you don’t want to talk about Lucy, let’s talk about the multiple bottles of wine that you drink by yourself on the weekends.”
Mom goes ghost white. “You need to stop.”
“Or we can talk about the child support payments you’ve lied about.”
“Sawyer!” Mom shouts.
“Or we can talk about what happened last night, or do you even remember it?”
Mom falters, Hannah stands and wraps an arm around her. Sylvia squeezes my hand and the encouragement is needed, but it’s also a reminder. My mom was the first adult in this room to stand and hug Sylvia, offering her acceptance in one of the toughest moments of her life.
“You have a problem, Mom.” I do my best to keep a gentle voice even though I’m angry. So incredibly angry. “You’re sick. I get it. But you have to be the one who wants to get better.”
“He’s lying,” Mom says quietly, but the second time around, she’s louder. “He’s lying.” Then to me. “I know you’ve been off because of things with your father, and I know it’s been tough for you falling for a girl who’s dying from a brain tumor, but that does not give you a reason to come in here and make up things about situations you understand nothing about.”
My eyes shut tight as Sylvia places her arm around me and Miguel lays a hand on my shoulder. Both as a reminder to swallow the anger I want to spew at her for hurting me and for continuing to spill Veronica’s secret, and to show me that they, too, hate what she just did.
“You have a problem with drinking.” My voice is pitched low, full of fury, but at least I’m not yelling.
“I drink! Everyone drinks! That’s what happens when you’re an adult!”
“Not when you can’t control it!” I finally shout. “Not when it’s my job to take care of you. Not when you bring strange men into the house in the middle of the night and put us at risk.”
“I don’t have a problem!” she yells.
“You do and until you admit it and get some help, Lucy and I won’t be living with you.”
Mom goes pale and she dips like her knees give out. She stays up thanks to her grip on the chair and Hannah’s help. “What did you say?”
“We’re leaving. Now.”
Demons race from her eyes. “You can’t leave and you sure as hell can’t take Lucy.”
My throat swells as I know the following words are going to be a knife through her soul, a betrayal she might never forgive, but I can’t let Lucy live like I have and I can’t let myself live like this anymore, either. “I’ll text you when we get to Dad’s.”
Mom throws herself forward, hits the chair, and I wince as her hands slam on the tabletop to stop herself from falling. “Is that what this is about? Is your father feeding you these lies? Are you so desperate for him to love you that you’re making me the bad guy?”
It’s hard to breathe and my eyes burn as everyone turns to stare at me. I’m seventeen and I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be the adult in the room. I don’t want to be the one begging my mom to realize she has a problem. I don’t want to break her heart.
“I love you, Mom. Lucy does, too. I’ll be in contact soon.” I look at Hannah, begging her to understand. “She has a problem, and we need your help.”
I turn, half expecting Sylvia and Miguel to stop me, but they don’t. Sylvia grabs my hand, Miguel turns with me, hot on my heels, his hand still on my shoulder for support.
And my mom … she cries, she yells, and I do my best to block it all out.
VERONICA
“You were correct,” Sylvia says when I open the door to our apartment. “Sawyer definitely needs his friends, and right now, he really needs you.”
If anyone had told me last August that Sylvia Ricci would be at my house at eight in the evening, asking for me, I would have recommended they be checked for a brain tumor. But it’s funny how life changes and how her being at my door is more normal than I could have expected.
One look at her troubled eyes and I grab my father’s overly-large-for-me leather jacket off the hook on the wall.
“V,” Dad calls out. “I want you home by ten.”
I circle on my toes, surprised by the curfew. Dad’s at the sink, finishing the dishes I was helping him dry and put away. His back is toward me, but I can tell by the way he holds his shoulders that he’s on full alert. He’ll be watching me closely now. Closer than I prefer. “No problem.”
Dad glances over his shoulder at me and my stomach dips. It’s there—the deep worry.
“I’m okay, Dad,” I say.
He absently nods and returns to the dishes. Time. Dad and I need to spend more time together. That will make him feel better. But with Sylvia standing near the door and with Sawyer needing me, time together will need to happen later.
Not able to leave him so upset though, I go to him and hug him. Dad hugs me back, a tight squeeze, and then mumbles something about me getting going.
Sylvia and I leave, and once we’re on the front porch, I pause to let her take the lead. She goes around back and heads for the tree line. She takes out her cell and turns on her flashlight. I do the same.
“Sawyer and Miguel already hiked to the TB hospital. Sawyer wanted to go up first to be alone for a few minutes, but Miguel and I didn’t feel like that was a good idea. I stayed back and packed more stuff for him and Lucy. Sawyer didn’t want to linger here in case his mom came back. I promised him I’d find you when I was finished and bring you up. He wants to see you before he goes.”
“Goes?”
Sylvia offers me a sympathetic tilt of her head. “He wants to be the one to tell you.”
I nod and we begin the steep ascent up the knoll. We start huffing and puffing halfway up and beneath Dad’s leather jacket I start to sweat. I don’t want to take it off though as the cruel fall air is biting at my exposed skin.
We finally reach the stone steps of the abandoned hospital, and eager to see Sawyer, I take two at a time. Sylvia hesitates at the bottom.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“This place seriously scares the crap out of me.”
I glance around the old place that glows silver beneath the moonlight. She’s scared. I’m scared, too, but not of ghosts behind closed doors. I’m more scared of how much further Sawyer can be pushed before he’ll completely break.
“Go on ahead,” Sylvia says as she wraps her arms around herself. “I’ll stay here. Miguel said that they were on the east side of the building’s porch.”
No, that won’t do. I extend my hand to her. “I don’t think any of us need to be alone.” Not anymore.
Sylvia scans the area, the darkness and the shadows. She braves the stairs and laces her fingers with mine. We’re slow as we walk along the stone porch. Sylvia’s head turns at each little sound, her wide eyes roaming the inside as if she’s preparing for an impending attack.
Deep in my soul, I know no attack is coming.
“How are you so relaxed?” Sylvia asks. “Growing up in this town, all I’ve heard about are the terrible things that have happened here. All the deaths, the sketchy medical practices, the satanic rituals once the place was abandoned. This place is nothing but evil.”
“Is it?” Sawyer asks when we turn the corner, and my heart leaps at the sight of him leaning against one of the stone pillars.
“I don’t think this place is evil,” I say.
“Neither do I.” Sawyer takes out a folded bunch of papers from his back pocket and if he didn’t look so incredibly sad, I might have smiled. It’s Evelyn’s diary.
“How can you say that?” Sy
lvia asks as she lets go of me.
Sawyer looks at me, extends the papers in his hands in Sylvia’s direction, and I nod my head in affirmation. He pushes off the pillar and hands the diary to Sylvia. “When you’re done, give it back to Veronica. It belongs to her.”
Sylvia reverently takes the papers and Miguel drops an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s give them some space.” Miguel stares straight into my eyes. “When you two are done, he doesn’t go anywhere without me.”
“Okay,” I say. They leave, and I give Sawyer my undivided attention. “You told them.”
“I’m not keeping quiet about my mom anymore.”
“I figured that, but that’s not what I mean. You told them that you jump.”
Unsure of himself, Sawyer shoves his hands into his pockets. “Seemed like the right thing to do. If I’m ratting out Mom, I should probably rat out myself.”
I reach out, slip my fingers over his wrists and coax his hands out of his pockets. He complies and pulls me in for a hug. The moment I rest my head on his chest and feel his strong arms around me, I close my eyes. All the stress, the tension, the fear bottled up inside me drains away, and I wish we could stay like this forever.
Sawyer kisses my head then rests his cheek against me. The strong release from his lungs tells me he’s also been searching for peace, and for these brief few minutes at least, he’s found it. He sighs again, but this time, it’s with heaviness. I reluctantly pull away, and he takes my hands in his.
“What happened?” I ask.
“I confronted Mom in front of all of her friends at Sylvia’s house.”
My eyebrows rise. “Wow.”
“Go big or go home, right?” He tries to smile, but it fails.
“How did that go?”
“Bad. Bad enough that I’m not sure she’ll forgive me.”
“She will,” I say, but I don’t know if it’s true. I hope it will be true. I hope that this will be the catalyst for her to get some help, but I also know that the sucky part of free will is that we don’t always choose wisely. “What happens now?”
Sawyer shrugs one shoulder. “I called my dad and told him that Lucy and I were coming sometime tonight and that there were problems with Mom.”
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