Amy caught her mother staring at her. She blinked back the tears.
“He still loved that stuff, you know. Even at thirty-three. He’d go through a bottle a week, I swear.”
“That doesn’t sound like a particularly healthy habit. Then again, I guess Tim wasn’t all that concerned with whether habits were healthy or not.”
“Hey—watch it.” Ellen’s voice was sharp and bitter.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . I was only joking.”
“Do I look like someone in the mood for jokes?”
“No, sorry.”
Her mom looked at her for a long while. “You never called him, did you?”
The guilt that had enveloped Amy since Tim’s death tightened around her like a straightjacket. “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”
She shook her head slowly, her lips tightly drawn. “I am so disappointed in you.”
“In me?”
“Yes, in you. All I asked—all I asked!—was that you call him. That’s it. I never asked much of you, but this was important. He needed you, and you weren’t there for him. You let him down. You let all of us down.”
Amy’s lip quivered. The tears were coming fast now. She lay the glass on the counter as she wiped her eyes. “Don’t you think I feel guilty? I hadn’t heard his voice in years, and now I’ll never hear it again. Sometimes I can’t breathe when I think about it.”
“Maybe if you’d called him, he’d still be alive.”
The blood rushed to Amy’s head. “That isn’t true.”
“You were never there when he needed you.”
Amy’s face felt as if it were burning. “How can you even say that? Maybe you don’t remember the hours and weeks I spent here helping Tim detox when Noah was a baby. I spent time away from my own kid—my own kid, who was only a baby and needed me—so that I could get Tim back on track. Or what about the time when I was in college, when I missed a major exam so that I could help Tim get into a different rehab program? Or the countless other times I put my own life on hold so that I could resuscitate his? Don’t tell me I wasn’t there when he needed me.”
“You weren’t there this last time, and that’s what counts.”
“Do you honestly believe that a phone call from me would have prevented Tim from relapsing? Because I’ve got news for you: it wouldn’t have.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Okay, then why did he relapse every other time I reached out and tried to help him? What makes this time so different?”
Ellen started trembling. Her face went red. “Because this time he’s DEAD!”
“That isn’t my fault!”
“Then whose is it, huh? Is it mine? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“Of course I’m not!”
They were shouting at each other now. Ellen was shaking. Amy tried to bring herself under control.
“How can you not see that this was Tim’s fault? These were his choices.”
“It’s a disease, Amy. He didn’t choose to have a disease.”
“I know he didn’t. And it breaks my heart to think of all the suffering he went through. But I wasn’t the cure, and neither were you. He was the only one with the power to turn his life around.”
“He wanted to. He told me that. He really wanted to this time.”
“I know he did. But sometimes wanting something isn’t enough. There’s so much more to it than that.”
“It’s just . . . he was . . . he was . . . he was my baby. Do you understand? He was my baby boy, and now he’s gone.” The sob that came of her was so expansive it seemed to swallow up the entire room. The sadness crashed over Amy like a wave and pulled her out to her mother’s grief-stricken island. If something ever happened to Noah . . . if she were powerless to save him . . . if she lost him . . .
She went over to her mother, and Ellen collapsed in her arms. Amy held her tight, lifting her up and keeping her close.
“It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t mine,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “We did everything we could.”
She knew that was true, but she also knew it would take the rest of her life to believe it.
* * *
The funeral was the solemn, private service Ellen had wanted, and Amy held her hand throughout. Afterward, they went back to the house along with Amy’s two aunts and one uncle. Her aunt Cindy had made some chowder and bought some rolls from Stop & Shop, so they warmed up from the frosty December temperatures while sitting around the dining room table slurping soup. No one said much.
Once everyone had left, Ellen retired to her room, where she stayed until the next morning. Amy would occasionally knock on the door and ask, “Mom, you okay?” The answer was either silence or a muffled answer like, “Fine, just resting.” Amy had lived through her mother grieving over her father, but this felt different. She almost seemed to have given up, as if nothing mattered anymore, as if she had nothing to live for. Part of Amy understood, but another part wanted to shout, “Live for me! Better yet, live for Noah!”
Finally, on Saturday evening, she knocked on Ellen’s door with a plate of eggs and toast. As far as she knew, her mother hadn’t eaten all day.
“I have dinner,” she called through the door.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“Mom, you have to eat something.”
“I told you, I’m not hungry.”
Amy took a deep breath and stared at the plate of food. “Do you want me to throw it out, then?”
A pause, then the rustling of sheets. Ellen hated wasting food. She couldn’t resist that threat.
The door opened. Ellen looked terrible—puffy eyes, dark circles, gnarled hair. She glanced at the food. “I guess I could pick at it. I won’t finish it, though.”
She took the plate and shuffled back to her bed. Amy followed behind.
“I was going to FaceTime with Rob and Noah in a minute. Want to say hello? Noah would love to see you.”
“I’m not really up for it.”
“I know, but I think it would be good for you to talk to him.”
“I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“Okay, but . . .” Amy trailed off. She wasn’t sure how hard to push her. On the one hand, she had just lost a child. She was entitled to wallow. But on the other, Amy wanted her mother to see that there were people out there who still needed her. For more than a decade, Tim had consumed an outsized proportion of her bandwidth, and now he was gone. Who was going to fill that space? Realistically, no one would. No one could. But Amy wanted to show her mother that other people could fill at least some of it.
“I know you think I’m being pathetic,” Ellen said.
“Mom, look at me. I do not think that. Not even for a second. You lost your son. I cannot even imagine the pain you are feeling. But Noah is your grandson, and he misses you. He asks about you every time I call to check in.”
“He does?”
“Yes.”
She sniffled. “I just . . . I don’t want to scare him, you know? I mean, look at me. Look at me!” She patted her tangled head of hair.
“So run a brush through your hair and splash a little water on your face. The video quality isn’t that good. And anyway, Noah doesn’t care what you look like. He’s a four-year-old boy.”
“I guess.”
“I know Tim has left behind a big hole. But I’m still here. Noah is still here. Aunt Cindy, Aunt Diane, and Uncle Mike are still here. And we love you and need you, too.”
Ellen’s lip quivered. “I know. But his addiction . . . it was all I thought about for so long. Worrying about him, helping him, working with him. And now it’s over. All that worrying, all that help—what good did it do?”
Amy brushed a tear away from her mother’s cheek. “You couldn’t save Tim, but maybe you could save someone else. Have you ever thought about that?”
“Someone else like who?”
“Other people with addictions. Other families going throug
h what you went through.”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
“I’m not saying you should do it right now. But once the fog has lifted a little, you may want to think about it. Helping other people might really help you, too.”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Take your time. But if that’s something you might be interested in, let me know. I’d like to help, too.”
“Okay. We’ll just . . . we’ll see.”
Amy kissed her on the forehead. “Now, should we give Noah a call?”
She nodded. “Let me just have a bite of this toast first, and then I’ll freshen up.”
She took a bite of the toast, and before Amy knew it she’d eaten the entire slice, along with the scrambled eggs, which were probably cold and rubbery by this point, but Ellen didn’t seem to notice or mind. She excused herself to the bathroom and ran a brush through her hair, and when she returned, she looked like a modestly improved version of the mess Amy had encountered a few minutes prior. It was a step in a positive direction.
Amy pulled up Rob’s number and called him via FaceTime. When he picked up, the first face she saw was Noah’s, not Rob’s.
“Mommy, Mommy, guess what?”
“Hi, sweetie. What?”
“Daddy downloaded Candy Crush Soda, and I’m already on level TWENTY!”
Amy smiled. “Ah, so Daddy is doing some very hands-on parenting down there, eh?”
“Hey!” Rob called out in the background. “You’re lucky the house is still standing.”
She laughed. “I’m not judging. I’m sure it’s been a long five days. Hey, Noah—want to say hi to Mimi?”
He gasped. “Yes, yes, yes!! Mimi, Mimi, Mimi!”
She handed the phone to her mother. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
“I’m great! Can you come visit soon?”
Her mother was suddenly beaming, though her eyes were wet. “Yes, sweetie,” she said. “I would really, really love that.”
Chapter 23
Amy returned to Philadelphia Sunday afternoon. She was glad she’d gone and worried how Ellen would cope in her absence, but she missed Rob and Noah and was ready to return to real life.
“Spending time with your mom doesn’t feel like real life?” Rob had asked when she told him how she felt.
The truth was, it had felt surreal. She’d expected the funeral to give her closure in the ongoing heartbreaking saga of her brother’s addiction. But really, it had opened up old wounds and made her realize how much of her relationship with her mother had in some way been tied to Tim. They were starting over now, and Amy wasn’t sure what their future relationship would look like.
She had barely settled back into the familiar rhythm of her daily routine when Monday morning she received another call from Leroy Harris.
“I still haven’t heard from Julian,” he said, skipping the pleasantries. He voice didn’t carry the same warmth it had in other conversations either. It was all business.
“Really?”
“Not a word. Have you?”
“No, but then I’ve been out of town for almost a week. My brother died.”
“Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that. I’ll pray for your family.”
“Thank you.” Some days she wished more people had prayed for her family while Tim was still alive, but she knew saving Tim would have taken a lot more than prayers.
“Anyway, I did manage to talk to Grace before I left,” she continued. “She promised she’d look into it and help to resolve the issue.”
“Well, she hasn’t. I’ve tried to contact both her and her husband multiple times, and I have it on good authority that I’m not the only one. We community organizers talk. Something funny is going on.”
“Now you don’t know for sure—”
“Ma’am? Don’t. You know as well as I do that this smells rotten. If I don’t hear anything in the next day or two, I’m going to the police.”
“The police?”
“And maybe the press.”
Amy’s throat tightened. If Leroy spoke to the authorities, the Durants’ life could unravel very quickly. And if he talked to the press, their life wouldn’t so much unravel as it would implode. At this point she didn’t really care if that happened to Julian—maybe it would even encourage him to seek treatment—but she didn’t want it to happen to Ethan. He wasn’t her four-year-old boy, but he was a four-year-old boy, and she couldn’t bear the thought of someone Noah’s age having his world completely ripped apart. The fact that he was also Noah’s best friend made her feel even more protective of him.
“It’s not even about my programs at this point,” Leroy said. “It’s about all of us. A lot of people gave money they thought was for one thing, but if he’s using it for something else, that ain’t right.”
Amy agreed, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She’d already spoken to Grace once. She’d hoped that would be the last time she needed to talk about it. But it was becoming increasingly clear that a casual run-in outside her kid’s preschool wasn’t going to be enough. Maybe if Grace knew the police and press might get involved, she’d be more likely to fix things. Or had she already tried, and it was too much for her to do on her own?
“I’ll talk to Grace again,” Amy said.
“Doesn’t seem to me like talking is doing any good.”
“I’ll get through to her this time. I promise.”
“You know what they say about promises?”
“No, what?”
“They’re like piecrust: meant to be broken.”
“You can trust me, Mr. Harris. I won’t let you down.”
“That would be wonderful. But I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“You’ll see it. I’ll make sure they set things right,” she said, even though at the moment she had no idea how she would possibly do that.
* * *
As soon as Amy hung up with Leroy Harris, she called Grace. The call went to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message and instead vowed to call back in an hour.
She did, and the call rang and went to voice mail again. She tried one last time, thirty minutes later, and although it went to voice mail again, this time she decided to leave a message.
“Hey, Grace. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. I don’t know if Rob saw you or mentioned, but my brother died, so I was in Rhode Island last week for the funeral. Anyway, could you give a call when you get a sec? I need to talk to you about something.”
She didn’t leave specifics, mostly because she didn’t want to spook Grace by saying, LEROY HARRIS IS GOING TO THE POLICE, CALL ME RIGHT NOW. But when Grace still hadn’t called back by the time Amy left to pick up Noah at school, she worried she hadn’t been forceful enough. There was no chance of running into her at Beth Israel either because Ethan hadn’t been at school that day.
“Was he sick?” Amy asked.
“Uh . . . I think so. Yeah, actually. He was SUPER sick, like barfing and coughing and everything.”
“Is that what Miss Karen said?”
“Uh . . . maybe? I can’t remember. I think so.”
Amy was highly suspicious of this story. Noah was a horribly unreliable narrator. He had a tendency to take small snippets of reality and weave them into a fanciful, and often very dramatic, tapestry. Ethan may have had a stomach bug. He also may have had a doctor’s appointment or been on vacation.
“Huh,” she said. “I’ll have to ask his mommy when I talk to her.”
Which at this rate will be never, she thought.
They piled into the car and headed to a nearby pharmacy in Rydal to pick up some wrapping paper and holiday cards, along with a few small gifts. Unlike the chain pharmacies, the independently owned ones in the area sold all sorts of unique mementos, from scented candles and diffusers to cheese boards and fancy chocolates. Amy wanted to pick up a holiday gift for Miss Karen, as well as a hostess gift for Rob’s coworker, who had invited them to a holiday par
ty that weekend.
“Mommyyyyy, where are we going?” Noah whined in the back seat. She hadn’t mentioned the planned detour because Noah hated running errands, but by now he knew the route to and from school well enough that he could tell something was amiss.
“Meadowbrook Pharmacy. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
He groaned. “I want to go home.”
“We will. After we stop at the pharmacy.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“I’d be a little more enthusiastic if I were you. Meadowbrook Pharmacy is the one with the fancy chocolate-covered pretzels. Remember. . . ?”
He suddenly perked up. “Oh! Okay! I like that place! Can I get a pretzel? Pleeeeeease?”
“If you behave.”
“I will, I will! I promise.”
Amy smiled to herself. She knew bribing her four-year-old with chocolate probably wasn’t good parenting, but if it meant she could accomplish an errand quickly and without whining and hysterics, she didn’t care.
She found a parking spot right in front of the store and held hands with Noah as they made their way through the front door. As soon as they stepped inside, they were surrounded by charming gifts: shiny picture frames, milled soaps on ceramic soap trays, hand-painted mugs, and artisanal tea sets. In the center of the store, a circular candy bin reached from floor to ceiling, filled with everything from jellybeans to gummy peaches, like something out of Willy Wonka. Noah’s jaw dropped as he clapped eyes on it.
“Candy,” he whispered. He’d clearly forgotten that the chocolate-covered pretzel store was the same as the magical candy store. “Can I have some? Please, please, please?”
“It’s either candy or chocolate-covered pretzels. You can’t have both.”
He scrunched up his lips. A tough decision.
“Let me think about it,” he said.
“You do that. In the meantime, I’m going to find something for Miss Karen and Daddy’s coworker.”
The Last House on Sycamore Street Page 27