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I nod to myself and take a deep breath. This was a close one, just like the time she OD’d and is only alive because an EMT got there fast enough to give her Narcan, or the time she got hit by a car and nearly died, or the time she got robbed at gunpoint, or a dozen otherthis-was-a-close-ones.
“I’m just happy you’re getting the help you need.”
“Listen, hon, I don’t have long. I just wanted to call and say I’m doing okay and that I love you, and I miss you, and I want to come home soon.”
“I’d love it if you came home, Mom.”
“And I wanted to ask, uh, listen, did Daddy say anything? About my allowance?”
My heart sinks. She only refers to Grandfather as “Daddy” when she needs money. “No, he didn’t mention anything.”
“Okay, because my card’s cut off and I think there’s a problem at the bank? But don’t worry, I can figure it out, I’ll totally figure it out. Oh, god, the head nurse is looking at me like she’s about to cut off my fingers. Yes, okay, I’ll get off the phone, stop acting like I’m ordering crack right now or something. Anyway, I love you, sweetie, say hello to Daddy for me, kiss, kiss, bye-bye.” She hangs up and the line goes dead.
I lean back in the chair and stare at the pool and let the phone slip from my fingers. It clatters to the concrete.
This isn’t going to stick.
It never sticks. Sometimes she goes a few weeks, sometimes a few months, but she always relapses. Slowly at first, and then all at once, until she hits rock bottom and has to go back to rehab and the cycle begins again. My whole life has been one long, agonizing torture, alternately hoping Mom will kick her addictions and improve and wishing she’d just disappear already and stop torturing me with all this crap.
At least this time, I know she’s going to screw it up for sure. Otherwise, she wouldn’t already be asking about money.
Sorrow hits me so heavy and hard I feel like I might drown. I have to do some breathing exercises I learned from a therapist I saw when I was ten and Grandfather thought it would be a good idea for me to talk to someone about my mother. That lasted only a few sessions but the coping exercises stuck, and now I go through them one at a time, breathing in slowly for four seconds, holding for four seconds, releasing for four seconds, holding for four seconds, and repeating that for a while until I feel calm again.
“Katherine.” I look up at my name. Grandfather’s standing at the back door in slacks and a polo shirt. He steps outside onto the patio and comes toward me. I sit up and face him, hands folded in my lap.
“I didn’t know you were home, Grandfather.”
“I had a golf meeting and just came in. Who was that on the phone? Was that your mother?”
I nod, not surprised he knows. Grandfather always knows somehow. “I hadn’t heard she got bailed out.”
“Just happened this morning.” He sighs and walks over, looking exhausted as he sits down in a chair near mine in the shade of an umbrella. “I had to call in more favors than usual. Your mother’s mistakes are getting more and more expensive.”
“Grandfather, she said something about her card not working.”
His smile is bitter. “I cut her off. For now, at least. She needs to learn some responsibility.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I hate disagreeing with him—nothing good ever comes of it—but this is a very bad idea. “Remember the last time you cut her off?”
“Yes, I remember that whole fiasco. Her and her junkie friends tried to rob a damn Tiffany’s.”
“She’ll do something like that again.”
His eyes narrow. “And so what? Maybe this time we leave her to rot. Your mother is a grown woman, Katherine. She’s an adult and she’s been doing this insanity for long enough to know better.”
“She’s an addict,” I say, almost pleading. “She’s sick.”
“I’m tired of that whole sickness bullshit. Your mother isn’t sick, she’s just broken. She’s making these choices and doing these things, and if she really cared about anyone but herself, she’d find a way to stop. And yet we keep on going, around and around, and the same old things keep happening. At what point do we say enough is enough?”
“Grandfather,” I say, blinking at him. I’ve never heard him sounding so angry and bitter before. “She just needs support.”
“I’m tired of supporting my worthless daughter.” He meets my gaze. “You still have a chance, Katherine. I hear you went on a date with Matthew Keynes. He comes from a very good family.”
“Right,” I say softly. “Matthew.”
“Your mother never gave a damn about the family, but you could be different. You have a chance at turning things around if you’re only smart enough to do the right thing. Lord knows your mother never was. If there was a bad decision to be made, she’s turn around and make it, and I’m beginning to think she’s simply defective. Forget about your mother.” Grandfather pushes back and stands. “Focus on doing the right thing for your family. Your mother never did and never will.”
He walks up to the house and disappears inside.
