Chapter 1
You couldn’t really tell where the body ended and the carpet began. It was just sort of a brownish smear. But the smell! Death has sort of a sickening sweet, rotting smell. It permeates everything. Her stomach wretched and she ran for the window, gulping in fresher air, steadying herself against the sill.
Thank goodness her mother hadn’t come! To see her only sibling, rotting into the carpet after who knows how many days, would have broken her heart. Betty and Bonnie. Almost like twins. Always looking out for each other. Betty said once that when they were children growing up with alcoholic parents, no matter where they were she always had to identify a way out, a route to safety, where she and her younger sister would be safe from the booze and the battles and chaos that was their childhood. Always looking for a way to get her sister to safety. It was a habit Betty never outgrew. And now Bonnie was gone.
Lindsay had followed the undertaker in. He had scraped up what was left of Bonnie’s body and said kindly, of course, a viewing would be out of the question. We could talk about it later. He left. The stench lingered.
Lindsay gulped more air in, almost like preparing for a deep dive, and headed for the kitchen.
Chapter 2
Lindsay made her way to the kitchen, being careful to step around the brown spot on the carpet. It was early afternoon. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to get back before the kids got home from school. Since Bonnie mostly drank and rarely ate, maybe the mess wouldn’t be too bad.
The table was mostly clear, random advertising and a few bills scattered across the surface. Mom would have to deal with the bills. The sink, and countertops were another matter. The smell was better in here but simply because it was replaced by the moldy contents of containers of half-eaten Chinese food. Empty bottles were everywhere. Beer, Vodka, mostly Vodka, an occasional gin bottle, all drained dry. They tumbled over each other and sparkled in the afternoon sun.
Lindsay looked in the cupboard under the sink, hoping to find gloves and cleaning supplies. She hadn’t thought to bring any of her own after she got Mom’s call. And really, she hadn’t intended to clean the place, just meet the mortician and sign for the body – or what was left of it.
She pulled open the cupboard doors. A bucket, rubber gloves, dish soap, sponges, garbage bags, and Chlorox spray were lined up with military precision. “That’s appropriate,” Lindsay thought to herself. She donned the gloves and went to work.
Mom would never have asked her to be here today. But she just couldn’t face it and Lindsay was quick to volunteer. In fact, she insisted. “Mom,” she urged. “Bonnie’s gone. You did everything you could for her. Let me do this for you. There are other decisions, bills and stuff, you’re going to have to deal with. This is something somebody else can handle for you.”
Her mom had gratefully accepted. So here Lindsay was, up to her elbows in bottles. Once, when Bonnie had been on a bender, Lindsay had come by to check on her. Bonnie had cracked open the front door and stared blank and bleary-eyed as Lindsay stood on the porch asking, “Aunt Bonnie, are you all right? Do you need some food?”
Bonnie clearly wasn’t all right and definitely didn’t want any food. “No, no. I’m fine dear.”
The words were slow and slurred. Bonnie had braced herself against the door as she spoke. Sweat dotted her forehead. Her breath, her body reeked of alcohol.
“Can I come in and fix you some soup?” Lindsay asked.
“No,” Bonnie’s voice trailed off and she leaned heavily against the door, pushing it closer to closing. “I just need to lie down for a bit. Goodbye, dear.”
A final thud and the door was shut. Lindsay listened for a minute longer No sound of falling. She returned to her car and drove home.
Mom always took the brunt of Bonnie’s drinking. She got the middle of the night calls with her sister wailing on the other end of the phone, “You just don’t understand how it is,” Bonnie would cry. “It was always easier for you. You were the perfect one. You don’t know how it really is for me. Please, Betty, I just can’t do this anymore. You’ve got to help me!”
And so she would. Another round of hospitalizations. Another round of counseling and caring and the terrible tremors that come from exorcising the demons of drinking. Another round of, “This time it will be different. I promise.”
She’d dry out. Clean up. And land another job. She was a secretary by training, and a good one. At each new job old fears would silently stalk her until she’d finally call in sick. For a day. And then two. And then three. Then she’d simply disappear, too drunk and too humiliated to show up for work.
Her bosses called mom. Was Bonnie well? It’s been a week now. Did Betty know where she was or if she was coming back? One woman even berated her with, “How can you not know where your own sister is? Clearly, she has a problem and needs your help!”
Lindsay tossed a liquor bottle in the trash and missed. It hit the unforgiving tile floor and shattered. She paused for a moment and looked at the damage. Then, one by one, she carefully “missed” each of her other throws until the sink was empty, the counter was clear, and the debris of her aunt’s life sparkled in the afternoon sun.
Chapter 3
Nobody wanted the car. A 1968 2-door Chevy Impala. Cream color with a jade green interior. Like Bonnie, in its day it was beautiful. Her pride and joy. Now it was, well, old. A few rust spots on the body and a scrape down the driver’s side where she’d come too close to the pilar in the parking garage. Unlike Bonnie, the interior was in mint condition.
Bonnie’s children, who wanted nothing to do with their mother or her car said, “Please, just take it.” And so she did. Depending on who you asked, the Cruiser, as it became known, was both a blessing and curse. The driver’s side window wouldn’t roll down. It simply fell down and then refused to rise again when you turned the handle to roll it up. That made going to any kind of drive through out of the question. The bank, the burger place, the dry cleaners were all walk-in only.
Then there was the chain. Bonnie didn’t live in the best part of town. After having her car battery stolen one too many times, she had a mechanic install a chain linking the battery to the car’s undercarriage. The plan didn’t work. Thieves simply cut the chain. It dangled and clanged every time you made a turn.
There were advantages to driving the Cruiser. The low-rider community eyed her enviously. Even though it wasn’t technically a low rider, the Cruiser’s potential was clear.
And having a second car made carpooling the kids to school much easier. Allie was always mortified when her mother dropped her off in front to the junior high.
“Mom!” she cried. “I don’t want people to see me getting out of this car! Drop me off down the street!”
“Then what’s the point of driving you to school?” Lindsay asked. “It’s not that bad,” she reasoned.
Allie grabbed her backpack and made a run for the building, almost before the Cruiser came to a complete stop.
Lindsay eased the Cruiser away from the curb and clanged her way out of the loading zone.
Chapter 4
“Do I need to wear a tie?” Dave hollered from the bedroom.
“No, you’re good,” Lindsay yelled back. She finished digging for her gloves in the hall closet and gave Allie a last bit of instruction.
“Don’t let your brothers eat the cookies in the pantry. They’re for the party afterwards. There are some in the cookie jar and those are fair game.”
“Why do I always have to babysit?” Allie let out an exasperated sigh. “I have a life, you know. Those two are demons. And I’m the only one with a brain around here. Who has a party after a funeral anyway?”
She plopped down glumly on a kitchen bar stool.
“It’s not a funeral,” Lindsay explained. “It’s just a graveside service and we needed somewhere to go afterwards. Jefferson, right now! This is the third time I’ve asked you to take out the kitchen garbage. GO!”
The Galactic Battle in the family room paused while 10-year-old Jeff tore himself away from the couch and headed toward the kitchen.
“How come Spunk never has to take out the trash?”
Lindsay scanned the house. It was clean for the moment but who knows what it would look like 90 minutes from now.
“Because your brother’s job this week is to feed the dog,” she replied.
She glanced out the dining room window to see her youngest child rolling in the snow with the dog. David Jr., or DJ, was seven. No fear packaged in perpetual motion. Somewhere along the line he’d picked of the nickname of Spunky or Spunk. When his siblings wanted to tease him, which was frequently, they called him Skunk.
“Well, he does stink,” Allie had rationalized to her mother once. “But Jeff’s the worst! Does he not know about deodorant? Ugh!”
The trials of being the only girl in a house full of brothers.
“Gotta go, Dave!” Lindsay yelled upstairs.
She grabbed her coat and purse, kissed Allie’s forehead and headed for the garage.
Chapter 5
In Utah, snowstorms are a fact of life in late February. Thank goodness the plows had been out. Lindsay drove cautiously, waving occasionally to neighbors still digging out their driveways. Dave was quiet beside her.
“You OK, hon?” he asked?
“Yeah,” she replied. “It’s just this whole thing seems kind of surreal,” Lindsay replied. “I mean, I knew it would eventually come down to this but I guess I just never expected to feel, well, sort of numb about it. It’s almost like a business transaction. Call the mortuary. Get the death certificate. Stop the mail. Thank goodness we didn’t have to deal with moving any of her stuff.”
“Clay and Susan didn’t want any of it?” Dave asked. “Some of that stuff from Japan was kind of cool.”
Lindsay shot him a sideways glance. “Are you kidding?”
Her cousins hadn’t seen their mother in years. In fact, they no longer called her “Mom.” She was simply “Bonnie,” like a mutual acquaintance they had but with whom they had zero desire to acknowledge.
Dave was a guidance counselor at Mountain Ridge Middle School. He’d walked Lindsay off the Bonnie ledge several times.
“Think of it as watching someone drowning,” he’d explained. “They know they’re going under. You know they’re going under. But you must never, ever get in the water with them. You can throw them a rope or a branch. You can look for the pole like the kind they have at the swimming pool. But you must never, never get in the water with them. If you do, you’re both going under.”
That’s what Susan and Clay had learned – and lived. They swam for their lives and if that meant leaving their mother behind, so be it. As a military family, they had traveled the world and always took the same secrets with them. Make dad look good. Follow the rules. Put on a brave face. And never, ever let anyone know your mother was a hopeless drunk.
The secret survived. The family didn’t. As Bonnie’s husband, Rob, advanced in his Army career it became more difficult for them both. An officer’s wife couldn’t be seen sloshed every time there was any event involving the women. So Rob had cut his losses and moved on, quite successfully. His kids, Clay and Susan, were left to deal with the debris.
Lindsay thought about the choices they had all made to survive as she pulled into the cemetery. She could see her brother’s car at the grave site and was thankful Sam had offered to bring their mom. As a lay leader in their church, Sam had also offered to conduct a brief graveside service. “Bless you!” Lindsay thought. She wasn’t sure when the last time was Bonnie had set foot in a church but she hated the idea of a clergy person pretending to know her and trying to offer comfort. Bonnie had already lived through hell. Lindsay was pretty sure her aunt’s afterlife would include some place much kinder.
Somehow, this February day was breaking with a bit of sunshine. The snow clouds had cleared and only a few stragglers remained to play peek-a-boo with the sun. The mortuary had cleared a path across the grass to the gravesite.
“Hi, Mom,” she hugged her mom gently.
Somehow, she seemed more fragile today.
“Hello, dear,” her mom whispered back.
“You doing OK?” Lindsay asked.
Dumb question, she thought.
Her mom nodded. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, sweetheart,” her mom said. “I just couldn’t have faced all this alone. I still feel so bad you had to deal with that apartment,” her mom looked earnestly into Lindsay’s eyes. “I don’t know how you managed but I’m so grateful.”
Lindsay gave her mom another hug. “I’m glad I could help. You’ve already been through so much.”
“I’m glad the landlord was nice enough to cancel her lease,” her mother said. “We didn’t get the cleaning deposit back,” she added with a wry smile.
Her mom glanced at the small hole where Bonnie’s ashes would be interned. It was between her parents’ graves. The mortician said they could do it without disturbing Charlotte and Henry’s resting place.
“Now they’re all together again,” her mom said softly.
Heaven knew the first time the family was united was not exactly peaceful.
Chapter 6
She was the good girl. And he was the town bad boy. So, of course, it made sense they would meet and marry. Love is combustible. It will warm and melt you. Then explode and destroy all you ever wanted, leaving only ashes of your former self, cold and gray in the unrelenting here and now.
That was Charlotte and Henry. She wanted to be a school teacher. He wanted anything that took him away from home. He was dark haired, dark eyed, with a stocky build and cocky smile. She was slight, blonde, and wiry. Charlotte admired his looks but would have been mortified to speak to him or even look at him. Everyone knew his reputation.
He already knew all the fast girls in town. Charlotte was different. She never gave him the time of day. He’d see here sometimes on her way home from school when he’d managed to slip away from the ice house for a while. You didn’t need school to haul blocks of ice on your back so why bother? School was for nobodies. Guys who were too scared to say no to their pas. Not him. He was going somewhere. He would be somebody.
Charlotte was going places too. She was going to college – someday. She was going to be a teacher. She’d have a house of her own and more books than she could count. She’d be respectable and people would call her Miss Thurgood and nod to her on the street. Her students would love her and sometimes she would even have a penny candy for them for winning the spelling bee or writing an especially good essay. Yes. She was absolutely going to college. She wasn’t sure how. But she would absolutely do it. First, she had to go to the bars.
Although her mother sold eggs and took in ironing, it wasn’t enough to keep a family of five going. Not nearly enough. When she’d exhausted the last of everything, she would send Charlotte to the bars on 25th street, in search of her absentee father.
Charlotte hated that errand. She felt humiliated to have to publicly beg her father for what he should have been providing all along. She hated the dusky bars and the smell of tobacco and stale beer. She hated the snickers that often accompanied her on her way out the door when the bartender shook his head and said, “Not today, darlin’.” Up and down the street she went, trying one bar after another until finally she found him. He was never drunk. Just sipping and smoking and playing cards. You can do that when you’re a lawman, while you’re waiting for someone to rob a bank or shoot someone.
Sometimes, the shame was greater than she thought she could bear. Standing in front of him, wordlessly waiting. One time, when she almost couldn’t stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks, she made herself remember Eliza, and that stopped them cold. Eliza had been just eight when she died. People said it was probably appendicitis. But there was no money and no doctor, until it was too late. And now there was no blue-eyed, blonde haired, laughing little Liza. Charlotte was sure it would have been different if her father would have been there. But he wasn’t. And now neither was Eliza. Charlotte didn’t cry any more.
Chapter 7
Henry loved Charlotte’s trip to the bars as much as she hated it. He’d watch as head held high, she’d walk into a bar like she owned the place. When she came out, same thing. Nobody was going to get in her way. Nobody was going to stop her from getting what she came for. He’d tried. Once. And she’d slapped his face.
If she’d punched him, it probably would have flattened Henry. The strength behind that slap made him stumble backwards.
“What the hell!” he hollered.
“Don’t you ever, ever call me a beggar again!” she hissed at him.
Charlotte shook with anger and for a split second was frozen in her tracks. Then she pushed her way around him and stumbled on the sidewalk. She caught her balance and stood for a moment breathing hard.
“I’m sorry,” Henry said from behind her. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just being smart.”
“If you’re so smart you should know better than to talk like that to someone you don’t even know,” she replied.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re Charlotte Thurgood. And you don’t take crap from anyone. Especially not me.”
They walked in silence down the block until she turned for home and he turned to the ice house. And that is how it all began.
There were other talks. And other walks. Then stolen kisses. All their dreams seemed woven together in a way that trapped both of them into believing the other was the sole proprietor of their personal happiness. The tangle became tighter and tighter. When Charlotte realized she was pregnant she was only a little surprised and even less ashamed. The judge married them that week.
Chapter 8
It happened so gradually Charlotte almost didn’t notice. Talks that once fueled the fire of their dreams now became the kindling for their arguments. Henry was desperate to get out of town and make a name for himself somewhere, anywhere. The ice house was his master, and he was simply a dumb beast of burden. He loathed it. On pay days, he stopped at the bars on his way home, celebrating his new found wealth and trying to forget his troubles. A few drinks. A few rounds of pool. Suddenly, there was little or nothing left to take home.
With a baby on the way, Charlotte was determined her child would never face the poverty and shame she had endured. She did everything she could to stretch what little she had. But it was never, ever enough. Henry was nothing but talk, and there was always plenty of that. She looked at her growing belly and realized, terrified, she had become her mother. How could she have been so stupid? What was she to do? Charlotte’s fears dissolved into drinking. The path she picked changed all their lives.
One baby. And then two, barely a year apart. Two little girls who looked like twins but couldn’t have been more different. Both had dark hair in ringlets, but that was the end of their similarities. Betty was the prissy one. With her doll and one broken china cup, she loved playing house in the shade in front of their apartment building. Bonnie loved playing marbles in the dirt with the boys, usually beating them. As the girls grew, their roles reversed. Betty made friends easily, joining choirs and clubs at school. Bonnie, retreated to her sister’s shadow.
Chapter 9
Betty really couldn’t remember a time when her parents were happy. Her father, always looking for opportunities that never quite materialized. Her mother, angry, ashamed, and exhausted.
The closest they came to happiness was when they were both drinking. But that quickly evolved into accusations, punctuated by flying fists, flying china, and anything else that could be used as a weapon. Life was an endless round of arguments.
The girls knew better than to ever bring a friend home. Heaven only knew what they would find. Two drunks sprawled out in a house that looked like the war zone it was. No. That was simply not an option. Instead, they played at friends’ homes, or stayed after school in the library with Miss Christiansen. She was from Norway and always had wonderful stories about where she grew up. Sometimes she got out the big book of maps and showed them where her homeland was in relation to where they were. One of Betty’s favorite daydreams was that Miss Christiansen adopted them and took them far away to Norway, where they gathered flowers and wore beautiful ribboned hats. She was sure no one ever argued in Norway. Or drank. And if Miss Christiansen was their mother, she wouldn’t always be worried about taking care of Bonnie. The dream always ended when Miss Christiansen closed the big map book with a thunk. Then it was time to gather her sister and her courage and head for the apartment.
Sometimes there was no food to eat. But usually, Betty could find a bottle of tomatoes and a few soda crackers. And sometimes Mama would have been able to make a little soup from a bone the butcher was going to toss to the dogs anyway. If Daddy hadn’t thrown it off the stove, there might still be some for dinner.
What she could never understand is why didn’t someone help them? Mama’s sisters knew what was happening. They had to know. No matter how Mama tried to explain away her bruises, nobody trips and falls that many times. Her grandparents invited the family over occasionally. But they were always stern faced and tight lipped. Henry had no love lost for his parents, and evidently the feeling was mutual. It was wonderful to have a plate full of roast beef and potatoes. And Betty loved her grandmother’s rich raisin pudding, but the meal was always so tense sometimes she could barely swallow. When they left, her grandfather never said a word, just marched into their small sitting room and picked up his paper. Out of her husband’s sight, her grandmother would give the girls a long hug and a sad smile, as though she too were a prisoner.
Chapter 10
The clouds were getting lower on the foothills as Betty pulled her red wool coat tighter around her shoulders. She’d saved her money all summer to buy that beautiful Jantzen coat. It was worth every second of emptying those awful bed pans at the hospital. The coat was a beautiful ruby color and the soft wool was finer than anything she’d ever worn before. She was actually glad it was fall and threatening snow. She felt happy every time she slipped on that lovely coat.
She stomped her boots at the apartment threshold and made her way up the stairs. It was quiet, so either Mama wasn’t home yet or Daddy had fallen asleep in the living room chair and Mama was tiptoeing around, trying not to disturb him.
It was neither. The apartment was empty. Betty couldn’t believe her luck. She slipped out of her coat and carefully pulled a folded paper from her pocket. She kicked off her boots and began to read:
“Dear Bets, So glad I got to see my favorite girl today, even if it was just across the drill field. Thank goodness for that red coat of yours! I could pick you out across a crowd any day. Sorry I couldn’t walk you home. The commander’s coming in next week for inspection so we’re all practicing like crazy. I wish the Army cared as much about time away as they do about marching. Oh, well. Pops says ROTC was a good choice since I’ll probably get drafted anyway. At least this way I can go in as an officer. Billy Willson’s on his way to boot camp in Oklahoma. What a laugh! Gotta run! X0X0 R.”
Richard O’Brien. They’d pretty much been going steady since he gave her his fraternity pin last spring. All the girls in her school club teased her she’d be married by graduation. Betty blushed at the thought. She did like him. A lot. And even boys who hadn’t graduated from high school yet were going off to war. She and Rich would both graduate this coming spring. They were sure he’d be shipping out right after that. Lots of kids were getting married because who knew what the future might bring?
Rich. Just thinking about him made her feel warm and tingly. It made Bonnie crazy.
“Just because everyone else is getting married doesn’t mean you need to,” she’d lectured. “What about stenographer school? You can’t do that as a married woman,” Bonnie said.
Betty’d replaced her dream of being adopted by Miss Christiansen with a more sophisticated grown-up version. She’d graduate from steno school. Get a good job in a fancy office. She’d wear lovely clothes all day and maybe even buy a car. Maybe she and Bonnie could even live together! She would go to important meetings and respectable men dressed in fancy suits would say, “I don’t know how we’d manage without you!”
No, Rich would never stand for that – even if somebody would hire her. But when she thought about how she felt when they kissed. Well, that was something to be considered too.
There was a gust of cold air as the apartment door blew open and her mother burst in. Mama’s coat was thin and faded. She shivered out of her gloves and kissed Betty on the cheek. Charlotte set a sack of groceries down on the kitchen table Then another bag with booze beside it.
“Where’s Daddy?” Betty asked.
Charlotte turned to hang her coat on the hook on the wall. Turning back to Betty, she replied, “The only time I’ll know for sure where your father is is when he’s in the grave.”
Chapter 11
“This way!” shouted one of the men.
Several pairs of footsteps hurried down the hall. Then there was pounding on the apartment door.
Charlotte looked at Betty and hurried to open the door.
“Weave, what’s the…” Charlotte’s inquiry was interrupted.
“There’s been an accident, Charlotte,” Barney Weaver, the railroad supervisor said. “It’s Henry. We’ve got to get to the hospital fast. C’mon. I’ll drive you.”
Charlotte stumbled to the hook holding her coat and grasped Barney’s outstretched hand.
“Mama, I …” was all Betty had time to say before her mother was gone.
Henry had managed to get on with the railroad as a brakeman. The money was steady and the job better suited to an aging man who’s back was bent from years of hauling huge blocks of ice up several flights of stairs to waiting refrigerators. It was, as he often told his family, “work that mattered,” helping the freighters and passenger trains that clogged the war time railroads reach their destinations.
It was also incredibly dangerous. That may have been the part Henry liked best. A stuck brake wheel could pin a man beneath the rail cars or crush him in between them. He’d tell his friends and family he was always just one step away from death, and then scoff at their shocked reactions. “Only rookies make that kind of mistake,” he’d brag. “I’m too smart for that kind of nonsense.”
Betty dropped into the only decent chair the family owned, the ragged, over-stuffed one her father always sat in, and waited for news from the hospital.
She could have put the groceries away or started something for dinner, or maybe even done her homework. Instead, she just sat, listening for the hall phone several families shared to bring her word. Only silence answered her worries. The apartment was dark and cold before she managed to rouse herself from the chair and turn on a light.
A few minutes later, when the door opened softly, she knew before she even saw her mother’s face. Today, death was a step ahead of Daddy.
Chapter 12
As if she were in a trance, Charlotte walked to the table with the vodka. She took the bottle from the bag moved to the kitchen, where Betty supposed she would look for a glass and begin her escape. Instead, she watched, wordlessly as her mother slowly poured the contents down the drain, the glugging liquid the only sound in the apartment. Charlotte gently set the bottle on the counter, paused for a moment as she passed her daughter to look deeply into her eyes, and walked into the bedroom.
Betty heard the old mattress grown as her mother fell onto the bed. And then a primal, almost animal sound, as her mother began to sob.
--
The funeral was simple. Only a graveside service with a few of Henry’s railroad buddies and Charlotte’s sisters. The day was gray and bitter cold. The bishop offered a brief scripture and prayer and everyone huddled away. The single red rose Charlotte left on Henry’s casket was the only acknowledgement that anyone ever cared about Henry Wheelwright.
Chapter 13
“My name is Charlotte, and I’m an alcoholic.”
Betty could hardly believe her ears.
“Hello, Charlotte,” the group replied.
In the months since her husband had died, Charlotte Wheelwright had savagely taken her grief out on herself. She stopped drinking cold-turkey. The tremors and sweats, anxiety and hallucinations racked her body and mind for a more than a week. When she finally lay limp and exhausted, Betty and Bonnie were unsure if she was over the worst of it or if Charlotte, too, had died.
“Mama?” Betty asked, gently shaking the shoulder of her mother’s sweat-soaked nightgown. “Mama? Can I get you a drink of water? Are you OK, Mama?”
Charlotte’s lips were cracked and her eyes dim. She raised a hand slowly to touch Betty’s arm, then fell back into a dreamless sleep.
The girls looked at each other, silently asking, “Now what?”
Did they dare leave her long enough to return to school? The guidance counselor knew their father had passed away. Would she excuse their absences if she knew they were helping their mother dry out? They decided to each go to school for a half day, alternating time with their mother to make sure she was alright. If the truant officer stopped them on the walk home, they’d just have to tell him the truth.
The plan seemed solid but was, ultimately, unnecessary. After two days of thorough rest, Charlotte was well enough to request soup. She was endlessly thirsty, but no longer feverish and sweaty. The girls were able to get her bathed and dressed, an improvement all of them appreciated.
On her first day sitting at the kitchen table Charlotte spotted a small ad in the newspaper. “Ladies, do you need help with drinking? EX-48139.”
Her hands trembled as she made the call. The woman on the other end gave her a time and a place. And now, here they were. Alcoholics Anonymous.
Betty had never felt so proud of her mother. Bonnie was too embarrassed to come.
Chapter 14
Here they stood again. Huddled at the cemetery, the urn with Bonnie’s ashes in hand. There was just enough room for her at the foot of Henry’s grave. Lindsay watched as the mortician planed the urn on a small stand in the snow. Her mother laid a single red rose at its base. No more watching out for her sister. Now Bonnie was beyond Betty’s reach.
Lindsay thought her mother had aged years in the days since Bonnie’s death. All the years and all the tears came down to this small moment. Disappointments dissolved. Only questions remained. Charlotte had managed to put her demons behind her, reclaiming her dignity and her life. Bonnie had followed her father’s disastrous path. And Betty watched it all unfold, powerless to stop her sister’s choices.
There’s a saying in AA that you have to “let go and let God.” But what if that letting goal is a free fall into a pit whose bottom you can’t even glimpse? What if God doesn’t catch you? Or doesn’t care? What if “one day at a time” is 23.5 hours too long? The fall is endless. A cold, dark, vacuum that sucks at your life until you simply close your eyes and wait for it to be over. Not frightened. Not desperate. Only eternally tired. So. Very. Tired.
Sam said a brief prayer and they shuffled slowly back to their cars. When they reached the curb, Betty turned again to the grave. The grave diggers had respectfully waited until the family turned away. Now they were eager to get on with their task. Raising her arm slightly in a smallest wave Betty whispered, “Good bye, dear. I love you.”
Sam and Lindsay exchanged glances over their mother’s head, then moved her towards the car. The sky was clouding over.
