Chapter Twenty-Nine
Taylor
“What’s that smell?” Emma asks when she comes downstairs the next morning.
“Bacon and eggs,” I reply, flipping them in the pan.
“Makes me sick.”
“Sorry.” I open a window. “I didn’t think.”
“It’s fine. I can eat it; I just can’t smell it.” She pours herself a glass of juice. “Mom nursing her hangover?”
“I wouldn’t know . . . probably.”
She tilts her head.
“I left her in jail.”
She spits out her juice. “Jail?”
“Yeah, she got picked up last night for drunk and disorderly, and I just left her there.”
“She’s not going to be happy about that.”
“She’s gonna be even more upset after I find all her hidden wine bottles and throw them away.”
“What’s the point? She’ll just buy more when you go back to Crestwood.”
I plate up the food, carry it to the table, and sit. “I was thinking I’d move back here until we come up with a plan for you—and to convince her to get help.”
She arches a brow. “Can you really do that?”
“If you want me to.”
“No, I mean, don’t you have classes and baseball?”
“You and Mom are more important right now.”
“You really think you can convince her to get help?”
“I don’t think we have many other options, do you?”
“I think it’s a waste of time.” She nibbles on her toast. “Mom’s a lost cause—we should just let her drink herself to death.”
“What about you?” I level my gaze on her over my coffee. “Are you a lost cause?”
She shrugs. “Probably.”
“Then why’d you call and ask for my help?”
“Because I’d just found out and I was scared! I didn’t know who else to call!”
“So, what? You’re not scared anymore?”
“No—I just feel like you’re going to tell me what to do without thinking about what I want. I already know you don’t approve of the things I do or the people I hang out with, so how is this going to be any different?”
I put my hand over hers. “I promise not to tell you what to do—I’m just here to support you.”
“Even if you don’t agree with my decisions?”
“You’re the one who’s going to have to live with them, so you’re the only one who has to agree with them.”
She swallows, the muscles in her neck contracting. “I don’t know what I should do, but taking away Mom’s wine is just going to make her more miserable to live with.”
I turn my attention to my now-cold breakfast. She’s probably right, but I feel I have just as much of an obligation to Mom as I do Emma.
“What about school?” I ask, refocusing my efforts there.
“The odds of me graduating aren’t great at this point.”
“You could still get your GED.” I pop a forkful of egg in my mouth. “If you want to.”
“I don’t know—I’m not smart like you and Chase. I never planned to go to college or have these huge career aspirations.”
“That’s okay—you don’t have to be like us. You also don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”
She snorts. “You sound like my guidance counselor.”
“You talked to your guidance counselor?”
“My homeroom teacher heard the gossip—fucking Tony told his friends and his friends told their friends, and it just got around, so she thought I should talk to somebody about it.”
“Did she give you any advice?”
“She gave me these pamphlets, and we talked about my choices . . . but I’m not ready to make any decisions yet.”
“All right.” I smile hesitantly. “I’ll be here when you do.”
She toys with the edge of her plate, not meeting my eyes. “Instead of you staying here, do you think I could stay with you?”
“You want to come back to Crestwood with me?”
“There’s nothing really left for me here. Tony broke up with me and like I said school isn’t going that great.”
I nod, thinking about how I’ve been so wrapped up in taking care of Emma here that I’ve forgotten what it actually looks like on the ground. What it really was—not some grand sacrifice, but taking her with me into the next place, and not leaving her to survive this alone.
“If that’s what you want, we’ll make it work.”
She finally looks up at me, her startlingly blue eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You won’t be.” I squeeze her hand. “We can pack your stuff and leave after I pick up Mom from jail.”
It takes about an hour for Emma to gather the few things she wants to keep. She moves haphazardly through her room, tossing notebooks and clothes into a duffel, pausing to stare at a lopsided photo of her and Tony at one of those mall photo booths.
I toss the leftovers from breakfast and clean the kitchen, not wanting to leave a mess for when Mom comes home.
I try not to think about how empty the house will be, or whether we’re doing the right thing by taking off and leaving her alone.
She’s likely better off without us as an audience for her self-destruction, but the guilt keeps bumping into me like a runner caught between two bases.
When Emma’s bag is zipped and the house is as clean as it’s going to get, we pile in my car and head for the police station. The ride is strangely quiet, both of us suspended in the limbo between what’s happened and what comes next.
“Wait here,” I say when we arrive, and I go in by myself. I talk to the day-shift desk sergeant, and an officer promptly brings my mother out.
She sneers when she sees me. “I don’t even want to look at you.”
“You won’t have to for long.” I lead her out to the parking lot. “Emma and I are leaving for Crestwood after we drop you off at home.”
“Don’t bother,” she says, turning away once we’re outside.
I stand there, paralyzed for a moment, watching her walk away. Once she’s out of my line of sight, I return to my car.
“Where’s she going?” Emma asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply, starting the engine. “And it’s no longer our responsibility to find out.”