At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)(41)

But it was coming back to him now. Every day he regained a new piece of his past. Sometimes the memories crashed over him like waves during a nor'easter and all he could do was wait them out. He had done everything possible to blot out the memory of the early years with Mona, the good years, but they came back to him unexpectedly, in detail he'd thought lost to time. He wasn't her first choice but he had done right by her. He had loved her enough to accept whatever she could offer him and not ask for more. She had made her peace with it and they had been happy together, at least for awhile. Nobody could tell him otherwise. They were going to have a big family, sons to carry on his name, daughters to care for them in their old age. The old house by the docks would rock with love and laughter. They were going to be together for the rest of their lives.

So many dreams.

The years passed and the dreams of a house filled with children were put aside. They grew apart and just when it had seemed as if saying goodbye was the only thing they could do that made any sense, Mona came to him and told him she was pregnant and the world came alive again.

He should have known happiness like that was never meant to last.

It hurt, thinking about those years. His heart felt raw and pummeled inside his chest and he found himself longing for the solace of booze. Sweet fire that filled all the empty places in his soul. He wasn't that far from Bigelow's. One drink wouldn't hurt. He could handle just one. A little emotional anesthesia to dull the sharp fangs of regret. You couldn't be expected to go through your life just letting the world beat up on you without a little something to soften the punches.

You're an alcoholic, friend. A drunk. You don't know the meaning of just one drink. One drink, one bottle—before you know it, you'll wake up and it'll be next week and you'll be pissing away everything you did these last seven months. You came home to put things right. Don't f*ck it up now.

Sometimes the little voices in your head were all that stood between you and oblivion.

Still he was making progress. He was determined to stay sober, stay single, stay in Idle Point. If he could manage those three things maybe then he would be able to undo some of the damage he'd done to his mother and Gracie over the years. Especially Gracie. She deserved so much more than he'd been willing to give her. What the hell kind of man hated a child for living? That's what he had done. He had spent the last twenty years hating Gracie because she had lived and Mona had died.

She was a good kid. Smart and bright and generous. He should be proud of her but that would imply he had had something to do with the way she'd turned out. Everybody in Idle Point knew that was about as far from the truth as you could get. His mother got all the credit for that. Gracie worked hard and she didn't ask anything from him, which had always suited him down to the ground. It wasn't fair that a child should bear the burden of anger and regret but that was what had happened.

He thanked God as he turned off Main that there was still time to make amends, that he was still young enough to change or at least to make another attempt. He thought of the past six sober months as a gift to his mother although Del would never acknowledge them. Her disappointment in him ran too deep, almost as deep as his own. Grief had pulled him under for a very long time; it had blinded him to what remained. When had grief turned into anger? He wondered about the moment when sorrow and rage became one, when he began drinking to remember as well as to forget.

It was all a blur. Missing days of his life. Missing weeks. Huge bloody chunks of his heart ripped from his chest and lost forever. But Del remained constant, the rock upon which his family depended. Because of Del, Gracie would make something of herself in this uncertain world. Gracie would survive because Del had taught her how.





#





"Gracie." Noah stood in the doorway to Gramma Del's bedroom. "They need to come in now."

"No." Gracie hugged herself tight and closed her eyes. She was sitting on the floor next to her grandmother's bed. She had been sitting there for the last two hours. "Tell them to go away. I need more time."

"The man from Walker's Funeral Home is here. They want to take care of your grandmother."

Noah's bare feet scratched softly against Gramma's pine floor as he walked toward her. Don't you go tracking sand into my nice clean house, Graciela! Wash those feet before you come in here.

"Brush off your feet," she said. "Gramma is very fussy about her floors."