Rapid Falls(29)

Shortly after their divorce, my mom admitted that my dad’s reliance on alcohol was an old pattern. It was how he managed stress when Anna and I were kids; she had to threaten to leave him before he sobered up. Her threat worked, for a while. He didn’t drink much when we were growing up: a beer or two after his baseball game or at a party. But after the accident, he started drinking seriously again, and he hasn’t stopped since.

Now we barely speak. At first, when I was in college and the silences on the phone stretched to awkward lengths, I attributed it to his loneliness. My mom had moved out, and he was living alone in a house that used to be filled with a family. Eventually I stopped calling and so did he. I thought maybe things would be different when Maggie was born, but nothing changed. Anna’s decisions had shattered us all. My mom had moved on; my dad just kept sinking down.

“Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems,” Rick says. “Maybe this will be what Anna needs to finally stop drinking.” He’s not a good actor, but I smile to support his efforts.

“Maybe,” I say. Neither of us has the energy to say more. The soft hills of the farms harden into used car lots and truck stops as the city rises into view. I turn on a playlist of ambient music, and the soothing electronic sounds fill the car. My headache fades to a dull throbbing, and I feel unexpectedly calm until we pull into the driveway, where I can see my mother frantically pacing in front of the bay window. Her face changes when she sees our car. She looks relieved.

“Thank God you are here.” Her eyes are brimming with tears as she closes the distance between us and hugs my arm to her. My mom has a tendency to physically crowd others when she gets upset, as if closing a gap between bodies is the same as closing emotional distance. I smile and move away as I walk to the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine. Rick looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and displeasure. The irony of Anna’s alcoholism triggering me to drink more is not lost on my husband.

“Mom, are you okay to stay? Or do you want to go home?”

“No, it’s fine. I called Ingrid. She understands. She told me to stay over, if that’s okay with you. Help if I can.” Somewhere along the way, my mother began talking about herself as someone who could assist me with Anna, as if my sister was my responsibility and her involvement was optional.

“Great. Do you want anything?” I say.

She nods and slides onto a stool. “A glass of wine would be wonderful.”

I pour her a glass and discreetly top up the inch or two I’ve already gulped down from mine.

“Is Maggie still asleep?” I ask.

My mother nods. “She was easy tonight.”

“That’s great. At least something went well.”

“Yeah,” my mom says quietly. She stares down at the counter, lost in thought. Rick takes a seat beside her, frowning.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” I have a feeling I know what he’s thinking about. It’s the same thing on all our minds, the elephant in the room. Prostitution. Anna has sunk down to a level that I never thought she would reach, and she’s pulling us all down with her.

My mother looks at us both carefully. “She hangs out in pretty bad neighborhoods sometimes. I’m not sure . . . maybe it was about drugs. She’s not doing . . . that. I just gave her rent money. She’s not a . . .” She drifts off.

I imagine the sweat of a man’s body dripping on my sister. I take a deep drink of wine to suppress a gag.

“I still need to call Dad,” I say out loud.

My mom winces. “Of course, Cara. Thank you.”

“No problem,” I say reflexively.

“No, really, Cara. Thank you for all that you do. I don’t know how we would get through this without you.”

I am warmed by her recognition. Anna’s repeated mistakes have brought my mom and me closer. She understands how hard it’s been for me, for us. My dad doesn’t. He has never acknowledged what I do for my sister or how painful it is for me to have been shunned from his life. I guess it’s easy to ignore reality in Rapid Falls.

I trail my hand over the smiling photos of Rick, Maggie, and me in the hallway as I make my way to the office. There is only one picture of Anna on this wall: a group shot of the wedding party. Anna hates having her picture taken, so I don’t have any recent shots to include. There is not a single photograph of my father. He and I haven’t had our picture taken together since the night of my prom, and it seemed odd to hang it, given what had happened that night. I had asked our wedding photographer for a father-daughter shot, but my dad hadn’t showed up for the family shoot. By the time the reception began, he was too drunk. I click on a lamp by the armchairs, sit down, and pull out my phone, willing myself to work up the strength to call my father. I never look forward to hearing his voice, and I know he doesn’t enjoy hearing mine.



In my third year of college, Rick’s father had a cancer scare. I was amazed at the way Rick’s family came together during the difficult weeks. The kindness and the worry made me ache for what was left of my family. When his dad’s biopsy came back benign, I asked Rick if he wanted to come with me for a trip to Rapid Falls. At that point, weeks would go by without my dad returning my phone calls, and I wanted to check on him. I worried about how Rick would react to seeing where I grew up, whether it might make him think twice about where our relationship was headed. But I knew I had to introduce them at some point, and I wanted to get it over with.