Folk Around and Find Out (Good Folk: Modern Folktales #2)(45)
“Heather didn’t do that?”
“Heather bent the rules for customers, gave longer lap dances, let folks touch her where she shouldn’t, and that made things dangerous for the rest of us. The thing about Hank is that, even if you're really good, even if you bring in lots of good business, if you’re burning out or you hate the work, or you're starting to—you know—lose yourself in it, he will make sure you have a different place to go. He doesn't want anybody to feel like this is their only option. And he did that with her.”
I felt like I might fall off the desk. “He . . . he found her another job?”
“He did. She works in a factory now. I think he was worried she might turn to drugs, to keep her attitude sunny and her energy up. He didn’t know she was already using.”
“But you did,” I guessed.
“I did. My mother, she . . .” Hannah heaved a heavy sigh and rubbed her forehead. “You know her history, how my daddy left us, how she hit that car while under the influence and shattered her leg, how I became a stripper at The Pink Pony and a hostess at The Front Porch to pay the bills.” Her lips curved into a subversive twist and she glanced at the ceiling. “Poor little Hannah Townsend, the stripper with a heart of gold.”
Everyone knew this version of events. Just like, according to Hank, everyone knew Kevin left me heartbroken, abandoning his kids for a stripper. False. Just like everyone knew Hank was a dissolute, unethical, ne’er-do-well. Also false.
“Please. Like I couldn’t work at Payton Mills or a hundred other places,” she went on. “But those were my Plan D, E, and F. This job is difficult, it’s tough if you’re not mentally prepared, but I’ve never felt desperate. Stripping has never felt like my only option.”
“Because of Hank? You know he’ll help you leave if you burned out?”
“That’s right. But Heather? When she got here, she felt like she had no choice.” Hannah refocused her gaze on me. “I know about addiction. I’ve lived with it most of my life until my mother got clean. But even now, even years sober, it’s always there. Always a threat. Sometimes the only thing you can do for an addict is let the person know that when they're ready to change, when they've hit rock bottom or the bottom of a water barrel, when they're ready to work on it for themselves, you’ll be there. You’ll be waiting.”
“If Heather is sober—”
“She is. Now. But sobriety is the first step. You—her parents—can’t fight this battle for her. Believe me, I tried with my mother. I tried to be everything she needed, almost killing myself in the process, and it only made things worse. This isn’t their battle to fight, and it isn’t yours.”
My heart hurt, and not caring whether Hannah would be hovering over me or not, I flopped into the chair.
Placing my elbows on my knees, I buried my face in my hands. “How do I tell her parents this? As a mother, my instinct is always going to be to rush in and help my babies. I understand helping; I don’t understand letting my baby fall.”
“There’s a reason adults are too heavy to carry, Charlotte. They need to learn how to carry themselves. Obviously, there are some exceptions. But take my momma as an example. My mother was sober for years. She didn’t actually start living again until she met Jed and he insisted none of us put up with her helpless, self-pitying BS.”
A short laugh erupted from my chest and I peeked at Hannah from between my fingers.
Her smile looked hazy, as though lost in a memory. “He challenged her and forced her to want better for herself. I don't think she ever would have changed if not for him coming into our lives. My way of dealing with things—which was to give and give and ruin myself and always feel guilty for not giving enough—did nothing but teach her how to take and take and be helpless. If I’d stopped giving earlier, if I’d forced her to stand on her own, she would’ve. And I think the same thing is true with your cousin.”
“You are not responsible for your mother being an alcoholic or for her busted leg, Hannah. You were a child. She should’ve been protecting you.”
“I know that.” She glanced at her fingers. “Or I try my best to know that, but it’s hard. I understand what your aunt and uncle are going through, in a way. It’s so hard to watch someone you love struggle and not want to rescue them. But I also need to accept that my mother—like Heather—has to be in control of her successes and failures. They’re not mine, they’re hers.”
“Heather has to decide to do it for herself. Not because her parents are panicked, not because they love her,” I said, connecting the dots Hannah had spelled out.
“Correct. I guess that's why she and I got kind of close and still keep in touch. She’d act helpless and I told her to own her shit, reminding her that she’s the one who is deciding to be helpless. I don't put up with her garbage, the garbage is a symptom of the disease. I don't loan her money—ever—and I don't let her lie to me. I think she's doing okay right now. She's not using, at least.” Hannah’s solemn expression made her appear a lot older than her twenty-eight years. “But I don't know if she's ready to see her parents. There’s so much guilt there. She's a little too fragile. If they really want her to succeed, then they need to give her the room to do it on her own terms.”