Twelve Steps to Normal(89)

Later, when I pass by the guest room, I notice Wallis has curled himself onto her hand-knitted blanket. His ears perk up when he hears me pass, but he lies his head back down when he realizes I’m not her.

My heart breaks for him.

The night before the funeral, I can’t sleep. When I close my eyes, I see Nonnie’s blue ones beneath her turquoise frames. I hate that I didn’t get to know her better, especially when she was so kind to me. She admitted her faults and hardships without hesitation, and all I tried to do was send her away.

Guilt and sadness cling to me like summer humidity. I’ve been stupid and selfish toward the people who care about me.

I wish I could talk to Grams.

Being back at Merciful Heart brought up the devastating memories of losing her all over again. She was such a huge source of comfort, and the deep expanse of loneliness without her here is gutting. There wasn’t a tough situation she couldn’t handle. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be the strong one without her.

My phone reads 1:03 a.m. Since the dull emotional ache in my chest won’t dissolve, I decide to creep quietly downstairs. After Grams died, Dad put her clothes and linens in weatherproof storage containers and kept them in the garage. And right now, I want to be as close to her as I can.

I try not to make too much noise as I move aside my dad’s toolkits and boxes of Christmas decorations. The navy containers are toward the back, but something clinks loudly when I begin to pull the first one out. I discover the source of the noise, spotting a large handle of vodka rolling on its side.

Hot anger snakes through me. I have no doubt it belongs to my dad—a ghost of his past life he attempted to hide. It’s dusty and unopened, which makes me think he must have forgotten about it when he came back from the ranch.

Still, I can’t shake my anger and resentment. I was there. I was there for him the whole time. He didn’t have to drown his loneliness when he had me. We could have gotten through our grief together. I was his daughter, his support system, but he’d chosen this instead.

I’d spent the first month in Portland wondering if I should have reached out to him more or tried to talk to him more, despite Aunt June telling me otherwise. I was so sure I could have prevented his addiction. But that wasn’t true. No matter what different scenarios I created in my mind, the result would have still been the same.

Thinking about it makes me furious. After everything with Grams, it wasn’t fair that I had to watch my dad spiral.

How could he do that to me, knowing I was grieving for her just as much as he was?

I ignore the vodka, opening the tops of Grams’s storage containers. I’m hit with a scent that was remarkably her, and my anger is instantly replaced by tears. The memories of her—her cashmere sweaters and crocheted blankets and flannel button-downs—are here, abandoned and alone. She’s not coming back, just like Nonnie. This is all we’ll ever have.

The sorrow and guilt and shame lie thick under my skin. Maybe I couldn’t have done anything to change my dad’s trajectory, but I could have cared more about Nonnie. I didn’t have to give her such a hard time whenever she reached out. Her heart was so big, and I acted so terribly. Not only to her, but toward Saylor and Peach. Toward Alex. I was cold and ungrateful. Cruel, even. Nobody deserved the way I treated them.

Knowing I’ll never get another chance to get to know Nonnie or tell her how much I appreciated her brings back the bitter ache I’d felt when Grams passed. The anguished, miserable feelings I never thought I’d have to endure again.

The reality of it stings.

I slide into a sitting position on the concrete floor, then pick up the handle. When I crack open the top, the cheap, sharp smell hits my nose. But I don’t care. I don’t want to think anymore—about anything. Not Grams or Nonnie or Alex. I wish things had been different with each of them, but I can’t change the past. I can’t change anything.

Closing my eyes, I take a drink. My immediate reflex is to gag. This burns, and not in the good way. I lose grip of the bottle’s cap and it clangs to the floor, rolling away. I let it go and force another sip down. Then another.

“Kira?”

Before I can even think about putting the bottle back in its hiding place, Saylor steps out from around my dad’s car. I watch his expression drop as he looks from my eyes to the handle of vodka.

I feel all my defenses rise, but he surprises me by calmly sitting down next to me. “What’s that going to solve?”

My brain already feels foggy as I try and process my answer. “Not feeling like this.”

“Sad? Angry? Guilty? Confused? Lost?” Saylor rattles off everything I haven’t expressed. “I’ve been there, too. We all have.”

“Well I have more.” My grip tightens on the bottle. “Grams is gone. Now Nonnie is gone.”

There’s sympathy in Saylor’s eyes. “I know, and it’s unfair. But this?” He gestures to the handle. “It doesn’t help. You know it only makes things worse.”

“I’m fine.” I wish he would just leave. “Seriously.”

“You’re drinking alone on the floor in a dark garage,” Saylor replies. “I’d hardly say that’s fine.”

The emptiness in my chest expands, numbing my somber thoughts. I’m not acting like myself. This isn’t how Grams would want to see me coping—and neither would Nonnie.