Twelve Steps to Normal(90)

“How are you okay with this?” My voice cracks. “She’s gone.”

“I’m not okay with it.” His eyes are heavy with sadness. “Are you?”

“No.”

His next words come out softer. “I didn’t know where I was going to go after Sober Living. When your dad extended the invitation to come here for a little while, I said yes because I knew Nonnie was coming, too.”

I hug my knees to my chest. “Why?”

“Our stories paralleled, in a way. We’d ruined relationships with nearly everyone around us, and we were all out of second, third, fourth chances.” He thinks for a moment. “She saw herself in me. That’s what she said. Wanted to make sure I succeeded in the ways she didn’t—not until the very end, at least. I knew if I came here, came with her, that I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to substance abuse. Because she made me believe in myself.”

Tears sting behind my eyes, making my nose run. I wipe it on my sleeve. “But what about now? Now that she’s gone?”

“Just because a person is gone doesn’t mean their impact is gone, too.” Saylor places a hand on the storage container. “The way you still feel your Grams’s love? I still feel Nonnie’s strength. Her resilience that encouraged me to be better. I’ll always carry that with me.”

Now I let my tears fall freely. “She meant a lot to you.”

When he looks over at me, I notice his eyes are red. “She did.”

We fall into silence, absorbing the comfort of each other’s company.

“It took me a long time to realize that you don’t have to go through the tough and terrible things alone,” Saylor finally says. “And your dad and Peach and I are here to help you through this, you know?”

I nod, trying to swallow the painful ache in my throat. He’s right. Sitting here in the dark with this giant bottle makes me feel horrible for abusing it in the same way my dad used to.

Saylor produces the vodka cap that had rolled away. “I’m not going to lecture you anymore. You already know everything I want to say about this.”

I take the cap from him. “How did you know I was out here?”

“I heard you. I couldn’t sleep, either.” He stands up, then offers me a hand. I take it. “Let’s go pour that out.”

I follow him into the kitchen, bringing the handle with me. I tip it over into the sink and watch as the clear liquid disappears down the drain. When it’s empty, he tosses it into the recycling. He doesn’t falter once, not even when he could have drunk it with me in the garage. His strength brings shame to me all over again.

It’s strange how, at one point, I wanted nothing to do with them. Despite what I thought, they’ve changed me in the very best ways. I didn’t know Nonnie for very long, but I’m glad I knew her at all. If she’s taught me anything, it’s that you should take time to get to know the people you care about.

I gesture outside. “Have time to talk?”

Saylor nods, and we walk to his hammock in the backyard. There’s a slight chill in the air. I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt.

“Please don’t tell my dad,” I say, my head fuzzy from the liquor.

“I won’t… as long as you promise to talk to one of us in the future.”

“I swear.” The tightness in my throat makes my voice small. I’m grateful and embarrassed, but if Saylor notices he doesn’t say anything.

“We can talk about her,” he says gently, “if it helps.”

I think back, wishing my dad had asked me if I wanted to talk about Grams after she passed. Instead he’d clammed up and turned to alcohol, just like I’d tried to do. And I don’t want to be the person he once was. I want to talk.

So I do.

“Was Nonnie her real name?”

Saylor tucks his hands behind his head. “No, but that’s an interesting story.”

He tells me her real name is Nancy and that she never had kids of her own. When her brother’s kids had kids they sort of adopted her as another grandmother. Nonnie’s part Italian, and Nonnie is Italian for grandmother.

I bet she made a pretty great faux-grandmother.

We stay out there a few more hours, lying side by side on the hammock. He tells me more about Nonnie—how she wore her Freddie cape to the top of the Empire State building. How she always told him she’d break a bone if she tried to do yoga. How she wanted to buy a house of her own so she really could save every dog in the Cedarville shelter.

I don’t ask about her life before Sober Living. That’s not the Nonnie I want to know, and that’s not the person she’d want me to remember. It doesn’t matter anyway, because in the end she was the best person she could be. That’s what counts.

I prop myself up a bit so I can see Saylor better. “I never apologized to you. About… how I treated you.” I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For everything. You’ve been so good to me, and I’ve been awful.”

Saylor just looks at me. “Kira, I already knew how you felt—I knew you were sorry.”

I furrow my brows in confusion. “You did?”

“Your essay that I helped you with? About The Crucible? You weren’t talking about John Proctor. You were talking about you. And despite your existential crisis that’s clearly unrelated to John Proctor, I knew you cared about us.” He looks right at me. “And Nonnie knew, too.”