“Aidyn, listen, we’ve got a lot to work through. Well, of course, you and Beth have done a lot, but you’ve got a lot more to do.” I expected him to give me another mini-commercial for Alateen. “I knew your mom had a bit of a drinking problem. I’ve tried to keep in touch, you know, and it was pretty obvious. I wish—hindsight speaking now—I wish I’d come back a long time ago, but I don’t know if I could have changed things for her. Or for you.”
So we all felt guilty. I sat up. “For me?”
“Being the child of an alcoholic isn’t easy.”
He wasn’t kidding. I watched the familiar streets pass. Being Mom’s daughter wasn’t going to get any easier, but I hadn’t decided to come home because I wanted easy. I wanted Mom. I’d committed to love her no matter what. And now, as I faced my first chance to show her, I realized she would be sober. God sure knew how to keep His bargains, even when He wasn’t the one to make them.
Doug had to grab my elbows from behind and lift me up the stairs, because I couldn’t put any weight on my feet. I stumbled through the apartment door, fell into Mom’s arms, and we both sobbed. Somehow I ended up on the old couch, loving its familiar, broken springs, and Doug had my shoes and socks off. Mom sat next to me, one of my hands clasped lightly in both her bandaged ones. “Aidyn,” she said. “Baby, you’re OK.”
All I wanted right then was to look at her, into her eyes, puffy but clear and steady; and listen to her voice, shaky and hoarse, but not slurring. Mom sober—that was all I’d ever wanted.
“Are you hungry?” Mom asked. “I’ve got some soup. It’s still hot. I’ve been waiting for you to come…” Her voice broke.
“You get it, and I’ll get some medicine on these feet,” Doug said. “I don’t think you’ll get yourself a trip to the hospital. Nothing looks infected so far, just painful.”
“That’s good,” I told him, meaning the hospital trip.
Mom cradled two cups as she came back in. “It’s easier for me to carry them this way,” she said and handed both to me. “This one is cocoa.”
I drank the whole cup off without stopping for breath.
Mom laughed. “I’ll make some more—” But I stopped her.
“No, Mom, I just want you here. OK?”
She gave me a look, shy and delighted, and tucked her arms around her waist.
“Mom, your poor hands.”
She shrugged. “I really messed myself up.”
Doug came in with a first-aid kit. “I didn’t tell her who’s been calling.”
Mom smiled. “Miguel. He called three times, baby. He’s so worried. I called him as soon as we hung up, as soon as I knew you were safe. He’ll come by tomorrow.”
“He will? But—”
“The police found his dad. He’ll have his trial, and we’re all hoping he gets a good sentence. It won’t be long enough, but it will give Miguel and his mother some time to figure out what they need to do next.”
I closed my eyes. All the while I’d been looking for him, he’d been looking for me. Could I have done anything more stupid?
Doug finished smearing my feet with something that stung worse than the ruptured blisters had.
“Mom, I have to talk to you.”
“OK.” Her eyes never left my face.
Doug packed up the first-aid kit and walked back to the bathroom. He didn’t come back, and I reminded myself to thank him for giving us some time alone.
“Mom, I love you.”
She closed her eyes, tears spilling across her cheeks. She wiped one gauzy hand across her face. “I love you too, baby.”
I pulled her hand down, holding her by the wrist so I wouldn’t hurt her worse than I had to. “But I hate it when you drink.”
She let out a sharp breath. “So do I.”
“I won’t run away again, I promise. That was really stupid. But I don’t know what to do when you drink, Mom. I don’t know what to do.”
“I can’t promise you—”
“I’m not asking you to. I just want you to try, OK? I mean, you’re already trying, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.” She lifted her chin and met my eyes. “Two days sober.” She stared at her hands and sighed. “A few days ago I told everyone two months but now, all I can claim is two days.”
“I know.” I caught up her other hand and held them the way I’d learned from Lucy, softly, gently. The wrappings had come loose and I saw bloodstains on the inside, and red gashes laced with untidy black stitches. I tucked the gauze a little tighter, making sure not to touch her wounds. God, I hope You’re with me. I hope You help me keep my promises.
“I guess I have to practice saying stuff like this, if I go to those meetings, you know?” I took a deep breath and blurted, “My name is Aidyn, and my mom is an alcoholic.”
She bent her face to my hands, shaking hard. I lifted her chin up so I could watch her while I said, “My mom is two days sober, and I am so proud.”
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A Fistful of God Page 15
