Muddy Bottom

by Ashley Farley

  The weeks pass in a blur. Max is the only person Birdie sees. And she keeps her at bay as best she can. She responds to Max’s texts and speaks to her through cracked doors when Max drops off food several times a week.

  Birdie scours Cary’s devices, searching for any electronic communications that might offer insight into his whereabouts. But she comes up empty. She hasn’t a clue what she’ll do if she finds him. Have him arrested? Shoot him dead with his own shotgun?

  She combs through his clothes. In his pockets, she finds a tube of lipstick, not Birdie’s shade, and a black lace thong, which is not hers either. Perhaps that was part of their problems. Maybe she should’ve been wearing black thongs and sexy lingerie to spice up their love life. But Cary never showed he was bored with sex. Okay, that’s not entirely true. In recent years he has become less interested in her body. But doesn’t that happen to all middle-aged couples? Is that any reason for him to run off with another woman?

  Late in the day on a Saturday afternoon toward the end of January, she lights a fire in an old oil drum on the brick patio and burns all of Cary’s clothes, including his shoes, underwear, and socks.

  Around the beginning of February, Birdie finally gives up hope of ever hearing from Cary again. He’s probably in Tahiti, or some equally exotic foreign place, living the dream with his mystery woman. She barely misses him, anyway. Her depression, her need to drink, is brought on by the feeling of worthlessness that consumes her night and day.

  Birdie’s job as a parent is over. Her daughter, a grown young woman, has made it clear she’s capable of making her own decisions by having a baby out of wedlock at twenty-two years of age. Hannah’s pregnancy eats at Birdie. Not only is she frustrated with Hannah for throwing away her life, she’s concerned about Hannah’s health and the logistics of giving birth to the baby.

  The bills pile up until Birdie fears the electrical company will turn off her power. Seated at her desk, she goes through them one by one, writing checks and submitting online payments. The American Express bill includes all their charges from Christmas. Her eyes pop when she sees how much Cary paid for Hannah’s camera and telephoto lens. He then ran off with all their money, leaving Birdie to figure out how to pay for his extravagant gift to their daughter. In all their twenty-five years of marriage, she never realized he was such a jerk.

  Birdie has twelve hundred dollars left after she pays the bills. With more bills arriving every day and no money coming in, she has no choice but to sell the house. The notion of losing her home sends her over the edge, and she drinks more that night than ever before. In a fit of rage, she ravages her family room with one of Cary’s golf clubs. She breaks lamps and beats feathers out of throw pillows. She scars antique wooden furniture and breaks the glass in picture frames bearing their family photos.

  She wakes the following morning to the sound of Max gasping. “What on earth? Who ransacked your house? Did someone break in last night?” Another gasp. “Birdie, what happened to your feet? There’s blood everywhere.”

  Bleeding? That explains the pain. But what happened to them? She opens her eyes. The room spins, and she closes them again.

  “Good lord,” Max says, and Birdie hears a thunk, the sound of an object being placed on the coffee table near her head. “Did you drink this entire bottle of vodka? I’m calling an ambulance.”

  Without opening her eyes, Birdie’s left hand shoots out and grabs the leg of Max’s jeans. “Please, don’t,” she mumbles through parched lips.

  “You need medical attention, if not for alcohol poisoning, then for your feet. They’re cut to shreds.”

  “I’m fine. I just need a minute.” Careful not to disturb her feet, Birdie props herself on one elbow. Blood from deep gashes in her feet soak the cushions at the other end of the sofa. She surveys the destruction in the room—broken lamps, overturned furniture, pages of books ripped to shreds, shards of glass from broken picture frames embedded in the carpet—the source of the cuts on her feet.

  Max lowers herself to the edge of the coffee table. “How long has the drinking been a problem?”

  Birdie rakes her fingers through her matted hair. This is bad. Really bad. This is rock bottom, the turning point. She either gets herself together now or . . . or what? She can’t bring herself to think about the or what. “Years.”

  “In my limited experience with such things, it’s pointless to force help on an alcoholic. They have to be willing to accept it. Are you willing?”

  She nods, a tear trickling down her cheek. “I don’t want to live like this.”

  Max pulls out her phone and thumbs the screen. “Then we need to get you into a good rehab program. There’s—”

  “No! Not rehab. I’ll do better. I promise.” She squeezes her eyes tight, but the tears keep coming. “I’m broke, Max. I have to sell the house. I’m scared, and I’m angry as hell at Cary. But I’m angry at myself, too, for letting this happen. I’ve lost everything. My family and now my home. I have nothing left to live for.”

  Max sets her phone down on the table beside her. “You’ve always talked about going back into nursing. Maybe now is the right time to do that.”

  Birdie shakes her head. “I let my license lapse. I would have to complete a reentry program. It’s not worth it. I never loved nursing. The work is rewarding, but I no longer have the energy for the long shifts in the ER.”

  “What about your bakery business? People love your pies and you have plenty of opportunity to expand.”

  “Right. They love them so much, not a single person has requested a pie since New Year’s.”

  “Because they understand you’re having a family crisis, but several of your biggest fans have asked me when you’re going to start baking again.”

  Birdie feels a flutter in her belly. Is that hope? It’s been so long, she doesn’t recognize it. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.” Max grabs her hand. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll move in here with you for a few days, but if you can’t stay sober, you’ll go to rehab.”

  Birdie rolls her head to the side to look at her friend. “But what about the hotel?”

  “I closed for January and February to make some repairs. I can take a break from painting and tile work.”

  “If you help me get back on my feet, I’ll help you finish your repairs.”

  “That’s a deal I won’t turn down,” Max says with a smile. “You’re a beautiful woman, Birdie. But you’re even more beautiful when your inner light shines through. I haven’t seen that light shine in a very long time, but I’m going to help you find it again.”

  Five

  Max remains at Birdie’s bedside through the worst of her alcohol withdrawal. She places cool washcloths on her forehead and changes the bandages on her wounded feet. When she feels like eating, Max brings her healthy meals on trays and counsels her through her many mood swings. Five days later, on a Friday afternoon, Birdie finally turns the corner and leaves her bedroom to find order restored to her family room.

  “You’re too good to me, Max.” She roams the room, surveying the permanent damage. How could she not remember wreaking such havoc?

  Max smiles. “You once did the same for me.”

  This is true. Birdie nurtured Max through the dark months following her husband’s sudden death from a heart attack three years ago. Just as Max had been a strong shoulder for Birdie to cry on when both her parents were killed in a car accident fifteen years ago. “We’ve always been here for each other.”

  “And we always will.” Max takes Birdie’s hand. “Let’s get some fresh air.” She leads Birdie through the kitchen and out the back door.

  The day is warm with bright blue skies, and Birdie feels like a bear emerging from its cave after a long winter. “What’s the date, Max?”

  “February twenty-fourth.”

  Birdie cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously? My life is passing me by in a blur.”

  Max nods. “I know what you mean. Our time on earth is precious. We shoul
dn’t waste a single day. And I’m here to make sure you don’t waste any more of yours.”

  Still holding hands, they mosey down to the water and out to the end of the dock. Breathing in deeply, Birdie says, “How will I give all this up?”

  “You’ll find something new. Your next stage of life is waiting for you out there”—she spreads her arms wide at the inlet—“in this great, big, beautiful world.”

  Birdie places her hand over her racing heart. “You and Daniel were married for twenty years. You know how terrifying it is to move into the next stage of life without the man you thought you’d grow old with.”

  Max turns toward the house. “I never said it’d be easy. Think of it as an adventure. Your home is lovely, and waterfront properties are a hot commodity. You’ll have no trouble selling it. With no mortgage to pay off, you can put the money in the bank. Your only child is grown, and with no husband or house tying you down, you can do whatever you want.”

  Birdie remains facing the water. What she wants is her old life back. She’s poured her heart and soul into taking care of this house. “But my only child grew up here. How will I let those memories go?”

  “Those memories don’t live in this house. They live in your heart. They will be with you always, wherever you go.” Taking her hand, Max drops to the edge of the dock and pulls Birdie down beside her. “Think of your future as a clean slate from which to start over. Consider it a gift. You can travel. Move to a new town. Go back to school and learn a new trade.”

  “I love Palmetto Island. I’m a South Carolinian, born and raised. Where else would I go?”

  “Wherever Hannah lands. Wouldn’t you like to be near her, to help take care of the baby?”

  Birdie experiences a pang of guilt. While she fully expects Hannah to move to another city after graduation, she never once considered leaving Palmetto Island to be near her. As for the baby, she doesn’t think of it as her grandchild. It’s an obstacle that will prevent Hannah from having a normal life. “You didn’t follow Kyle when he moved to New York,” she argues.

  “Me?” She thumbs her chest. “In New York City? I love my son, but no thank you. I’ll never leave the Lowcountry.”

  “Hannah doesn’t want me around. She wants her daddy back.”

  “I’m sure she does, but it doesn’t look like he’s coming back. Now’s your chance to grow closer to Hannah. Every woman needs her mother when she’s having her first baby.”

  Birdie rests her head against the dock piling. “I wish I knew how to get through to her. How did you manage to have such a healthy relationship with Kyle?”

  Max stares up at the cloudless sky as she considers her answer. “Being a parent of a young adult isn’t easy. They’re making decisions that will impact the rest of their lives, yet you can’t offer advice unless they ask for it. You let them chart their own course, even if they’re headed for disaster. When they fall, and they will fall, you be there to pick them up.”

  Birdie has a lot to learn about parenting. As for her daughter keeping this baby, she’s not sure she can hold her tongue.

  A comfortable silence settles over them as they watch pelicans dive for fish nearby. “Do you think my bakery business has a chance?” Birdie asks.

  “Absolutely. Not only are you an excellent cook, you’re great at marketing. Those adorable emails you send out are impossible to ignore.” Max tucks her right foot beneath her left leg as she angles her body toward Birdie. “Although, playing devil’s advocate here, we already have one bakery. I’m not sure our town is big enough for two. Then again, Amber’s pies aren’t nearly as good as yours.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of opening a bakery, Max. I would continue cooking pies out of my home.” The inescapable feeling of doom comes crashing back. “Soon, I won’t have a home with a kitchen to cook in.”

  When Birdie gets up slowly and walks gingerly on sore feet toward the house, Max calls after her, “Where’re you going?”

  Birdie yells over her shoulder, “Up to the house. I need to check on something.”

  In the office, she opens the bottom, right-hand drawer where they store their important documents in hanging files. She removes the one pertaining to their mortgage and opens it on the desk. Her eyes grow wide as she thumbs through the pages. Cary made their last mortgage payment in October. Birdie already knew this. They celebrated with a dinner out and too much wine for Birdie. According to the paperwork, when the bank transferred the deed back to them, he made certain hers was the only name listed on the document. This makes her feel better, at the same time so much worse. While he’d depleted their savings and brokerage accounts, he provided for her in another way, to the tune of a half-million dollars at today’s market value. But this also means that since October—and who knows how long before that—while Birdie had been doing his laundry and cooking his meals and kissing him goodnight, he’d been planning to escape town with another woman.

  Late in the afternoon on a Thursday during the first week of March, Hannah exits the coffee shop to find Ryan waiting for her on the sidewalk out front. Her first thought is one of relief that she’s wearing a down vest to hide her expanding midsection.

  “We need to talk.” He takes her arm and pulls her out of the way of a cluster of students hurrying past.

  Hannah jerks her arm away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I miss you. Will you consider giving me another chance? Please.”

  She can’t bring herself to look at his adorable face, his white-blond hair, clear blue eyes, and irresistible dimples. Will their baby be fair like him or have brown hair and green eyes like her? “What’s the point, Ryan? We’re both graduating. We’ll probably never see each other again.”

  He moves in close enough to smell his old spice body wash. “I thought we had something special.”

  Hannah snorts. “I thought so, too, until you cheated on me.”

  “I kissed her one time, Hannah. And she came on to me.”

  “I saw you with her, Ryan. That was more than one kiss. The two of you were practically having sex on the dance floor.”

  “We were drunk. I don’t even know that girl’s name.”

  “Ha. Like that’s supposed to make me feel better. I’ve gotta go. I’m meeting someone at the library.” She starts off down the sidewalk.

  He steps in line beside her. “Who’re you meeting? Your Chinaman?”

  She glares at him out of the corner of her eye. “I find that offensive, Ryan. Not that it’s any of your business, but Chris is my friend. He’s helped me through a hard time.”

  “I heard about your father. I’m sorry. Divorce sucks.”

  Divorce she can handle. Abandonment is another matter entirely. “Who told you? Kayla?”

  He hangs his head. “Yeah. She told me a few weeks ago.”

  She stops at an intersection, waiting for the crossing light to change. “A few weeks ago, and it’s taken you this long to say anything to me? Oh wait. I forgot. You’ve been busy hooking up with Becky Sandler. Are you cheating on her now by trying to get back with me?”

  The light changes, and Hannah takes off across the intersection before he can answer.

  He catches up with her. “Becky and I aren’t together. You’re the one I care about, Hannah.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.” As they approach the library, Hannah slows her pace. She wants to prolong their time together, to give him every opportunity to say the magic words. The three words she needs to hear in order to give him another chance.

  Instead of telling her he loves her, he asks, “What are your plans for after graduation?”

  “I’m applying for a bunch of different jobs. I haven’t settled on anything specific yet. What about you?” She’s not interested in his future. She wants to know where he’ll be so she can keep her baby as far away from him as possible.

  “I’m studying to take the LSAT. I’ll work for my father until I go to law school next year.”

  Their fathers ar
e both attorneys, only her father is an ambulance chaser and his is the attorney general of South Carolina. “Good for you. Have a nice life, Ryan.”

  She feels his gaze on her back as she enters the library. She wills herself not to cry as she makes her way to the study area. Chris can tell right away that something is wrong. “Did you have another fight with your mom?”

  Sniffling, she shakes her head. “I saw Ryan just now. He begged me to give him another chance.”

  Chris furrows his brow behind rectangular glasses. “Did you?”

  “No way.” She digs through her backpack for a travel pack of tissues. “But I’m glad I ran into him. Now I know for certain that whatever we had is over.”

  “Closure is a good thing, especially when you’re looking for jobs in multiple cities.”

  “Speaking of jobs. I’ve been waiting to hear from Sandman Cyber Security.” She opens her laptop on the desk, scrolls through her email, and lets out a squeal. “I got a final interview with them for next week.”

  “So did I,” he says with a smirk on his lips.

  She play-punches his arm. “Of course, you did.”

  “May the best man—”

  She throws her pen at him. “Dude, the best woman’s gonna win this time.”

  Even though Chris is an all-around better candidate for the job, she’s determined to give this interview everything she’s got. The signing bonus and large starting salary will enable her to provide a comfortable lifestyle for her baby despite California’s high cost of living. And she’ll be so far away Ryan will never find her.

  Six

  Hannah’s job interview with Sandman goes better than expected. She hits it off with Jeff Brandon, the senior executive in charge of interviewing potential candidates. She’s confident in answering his many questions, and when they discuss potential start dates, she suggests September because of a previously planned trip to Europe with her family. She feels guilty for lying, but she doesn’t worry about giving Chris the advantage over her. He, too, will travel over the summer to visit his parents in China.