Things We Didn't Say

Chapter 36

Michael



I jerk awake to discover we’re pulling off the highway. I look back to Dylan in the seat, and he’s awake, too.

I stare at him until he flinches away from me, relishing the fact that I know exactly where he is.

“Almost back,” says my dad. In the weak yellow glow from the streetlights he looks older than he should, far older than he did just two days ago when I was so irritated with him at lunch.

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, because I have to. He drove all that way without complaint. I never would have made it, tired as I was, in a blizzard.

He nods in response, then checks for traffic and changes lanes.

It’s the blackest part of night. No one seems to be around at all except for salt trucks and plows. A taxicab passes. My dad’s driving is more relaxed and assured. The roads must be better by now.

Just a few turns to the house.

I turn back to Dylan. “Everyone’s probably asleep. But there’s a chance your mother waited up, and you know how she can get.”

Dylan cringes. Looks out the window.

“I’m just saying. Brace yourself. We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now we all need sleep.”

I can see through the front window that the kitchen light is on at the back of the house. Someone may have just left it on. I’m hoping no one is awake. I’m in no mood for an encounter of any kind.

My dad says, “I’ll idle here until I see that you’re in, then I’m going home myself. Call me if you need anything,” he says, and I remember again that he is going to cut off support unless I do his bidding. I can’t come up with a retort; far too tired.

Tomorrow. I’ll deal with it all tomorrow.

I have my hand hovering behind Dylan’s back. The walk is slick, he might fall. I also have this vague sense that he might bolt again. Illogical, but the feeling is there. Will I ever be able to send him in to school with blithe confidence again?

I shove the door open hard with my hip. Voices in the kitchen stop at our arrival, and I hit the living room light switch as Mallory and Casey come scurrying in.

Mallory flings herself at Dylan, wrapping her around him and stroking his hair. He shifts uncomfortably but allows it, maybe sensing he owes her this much.

Casey walks over to me and leans heavily into my embrace. I feel like I’m holding her up. She must really be exhausted. I bend down for a kiss, and smell the alcohol. I set her back to look at her. “Casey?”

“I had a drink. I’ve been very stressed.”

The very comes out “vurry.”

I glare over at Mallory. She releases Dylan slightly—leaving one arm around his shoulders—and rolls her eyes in Casey’s direction, adding a light shrug. Like she’s saying, What are we going to do with her?

Casey looks at Dylan. “Oh, kid. I’m so glad you’re back.” She releases me, and in walking to Dylan her step is visibly unsteady. She makes to hug him, but he flinches away, shrugging out of his mom’s arm, too.

“I’m—” He pauses here, his face working to prevent the stammer. “Going to bed.”

He walks away to the stairs, but turns just before going up. “S-s-sorry.”

Casey leans against me again for support. It’s all I can do not to shove her off me.

“So, how was your night?” I ask them, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. I can’t believe she got drunk. And I can’t believe that Mallory is not. She seems to be perfectly functional.

“Oh, fine,” Mallory answers. “The girls were up a bit late, but they are both sound asleep. I thought maybe we’d have a drink, just one, you know. But Casey here got a little carried away.”

“I did not. I’m just tired.” At this she tumbles unconvincingly down to the couch, where she stretches out. “Just really, really tired.”

I walk away from her to the kitchen to get myself some water. On the table stands a fifth of Jack Daniel’s, half empty.

“I was going to have a drink myself,” Mallory tells me, sighing. “But when I saw her plowing through it I figured there ought to be one sober adult in the house. I guess the kid cracked under pressure.”

“Where did she even get that?”

“Well, that’s on me, I guess. I bought it. I was going to have a drink, like I said.”

“You bought a whole fifth for one drink?”

“Well . . . I don’t know. Wasn’t really thinking, I guess. I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have even brought it in the house. I thought she didn’t drink.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

Now Mallory leans into my chest. I’m forced to either hug her or stand there like a pole. I hug her back briefly. “Thank God he’s okay,” she murmurs into my neck.

I let go, and she lets me go, and I finally get that glass of water. My brain has gone numb, and there’s a buzzing in my ears.

“Well, let’s find you some pillows,” I say to Mallory, having thrown last night’s couch bedding down into the laundry pile already, not expecting she’d be here another night.

As I pass the living room on the way to the linens, I see Casey is snoring, taking up the whole couch.

I nudge her with my finger. She doesn’t move.

I suppose I could scoop her up and carry her to bed, like I might Jewel if she fell asleep on the couch.

Or she could stay there in her drunken sleep and throw up in her hair.

“Mal, you can take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Oh come on, just sleep in the bed. I won’t touch you, promise. I’ll stay way over on the other side.”

I hesitate, imagining what Casey would think if she saw us.

Mallory laughs bitterly at my hesitation. “I think I can resist your incredible allure.”

“Don’t bust my balls now, okay?”

Casey snores. Given her drunkenness, she’ll probably sleep until noon. I don’t relish the thought myself of sleeping on the wood floor, or trying to find a sleeping bag right now. Nor do I feel like making my children’s mother sleep on the floor, especially considering—miracle of miracles—she’s the sober one.

“Fine. I’m too tired to care.”

I drag myself upstairs, brush my teeth, and fall into bed, welcoming the sleep that overtakes me like a Mack truck.


“Daddy!”

Jewel is jumping on my chest.

I squint at her with eyes unfamiliar with bright daylight in my bedroom; I am typically up before the sun.

“Dylan’s home! He’s home!” She jumps a couple more times and I cough with her weight, but smile at her glee. I straighten her glasses and then pull her down for a kiss on the nose. “Yes, he is.”

“Hi, honey!”

“Mommy? You’re in Daddy’s bed again?”

I’d forgotten. Casey passed out on the couch.

Mallory stretches out her hand and ruffles Jewel’s hair, then pulls her in for a hug. Jewel burrows into the covers between us, and slips one slender arm around each of our necks. “Yay! Just like it used to be!”

I prop up on my elbow and put my serious Dad face on. “Hon, it’s just because Casey fell asleep on the couch and we didn’t want to move her.”

Mallory catches my eye over Jewel’s head.

“So Dylan’s awake?” I ask Jewel, craning my neck to see my alarm clock. Ten in the morning. This is late for me.

“Yeah, he made us pancakes.”

“He did?”

Mallory says, “Aw, what a great kid.”

I want to ask Jewel if he’s talked about last night, but she’s just a child. I don’t want her in the middle of this any more than she already is.

Knowing Dylan, he’s not saying anything, anyway.

I sit up and pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the basket of unfolded laundry. Casey normally folds the laundry right away. But normal is out the window.

Downstairs, I go first to the kitchen. Dylan is turning a pancake over onto a plate next to the stove. The stack is already about six pancakes high. Angel is at the table, texting. She’s already showered and dressed.

“Planning to feed an army?” I ask Dylan. I grab him in a sideways hug around the shoulders.

He blushes a little, and doesn’t answer.

“Thanks, pal,” I say.

He points with the spatula to the coffeemaker. He made some coffee, too. Would that I could forget all that happened, just ignore it all and go back to the way it was, and enjoy the fact that my son made us breakfast.

I pour some coffee, and Angel says, “Dad, can I go to a party tonight?”

“Geez, Angel, let me get my eyes open here, first. And good morning to you, too.”

She rolls her eyes at me.

The coffee’s too bitter, so I splash in some milk and with a sigh of resignation go to check on Casey.

I hear the shower turn on upstairs. Must be Mallory, freshening up. Good. I don’t need her hovering over my shoulder.

The bright sun reflecting off the snow outside bounces into the room and puts Casey in a spotlight. She’s got dried spittle in her hair, and she’s sprawled in much the same position as we left her last night.

She hardly looks like the girl I proposed to.

I crouch down next to her face and shake her elbow. I have to do this twice.

She groans to life and immediately throws her arm over her eyes.

“Oh, God,” she says.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” I wish that had come out playful, instead of hard.

Casey cringes under her arm. “I’m sorry,” she squeaks out. “I didn’t mean to get . . . I didn’t . . . Mallory convinced me.”

“So the devil made you do it?”

“I said I was sorry.”

She turns away from me, facing the back of the couch. She curls up, holding her midsection.

I lean over, whispering, so the kids won’t hear, “I left you in charge, and you got hammered. At a time like this.” I’m trying not to sound so hard, like Mallory thinks of me, the mean drill sergeant. I’m failing, my disappointment running away with me. I trusted her.

She curls up more, saying nothing.

“I need to be able to count on you. For better or worse.”

“The kids were fine,” she whispers back.

“But what if they’d come down with a fever in the night? What if Jewel had started throwing up? What good would you have been?”

“No good at all.”

She covers her eyes with her hands.

I want to feel sorry for her. But I’m tired of coddling. I did it too much with Mallory, for too many years.

I can’t think of anything nice to say, so I follow my mother’s advice and say nothing at all, instead standing up to go check on my kids.