“It’s not heroin.”
“Fine. It’s not heroin. Why do you do this, Dad?” I was angry, my fists balled. I wanted to hit him. Pummel his chest and slap his face and kick him and kick him until he was covered in bruises and got it. Until he understood what he was throwing away. “Why do you always fuck it up?”
“I wish I knew.” He was kneeling in front of me now and pulling me to him. I let him hug me. He held tight. He smelled of mint toothpaste, citrus shampoo, and lavender soap. Clean and fresh and scrubbed and fragrant. As if being clean would make it easier for me to believe him.
He was no king. He had no crown. No castle. No knights. He had no robes, no carriages, no queen, no princes or princesses. He’d never been a king, and so I was the stupid one, for ever having thought that he was.
“Maeve,” he said quietly. “Where’s the painting?”
“What painting?” I raised my eyes and stared at him. “The one that didn’t ever exist in the first place?”
“Maeve.” Claire reached for me, but I twisted away. “Where is it?”
I said nothing.
“Where is it?” Claire’s voice grew stern. “Tell us where it is. It’s not yours. It belongs to us. You had no right to take it down.”
“It’s okay, Claire.” Dad looked sad then, and I was glad for it. For a moment, and then I was sad too, and I started to cry.
—
NA or AA every day at first, and then twice a week.
Dinner at home on his days off.
Check in with his sponsor every day.
No going out with his friends until after the baby was born, at least.
Claire would be in charge of the money. She would give him an allowance.
He would answer his phone. He would answer his texts.
No assholery would be permitted.
—
He wasn’t going in to work that day, which was so rare that the boys didn’t quite know what that meant. They sat on his knee, perplexed as he and Claire fumbled through an age-appropriate explanation about what was going on. Thank goodness they didn’t go for their share-absolutely-everything approach to parenting on this one. The boys didn’t have much to say at first. They looked at each other and grinned.
“Does that mean—” Owen said.
“That you can take us to the lake?”
We were all so tired, Claire, Dad, and me. Going to the lake was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially with him.
“Sure,” Dad said. “If it’s okay with your mom.”
“Okay.” Claire sighed. “The fresh air will do us all good.”
“I’m not going,” I said.
“Maeve, please.” Dad reached for me, but I turned away and went back downstairs.
—
When they were ready to go, Dad asked me to help him pack up the van in the alley, which I knew was his way to get me alone and try to convince me to go with them.
“Please come?” he said, handing me a beach chair.
“No thanks.”
“Like Claire said, the fresh air will do us all good.”
“I’m not getting into that van and playing the Happy Family Game.”
“We are a happy family.”
I threw another beach chair into the back of the van and said nothing.
“I’ve hardly seen you since you arrived.”
I stared at him.
“Okay, okay.” He lifted the wagon into the back. “Please come?”
“No.”
“You’re mad about everything. I get that. This isn’t your mess.”
“It is my mess. You’re going to ruin my family. Claire and the boys and the baby are my family too. If you don’t fix things, you’re going to ruin everything.”
“I hope not.”
“That’s it?” A delivery truck rumbled down the alley. “You hope not?”
“Yes.” He rested his hand on the door of the trunk. He stared at the wagon and the towels and the bag full of plastic buckets and shovels. It was all so colorful, and dirty. The towels were clean but stained. The cooler was full of fresh food, but it was scratched and the lid was held on with duct tape. The plastic wagon was sun-bleached and cracked in more places than I could count. Everything was okay, and everything was not okay. “Yeah. I hope not. And that’s all I’ve got to offer right now, Maeve. Take it or leave it, kid.” He slammed the door closed. “I’m sorry, and I’m sorry, and I’m sorry. Take it or leave it.”
After they left and while I was still standing in the alley, my phone buzzed.
Absolutely nothing.
For a moment it made no sense. But then, as the crows shrieked overhead and someone hollered up the street, I remembered.
Come over?
—
We sat on my bed and I told her.
“I saw my dad do a line of coke last night, right in front of me.”
“In front of you?”
“He didn’t know that I was watching.”
“That’s awful, Maeve.” She put an arm around me. “Did you tell him that you saw? Did you tell Claire?”
I told her the rest, and when I was done, I felt numb, but just for a moment, and then there was a terrible pounding in my head and I started to bawl.
“It’s okay.” Salix pulled me to her and I soaked her shirt.
“He’s such a liar! And a total failure as a dad. We need him and he’s messing up so badly and all he can say is that he’ll try.”
“What can I do?” Salix pulled away. “Can I make you a cup of tea? Want to go for a walk?”
“I just want to stop worrying so much! I can’t even do anything, so what’s the point?”
“You told me that you can’t really help it, right?” She wiped my tears with her shirt.
I nodded.
“So worry. Just go ahead and worry. Worry as hard as you can, and then keep worrying.”
“That sounds awful.”
“But if you can’t stop worrying, you have to figure out how to worry and keep living, right? We need to find you a really, really big box.”
“What for?”
“Not a box. A backpack.”
“What?”
“For you to put your worries in, so that you can take them with you, and when you figure out how to not worry so much, you can get rid of them one at a time. And then the backpack will get lighter and lighter until you’ll be so light you’ll float right off the ground.”
I kissed her then, because there were no words for how much I liked her in that moment. Loved her, maybe.
“What can we do right now that will help?”
“Let me draw you.” I grabbed my things and sat at one end of the bed.
She sat at the other end of the bed, legs crossed. “Will you let me see it?”
I glanced up.
“When you’re finished? Just that page?”
I rubbed out a line that didn’t belong. “I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“What if he can’t do it?” Another wave of sickening worry came over me. “What if he can’t keep it together, and so it literally falls apart? What if the baby never even knows him?”
“Let’s stop talking about it.” Salix reached for me. My sketchbook and pencils fell to the floor. She kept leaning forward until I could feel her breath on my cheeks. “Let’s stop talking about hard stuff and do something that feels good instead. I’m in charge of the distraction department, remember?”
Salix’s lips on mine, her tongue sliding between them. She pushed me onto my back and slid her hands up my shirt until she was peeling it off.