Brain Child Page 0,67
two more hours! And if you don’t pull yourself together, we won’t even be able to keep this house!”
Alan lurched to his feet and towered over his wife. “Are you threatening me?”
As his hand rose above his head, a third voice filled the kitchen.
“If you hit her, I’ll kill you, Daddy.”
Both the elder Lewises turned to see Kate standing in the kitchen doorway, her face streaked with tears but her eyes blazing with anger.
“Kate, I told you I’d take care of this—” Marty began, but Alan cut in, his voice quavering.
“Kill me? You’ll kill me? Nobody kills their daddy …”
“You’re not my father,” Kate said, struggling to hold back her tears. “My father wouldn’t drink like you do.”
Alan lurched toward her, but Marty grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Leave us alone, Kate,” she said. “Just go over to Bob’s or something. Just for a few hours. I’ll get all this straightened out.”
Kate gazed steadily at her father, but when she spoke, her words were for her mother. “Will you send him back to the hospital?”
“I … I don’t know …” Marty faltered, even though she already knew that the binge had gone on too long, and there was no other choice. Alan had switched from beer to bourbon on Friday afternoon, and all day yesterday, while Kate had been gone, he’d been steadily drinking. All day, and then all night. “I’ll do whatever has to be done. Just leave us alone. Please?”
“Mom, let me help you,” Kate pleaded, but Marty shook her head.
“No! I’ll take care of this! Just give me a few hours, and when you get back, everything will be fine.”
Kate started to protest again, then changed her mind. After the last five years, she knew the last thing her mother needed during one of her father’s binges was an argument from her. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go. But I’ll call before I come back, and if he’s not gone, I won’t come home.”
“You won’t even leave!” Alan Lewis suddenly roared. “You take one step out of this house, young lady, and you’ll regret it!”
Kate ignored him, and walked out into the patio, letting the screen door slam behind her. A moment later she slammed the patio gate as well, and hurried away down the street, her hands clenched into fists as she tried to control her churning emotions.
In the kitchen, Alan Lewis glared drunkenly at his wife. “Well, this is a fine fuckin’ mess you’ve made,” he muttered. “A man’s wife shouldn’t turn his little girl against him.”
“I didn’t,” Marty hissed. “And she’s not against you. She loves you very much, except when you get like this. And so do I.”
“If you loved me—”
“Stop it, Alan!” Marty’s voice rose to a shout. “Just stop it! None of this is my fault, and none of it is Kate’s. It’s your fault, Alan! Do you hear me? Your fault!” She stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom her husband had never appeared in last night, shutting the door behind her and locking it.
She had to get control of herself. Right now, shouting at him would accomplish nothing. She had to calm herself down and deal with the situation.
He’d be upstairs in a minute, pounding on the door and alternately begging her forgiveness and threatening her. And she’d have to get through it all once more, and try to talk him into letting her drive him to the hospital in Palo Alto to check himself into the alcoholism unit. Or, if worse came to worst, call them herself, and have them come for Alan with an ambulance. That, though, had only happened once, and she prayed it wouldn’t happen again.
She went into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water. Any second now, he’d be at the door, and the argument would begin. Only this time, it wouldn’t be about Kate. Kate, at least, would be out of it. Now it would be the drinking again.
Five minutes went by, and nothing happened.
Finally Marty opened the bedroom door and stepped out to the landing at the top of the stairs. From below, there was only silence. “Alan?” she called.
There was no answer.
She started down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to call her husband once more. When there was still no answer, she headed for the kitchen. Perhaps he’d passed out.
The kitchen was empty.
Oh, God, Marty groaned to herself. Now what? She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot she always kept hot