when so many ghosts have haunted me, but now, I know nothing for sure other than I need to go home and I need to go home now.
SAWYER
Thursday November 7: PEACE. Weight 119 lb.
Great day today, alright, Diary. About dinner time, when we were all in the dining room, Benny Nabel announced that the Armistice with Germany had been signed. Then what a celebration we did have! We marched way over to the Pryor singing and cheering and then the boys came back behind us. At supper we had another parade. The West Wing fellows being the Kaiser.
After supper we had our entertainment in the MacDonald Solarium.
November 7, 1918—Armistice Day—the end of World War I. Evelyn was battling tuberculosis, the Spanish flu was devastating the US and the world, and this all happened while a war was being waged.
Then there was peace.
Is peace possible?
Lucy’s sound asleep as I pull into a spot in front of Dad’s condo. I place the car into park and glance in the rearview mirror at my sister. I hear all the time on TV and in the movies that kids are resilient. Question is: why should they have to be?
Maybe this is what should happen before anyone becomes a parent—I (insert name) agree that when I become a parent, I therefore understand that my children’s needs come first. That for at least eighteen years, it’s not about me. It’s about them.
Doesn’t seem that complicated, right? Not when you look at eighteen years in the grand scheme of a hundred. But adults don’t do that. They like to play dress-up with their kid for a year or two, maybe be excited when they play a sport or land the role in the school play, but then after the hour is up and the pictures are taken for the sake of “making a memory,” they declare that they need to find themselves when they figure out kids are hard.
Adults see children as toys or a solution to a problem, instead of a hard commitment. I don’t think carrying a sack of flour at school is going to impress upon anyone what it’s like to listen to my sister scream night after night in fear.
Maybe I’m bitter. No, I know I am, and I guess that’s one of the many things I’ll need to work on. Right after I tell my dad he’s stuck with us for possibly a lot longer than he would have ever intended.
My cell pings for maybe the hundredth time in the past hour—all from Mom. All an indication she’s drunk.
Mom: Please come home. This is all a misunderstanding.
Mom: Please. I don’t want to be alone.
Mom: Sawyer, I need you here.
Mom: Please respond to me, Sawyer.
Mom: I love you. Do you not love me anymore?
That’s the problem—I do. I don’t know how to reply, and guilt settles in. Is it my job to help her see she’s an alcoholic?
Lucy shifts in her seat and her eyelids flutter open. She looks at me. I watch her. My job, right now, is to take care of her.
Light flashes from the porch as Dad opens his front door. He steps out and his very pregnant girlfriend stands at the door, holding it open. I think of Veronica unwilling to enter a house without permission, feeling that she was death, she was hurt, and that people should think twice before allowing her into their lives.
Maybe Dad should be scared of me and Lucy. Trouble seems to follow us. I exit the car and my father stops in front of me. Concern oozes from him. “What’s going on? Your mom has been calling me nonstop.”
Great. “Have you answered?”
“I did. Once. But she didn’t make any sense.”
I rub my eyes then start for the backseat, but Dad gets there first. “I’ll get her.”
I feel helpless as Dad extracts Lucy. She doesn’t automatically wrap her arms around him, instead looks at me for approval. Should she trust him? I don’t know, but right now he’s our safest bet. I nod and she apprehensively leans into him, her exhaustion winning out.
Dad carries her into the house while I bring in our bags. I try to say a warm, “Hi,” to Tory as she lets me in. I then follow Dad up the stairs. What was once the baby’s room now has two twin beds complete with pillows and comforters.
I stop short as my brain stops working. “Where’s the crib?”
“Our room,” Dad says as he pulls back the covers then lays Lucy on