the bed.
“The baby will be fine with us in there when he’s born,” Tory says from the hallway.
Dad tucks Lucy in and mumbles some comforting words. She’s so tired that she automatically rolls into a ball and closes her eyes. I wish anything was that easy for me. I back out of the room, Dad does the same, leaving the door halfway open. We return to the living room, and he and I stare at each other like we’re strangers who pass by each other on the way to class. Someone we know, but don’t.
“Would you like something to drink?” Tory asks.
I don’t, but she wants to do something so I accept. She leaves, and Dad sighs heavily before dropping into a chair. I sit on the couch and decide to be honest. “I’ve been mad at you for a while.”
“I know.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go.”
“I know that, too.” He meets my eyes, and I want to look away but don’t. “But you’re welcome here, and we want you here. I know I’ve messed up in the past, but I’m ready to be the dad you need now. Whatever it is, you’re my son, and we’ll figure it out.”
I don’t believe him. There are too many years of missed visits between us. Too much heartache of me choosing Mom’s side. But he has welcomed me and Lucy in. Odds are, he has paid his child support on the fifteenth and thirtieth every month. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. You aren’t going to like what I have to say.”
Dad rolls his neck. “What’s your mom done, Sawyer?”
“When I tell you, I’m not going to play this game anymore. The game where I tell you something about Mom, you blame her for everything and I’m stuck in the middle. I don’t like it when she does it with you. I’ve always hated the game, and I’m the one who’s been on the losing end of it. I tell you what’s happening, and you work with me, not against me.”
“I hear you, and I appreciate the honesty. Maybe that’s what you and I need, to say what’s on our minds instead of holding back.”
To use my voice … the voice I’m finding. “Lucy and I need your help. I’ve got problems, and I’m learning how to deal with them. But the biggest issue at the moment is Mom’s in trouble and I don’t know how to help…”
VERONICA
One A.M.: Lightning-sharp pains through my skull. I toss and turn in my bed, hands on my head, crying into my pillow so Dad won’t hear.
Two A.M.: My entire head pounds, a constant jackhammering. I do my best to stumble down the stairs as quietly as I can without waking Dad. Hard to do when the agony is so intense I can barely crawl.
Two-thirty A.M.: I drag myself into the downstairs bathroom, shut the door, and vomit into the toilet.
Three A.M.: I lay in the fetal position on the cold tile floor, the pain so overwhelming that I’m terrified that this time, I really am going to die.
Die.
My eyes burn and I shiver. This is not how I want to die. I don’t want my father to find me on the bathroom floor. I don’t want to be alone.
Alone.
Mom promised I’d never be alone. “Mom?” My voice is a crack, a broken whisper. “Mom, where are you?”
The window seat. That’s where she was last. I try to push off the floor, but the heavy pain in my skull makes it impossible to stand. Crawl. My only option is to crawl. On my knees, on my stomach, I inch along the floor then thank God that I hadn’t closed the door all the way. I push it open and then claw my way across the room. Near the stairs, a fresh wave of torment starts and I collapse to the ground.
I roll with the dry heave, and I’m so hot that sweat rolls down my face. Yet I’m also cold and clammy. When I open my eyes, I spot Mom’s bare feet near the window seat. “Mom?”
Her feet move, and I sob with relief when she comes my way. Then I want to cry again when she’s not the emotionless porcelain doll, but my mom. Flushed cheeks, concerned eyes, radiating love. She crouches next to me. “You’re sick, peanut.”
“I know.” A slicing pain registers at the back of my head and then strikes down my spine. I cry out with