the siren call of alcohol had you doing something that you have to admit was uncharacteristic of who you are. It’s a slippery slope, Ella. If you’re not careful, booze can turn you into someone you don’t like.” No one had ever talked to her like this: serious, but not stern, not judgy. If anyone else said this to her—like her mom—Ella would stomp out of there . . . but Donovan had a calm way of making sense.
“You’ve probably heard that alcoholism is a disease,” he said. “Even though there isn’t a specific gene that causes alcoholism, some people do have a genetic predisposition to addiction, which explains why alcoholism often runs in families. My mom was an alcoholic. Her father was an alcoholic. And I’m an alcoholic. I just want to spare you the misery that the rest of us have gone through.”
Ella looked away as the stupid tears were coming again. She had to swipe at her face a couple of times before she could speak. “What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to not become one?”
“I thought you could join AA with me.”
“I don’t want to,” she said. “Besides, Sweet Home doesn’t have any meetings like that. And I can’t go all the way to Anchorage or Fairbanks all the time.” Wasn’t there a quick fix? “What if I just decide that I won’t drink anymore?”
“That might work. I don’t know,” he said. “The truth is that life is hard. And when things get tough, I still want a drink, I mean really want a drink. When that happens, I call my sponsor. His name is Mark and he lives in San Jose where I go to meetings.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Sweet Home needs a place for alcoholics to meet, a place to help them get sober and stay sober. I propose that you and I work on finding that place and setting it up. As a punishment it fits the crime, don’t you think?”
But I’m not an alcoholic! she wanted to say. “If I help you, does that mean I’m not grounded?”
He laughed. “Oh, you’re still grounded. I know better than to overrule your mom.”
“But you and I will, you know, be cool, if I help?” She wanted to ask if he could forgive her, but she just couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Listen, Ella, you said you were sorry and I’ve forgiven you. You’re my daughter and I want us to be friends. I want to get to know you. Ice fishing might be a good way to start, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” It was the least she could do. He hadn’t yelled at her, and now that he’d talked to her honestly, like she was an adult, too, she didn’t believe he would out her to everyone as a thief and tell them to lock up their silverware. “We can go ice fishing. But when are you going to have time? From what Mom and Piney say, even with all of us working, the lodge and the hardware store still might not be ready in time.”
He handed her a box. “You’re important to me. I’ll make the time.”
The waterworks started again and her shaky hands weren’t even free to wipe away the tears. The rest of her was shaking, too. It was dumb but apparently she’d always wanted to hear those words from her dad.
“Take those into Nan’s studio and show them to your mom. It’ll be a walk down memory lane for her.”
“’Kay.” Hurriedly, Ella left the garage, trying not to cry like a stupid baby. She really needed a drink.
Oh, crap! Maybe Donovan was right. Maybe she did have the disease, too.
* * *
• • •
HOPE KEPT ONE eye on the fabric she was cutting and one eye on the door of the studio, waiting, knowing Ella had gone to the garage. The seconds went by slowly, minutes torturing her by inching along. Finally, Ella came into the studio, her eyes red, her lashes tinged with tears.
“What’s wrong, cabbage?” Piney asked from behind her sewing machine.
Hope gave Piney a don’t-coddle-her look. “She’s fine. Ella, can you help Miss Lisa cut out the blocks for the Highland Coos Cabin quilt?”
“Sure, Mom.” She set the box down on the table. “Donovan wants you to look at this.”
“What is it?” Hope asked.
“Old Christmas ornaments, I think.”
Hope reached out and grabbed Ella’s hand and squeezed, searching her eyes, whispering, “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Hope gave her a quick hug. “The