She moans, rolls over and peeks up at me. I hand her the glasses from the table. "We're playing a game. Want to pretend we're going on a trip? We can pretend it's like that one time we went to see Grandma and Grandpa Shaw. Remember how we got up really early in the morning and had McDonalds for breakfast?"
Excitedly, her head nods up and down.
"We can do that again and after breakfast, we'll go to your daddy's house. I haven't had a sleepover there in a long time. Sound cool?" When she nods again, I playfully tug her hair.
"Grab Barney, okay? You can even go in your pajamas." My body aches. I feel like I've been playing basketball for twenty-four hours straight, but I push through it.
When Sara stands up, I grab Kira's drawing off the wall. Kira grabs my hand as soon as I step into the hallway. With one last look at Mom's closed bedroom door, we're gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Two days later, I meet Travis at the basketball court. When I didn't come to school, he texted and I told him to meet me here.
"Okay. You missed school. Kira missed school. Is there something going on I need to know about, ya lucky bastard?" He tosses the ball at me, but doesn't come too close. Probably because we haven't really talked much since the night of the dance.
I dribble the ball between my legs, jump and shoot. Travis tosses it back and I start to dribble again. When I pass it back to him, he takes over where I left off, dribbling and shooting. Right about now, this whole talking thing is feeling overrated. It's a lot easier when, in between confessions, I get to kiss the person I'm confessing to.
Without a word to Travis, I walk over and fall down to sit on the curb. My arms rest on my legs, as I play with a pebble I picked up. But this is it. I'm done being weak. Done lying. Done always trying to do the right thing and never knowing if I am, so when Travis sits next to me, I say, "My mom's an alcoholic."
Travis mumbles "shit" while bouncing the ball from one hand to another. "Dude, I know."
The rock falls out of my fingers, rolling on the ground. "You know?" How could he know?
Travis shrugs. "I've been your best friend for like ten years. I come over to your house all the time. I've seen things. Smelled things." He shrugs again. "I've just known."
So obviously I'm not as good a liar as I thought. I don't know if that makes me happy or not. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Um, why didn't you?" He puts the ball on his lap and leans on it. "I just figured you didn't want to talk about it. If you did, you'd bring it up to me, ya know?"
He's right. I wouldn't have wanted to talk about it. I still don't, but now I kind of have to.
"That's why..." Travis groans. "That's why I feel like shit about the dance. You shouldn't have had to deal with that. I'm just...all screwed up about my parents, but I'm dealing. It'll be okay."
Picking up the pebble again, I say, "I'm here. If you want to talk. I can't do the drinking thing though. I'm done with that."
"Me, too. And thanks. So, what happened? If you want to talk about it."
"Ball," I say and he hands it over. It feels good just to hold the leather in my hand. "A lot. I don't really want to go into it all, but it ended with Kira and I sneaking Sara out of the house at six in the morning and we've been at Bill's ever since. I haven't talked to Mom. She told Bill she needed a couple days." Saying it makes me feel like I'm cracking apart. That Mom is digging everything out of me that matters, because she needs a couple days, away from me. After everything, she can't even talk to me. Does she hate me? There's a piece of me who still hates myself.
"Damn... Kira?"
"L.A. Just left today. She wanted to wait, but she needed to go."
"That sucks. I'm sorry, about everything."
I hand him back the ball. "Me, too. For your parents and everything else." Pushing off the curb, I stand up, and then hold out my fist. Travis bumps it with his. "Come on. Game on Friday and you need all the practice you can get."
He laughs. "Not me. I'm a kickass center. Beating down anyone who comes into my zone." But he's standing and following me anyway.
***
Bill straightens his glasses, making me know he has something big to say. I lean against his kitchen table, waiting for him to tell me what else is going wrong. "What is it? Just tell me." Don't let her hate me. Let me have done the right thing.
"Your mom wants to know if she can talk to you. I'm going to take Sara out for a bit, and then bring her back so Delilah can talk to her, too."
Mom wants to know if she can talk to me? What a screwed up situation. She shouldn't have to ask, but I'm glad she did. "Yeah. I... Do you know what's going to happen?"
Bill takes a couple steps toward me. "I do, but I think it's better that you wait for her to tell you, but I want you to know, no matter what, we'll make it work out. You're welcome in my home as long as you need to be here and," he holds out his hand, "you're a good man, Carter. I'm proud of you. I know I'm not your father, but I do love you. I'd be honored to have a son like you."
My eyes sting again, but I try to concentrate on shaking Bill's hand instead. I'm so done with the tears. "Thanks. For taking us in and everything else."
"It's not a problem, son. You're a part of my family, too." He looks toward his hallway. "I'm going to grab Sara and we'll head out. Your mom's waiting outside and when we leave, she'll be in."
My voice begs me to shout at him. To tell him no, that I changed my mind and I'm not ready to talk to her yet, but I swallow it down. I have to do this.
Sara and Bill leave a few minutes later. My leg is bouncing like crazy as I sit at the kitchen table waiting for Mom. When I hear the front door creak, I freeze. I don't know if I can do this. I keep seeing her hands come at me when she tried to fight me. The tears and the screams overloading my brain.
And then she's there and I don't have a choice. Even though I'm looking at her, I don't say anything and she doesn't say anything, but I notice she looks older somehow. Tired. She's wearing a long sleeve shirt and I can't help but wonder how the bruise looks.
Mom lets out a breath and I can hear how shaky it is, and then she comes over and sits down at the table with me. "I'm going into inpatient care for a bit."
The ache in my chest balloons so much I think it could make me burst. Inpatient. Committed? Still, I can't make myself speak.
"I have...I have a lot of issues to work through, Carter, and they can help me the most."
"What happens there?" I mumble.
"Detox, first. I'll be in therapy, too. I should have done this a long time ago, because of your grandpa and then loosing Tommy. I need to learn how to deal with it all. If I had, things wouldn't have gotten to where they are now. I haven't been dealing and above anyone else, you've suffered for it. I'll never forgive myself—" She chokes out the words. I want to tell her it's okay, but I know now it's not. I used to think the only thing that mattered is that she didn't mean it, that she had to deal with a lot and that she deserved a way to unwind. It's not true. It's not okay. None of it.
"What about the store? Sara and I?"
"Your dad's parents are coming to help. They'll be here in a couple of days."
My eyes stretch wide. "You called them?"