“Positive,” I said, turning away from the mirror with a forced smile. “But I should get going. I don’t want Mom to wait.”
“Have fun,” Jessica murmured, her eyes still wide with innocent shock. Maybe I should have given her the news a little more gently.
I was almost out the bathroom door when Casey called after me. “Hey, B, wait a sec.”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s go out this weekend,” she said. “To make up for not hanging out on Valentine’s Day. We could all go to the Nest. A Girls’ Night Out. It’ll be fun. We’ll even buy you ice cream.”
“Sure. I’ll call you later, but I really have to go.”
With a wave, I ran out of the bathroom. Yeah, I did want to see a movie with Mom, but that wasn’t the reason for my hurry. There was something else I had to do first.
Once I made it to my car, I wasted no time in pulling out my cell phone. I dialed the familiar number and waited for the professional male voice to answer.
“You’ve reached Tech Plus. This is Ricky. How may I assist you?”
I wanted to talk to Dad. To make sure he was okay and let him know we’d get through this. Just, you know, be supportive. I knew he needed it. After the night he’d had, I knew he must be having a horrible day at work. Besides, if I was dealing with the news so well, I could at least help pull him through it. “Good afternoon, Ricky,” I said. “Is Mike Piper available?”
“I’m afraid not. Mr. Piper didn’t come in today.”
I sat there, stunned for a minute, knowing what that meant. But I shook off the worries creeping into my stomach. He was just having a bad hangover after a rough night. Probably more than enough to remind him why he’d quit drinking in the first place. He’d be fine tomorrow.
I hoped.
“Thank you, anyway,” I said. “Have a nice day.”
I hung up the phone and started to dial another number. This time a woman with a clear, chirpy voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom.” I forced myself to sound at least semi-upbeat. If I was too happy, she’d know something was up. After all, I just wasn’t the peppy type. “Still want to go see a movie tonight?”
“Oh, hi, Bianca!” Mom exclaimed. “Yeah, that sounds great. Listen, honey, have you talked to your dad today? Is he okay? He just got so upset last night, and he was crying when I left.” By the way she spoke, I could tell she had no idea he’d relapsed, that he’d touched a bottle. If she did, her voice would have been much more strained, full of concern. Maybe even on the verge of panic. But she sounded calm. Only slightly worried. The fact that she was so blind really bothered me. I mean, he’d quit drinking almost eighteen years ago, but still. The thought should have crossed her mind.
But I didn’t want to be the one to break the news to her.
“He’s fine. I just got off the phone with him a second ago. He’s going to be at work late tonight, so a movie works great for me.”
“Oh, okay. I’m glad to hear that,” Mom said. “What do you want to see? I don’t even know what’s in theaters right now.”
“Me neither, but I was thinking a comedy would be good.”
16
Dad wasn’t better the next day.
Or the day after that.
He went back to work at the end of the week, but I was sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed the hangovers he took with him. It seemed like there was always beer or whiskey lying around the house now. He was always passed out on the couch or locked in his room. And he never mentioned it to me. As if I didn’t notice. Was I supposed to ignore it? Pretend this wasn’t a problem?
I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him to stop. To tell him he was making a huge mistake. But how? How does a seventeen-year-old convince her father that she knows what’s best? If I tried to stop him, he might get defensive. He might think I’d abandoned him, too. He might get angry with me.
Since Dad had stopped drinking before I was born, I didn’t really know much about the whole sobriety process. I knew that he’d had a sponsor once. Some tall, balding man from Oak Hill that Mom had always sent Christmas cards to when I was a kid. Dad didn’t talk about him anymore, and I was sure that, even if I tried, I wouldn’t have been able to locate his number. If I had, what would I say? How did that whole sponsor thing even work?
I felt powerless and useless and, more than anything, ashamed. I knew that, with Mom gone, it was my job to do something. I just didn’t have a clue what that something was.
So in the weeks after Mom left for Tennessee, I spent most of my time at home avoiding Dad. I’d never really seen him drunk in my life, so I didn’t know what to expect. All I had to go on were the little bits of conversations I’d overheard as a kid. He’d been an angry person once. He had a temper. I couldn’t imagine this coming from my father, but I didn’t want to start anytime soon. So I stayed in my bedroom, and he stayed in his.
I just kept telling myself it would pass. In the meantime, I’d keep his little secret to myself. Lucky for me, Mom was gullible enough to believe me whenever I told her everything was fine over the phone, despite my less than awesome acting abilities.
Honestly, I thought hiding my secrets from Casey would be the hardest. She could always see right through me, after all. I tried avoiding her at first, ignoring her phone calls and making up excuses when she asked me to hang out. I never called her about that Girls’ Night Out she’d suggested in the bathroom. I was sure she’d bombard me with questions the second she got me alone, so I always tried to use poor clueless Jessica as a buffer. But within a week, I got this strange feeling that Casey was steering clear of me.
She called less and less.
She stopped asking if I wanted to go to the Nest on weekends.
She even switched seats with Jeanine at lunch, putting herself all the way across the table—as far away from me as possible. Once or twice, I even caught her giving me dirty looks.
I wanted to know what the hell her problem was, but I was scared to confront her. I knew that if we actually talked about it, I wouldn’t be able to keep lying about Dad. Not to her. But it was his secret, his shame, not mine to tell. I wouldn’t let anyone, not even Casey, find out.
So I had to let her supreme weirdness slide for the time.
Wesley was really the only thing getting me through those weeks. Some part of me was appalled at myself, but what could I say? I needed that escape—that high—more than ever, and he was always just a short drive away. A fix three or four times a week was all it took to keep me sane.
God, I was like a fucking druggie. Maybe my sanity was long gone already.
“What would you do without me?” he asked one night. We were tangled in the silky sheets of his gigantic bed. My heart was still pounding as I came down from the high of what we’d just done, and he wasn’t helping matters by putting his lips so close to my ear.
“Live a happy… happy life,” I murmured. “I might even… be an optimist… if you weren’t around.”
“Liar.” He bit my earlobe playfully. “You’d be absolutely miserable. Admit it, Duffy. I’m the wind beneath your wings.”
I bit my lip, but I still couldn’t hold back the laughter—and just as I was finally catching my breath, too. “You just referenced Bette Midler… in bed. I’m starting to question your sexuality, Wesley.”
Wesley looked at me with a defiant glint in his eye. “Oh, really?” He grinned before moving his mouth back to my ear and whispering, “We both know that my manhood has never been in question…. I think you’re just changing the subject because you know it’s true. I’m the light of your life.”
“You…” I struggled for words as Wesley pressed his mouth into the crook of my neck. The tip of his tongue moved down to my shoulder and made my brain get all fuzzy. How was I supposed to argue under these conditions? “You wish. I’m just using you, remember?”